Melpomene was overwhelmed by another swell of sobs, and wrapped her arms around him, his body so familiar against hers, her belly pressed warm against his. She cried into his shoulder, fingers clutching on to the back of his shirt, for a few minutes unable to do anything except feel.
"Don't leave me believing that I don't love mortals," she implored him eventually, though she did not raise her face from his shoulder. "I do. I do. I love that I can live a thousands years and they can still surprise me with their reckless, yearning hearts. You can't hold it against me, when I say they're built to die - who can deny that? But their brief candle of a life, while it burns, burns so beautifully, and the light it casts upon the world is worth witnessing, worth capturing, worth immortalising in song and art and word - please don't think that I don't love them."