InsaneJournal

The wind blew patchy squalls of rain against Melpomene’s windshield, the sky hanging low and grey over the Western Funeral Home. The colour of the sky almost reflected Telos’ eyes, he was alert today, casting his eyes around while she sat in the back of the car and fed him. Melpomene did not feel quite so alert, but even through the mindfog of grief she noticed the people leaving the funeral home. Employees, she guessed, by their dress and the way they held themselves. They were people who worked with grief, but they wore it like a familiar coat; they weren’t torn apart by it.

It was strange, now, to remember the last time she’d sat in this car outside a funeral home, less than a year ago. Antigone had been the one ripped open by grief then, wounded by the death of the young man who’d died in front of them both. That was truly lifetimes ago, although in practice… eleven months?

Eleven months could be many lifetimes, though.

Tragos, as she'd known him, had existed less than nine.

Melpomene’s thoughts swirled, circling around the same dark stain on her floor, the same shadows and horrors and pain in her heart. Telos stopped eating and smiled up at her, batting at her hair, and when he smiled she felt him grab one half of her and the ghost of Tragos grabbed the other and they ripped her right down the middle. Melpomene tried hard not to cry in reaction to Telos’ smile, but when she bent to kiss his head two fat tears fell onto the hat Calliope had made for him.


She hadn’t intended her visit to the Western Funeral home to be an ambush. Athena had given her Qebhet’s contact details with the intention of Melpomene contacting Qebhet, arranging a time… but Melpomene was struggling to arrange any more than Telos’ basic needs. The thought of planning a visit was one of the many, many things beyond her capabilities. She didn’t even know, less than an hour ago, that she wanted to do it today. She’d been at a park with Kratos and Nikkos when she’d announced out of nowhere that she was going to talk to the funerary goddess.

Or perhaps not out of nowhere. The need to speak with Qebhet came from everywhere. But it did hit suddenly, and Melpomene let the feeling lead her, as she let so many feelings lead her. Or drag her out like a rip tide. Kratos had asked if she wanted him to come with her but she said no, this was something she wanted to do alone, and that he should keep chasing Nikkos around the park, get him some good exercise because he spent too long cooped up inside with her, they both did.

Soon he’d go back to Ares. The crippling bursts of fear were not quite so constant as they used to be, though they crippled her just as much when they hit. But Ares would not allow her to keep Nikkos forever. Soon Kratos might want to go back to his life, too, but at least childbirth was far enough behind her that she could fuck him, sometimes, and show him how grateful she was that he’d stayed, find what little scraps of comfort she could in his arms. But he didn’t sign up to co-raise a baby, and she wouldn’t ask him to do it. There was only one person she wanted to raise this baby with, and she wouldn’t ask him to do it now either. He'd already said no.

So she and Telos found themselves the most alone they’d been since Ares returned him to her arms, and they were sitting in front of a funeral home, and she was trying to find the strength to get out of the car, and go in.

She didn’t think it was strength that finally compelled her to wrap Telos to her chest and lock the car. Not strength, maybe it was only the need to keep moving, any way she was drawn. Drawn by the need for some greater connection with Tragos, through his death.

She truly hadn’t intended it as an ambush, but as she stood on the doorstep and pressed her finger against the buzzer, she was faintly aware that it was one.