Love Story

"Hippolyta hates Penth and that puts me in danger," said Byron, casually chewing on his pork as if they hadn't just told him someone would try to kill him.

"I understand that," he continued. "What I want to know is, why and how. How is Hippolyta still alive and what does this musician guy have to do with it?"

"Then listen!" shouted Alcippe. "We want to tell you the story from the beginning so that it will make sense and you complain after which you turn and accuse us that we're not telling you."

"Fair enough! Go on then! Tell me!"

The meat was juicy and the sauce had dripped onto Alcippe's hands, almost reaching her wrists. She licked it before resuming the tale, her eyes on the meat rather than Byron.

After all, she was the only one who was not intoxicated with his presence.

"I was telling you that the performance eventually stopped. Hippolyta complimented the man, telling him he was good at playing lyre, that the song was so good, but the man burst into tears instead of answering her."

"Well, you now know he's Orpheus so I guess I should start using his name. Anyways, Hippolyta found herself rushing toward the man and hugging him and asking him what was wrong. She could feel his grief. His sorrow. She thought it would do him better if she got him to open up to her."

The tale came to a pause once again as Alcippe struggled to break the bone. She had eaten all the meat on it and now she was trying to break it on the edge.

What she was hoping to achieve, Byron did not know. It's not like anyone back in his father's mansion would ever eat meat with a bone attached to it, let alone scrub it naked.

Plus, didn't she have a whole pig in front of her? Why fight with a bone.

She might have sensed his thoughts because she raised her head to look him in the eye, then said, "Bone mallow."

Following, she sucked something out of the bone, the sound reminding Byron when he intentionally drank with a straw and kept sucking while the drink was almost empty with only a few droplets left.

They made similar sounds.

"See?" she said, smiling at him.

"So, Hippolyta hugged Orpheus and it got all emotional and she asked him what was bothering him and he started narrating his tale."

"He said, 'My beautiful Eurydice is gone and it's my fault. It's my fault!' Hippolyta thought maybe they had fought, that maybe she could help mediate them, so she asked, 'Gone where?' 'The Underworld! She's dead! A snake bit her.' 'Then it's the snake's fault.'

'No! It's mine because I was given a second chance to be with her and I failed. I failed her.' Hippolyta knew she had to ask how, but Orpheus continued, 'You see, after she died, I was so sad and the only thing I could do was play and sing."

"And I did it so mournfully that all the nymphs and deities wept and told me to travel to the Underworld to retrieve her, which I gladly did. After my music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone, my singing so sweet that even the Erinyes wept, I was allowed to take her back to the world of the living. But I failed!"

"I failed because of a simple condition. If I had not looked back, she would be here right now. She would be in my arms. I wouldn't be crying to a stranger like this."

"The condition was attached that I must walk in front of her and not look back until both of us had reached the upper world. We walked, but soon I began to doubt she was there, suspecting that Hades might have deceived me. And...

"Orpheus broke into tears, wailing like a woman in childbirth, and Hippolyta hugged him tight, soothing him, unsure of what to say."

"And just as I reached the portals of Hades and daylight, I turned around to gaze on her face, but because Eurydice had not yet crossed the threshold, she vanished back into the Underworld."

Some of the girls were crying, and Byron felt like laughing when he heard that they had heard that story at least thousands of times.

But then again, who was he to blame them? Even some people back in modern times would get all emotional at such a story, let alone these lonely warriors in antiquity.

He also had to admit that Alcippe had done a good job narrating it. However, she took a long time so let's get it over with, shall we?

From that night, Hippolyta started meeting with Orpheus whenever she wasn't busy. He would sing and play, and she would dance and comfort him afterwards.

Eventually, he could smile again. He even taught her how to play lyre. And one night, one night he kissed her.

He kissed her on the lips after months of just friendship. Hippolyta was so happy. She had fallen for him but knew he was grieving his wife and feeling guilty and she never wanted to put herself in an awkward situation by trying to initiate anything, but now he had done it.

He had fucking kissed her!

Well, they planned another meeting and then, boom, Penthesilea shot her and she died and he was overcome with grief once again.

He was grieving two chicks. You can imagine how hard that was for him, right?

Two chicks, one of which he was about to smash. So sad.

Orpheus doubted he could go back to the Underworld and convince Hades and Persephone again. Plus, wouldn't it be kind of shameless to go rescue another lover when not long ago he had gone to rescue another?

Hades and Persephone were loyal to each other. They liked true love. The one that sacrifices everything. The one that doesn't forget.

He had clearly forgotten his wife if he was now planning to rescue another woman. It wouldn't work.

But neither was he going to just give up.

That's why he instead played his lyre to put Cerberus, a three-headed-dog that guarded the Underworld, to sleep, after which he was able to sneak Hippolyta out of there.

This time he had learnt his lesson. He never looked back, not even when he had reached the world of the living. He just stood there, his eyes closed.

It wasn't until Hippolyta came in front of him and kissed him when he knew he had done it. When he knew he had rescued her. When he opened his eyes and rejoiced.

Unfortunately, that's exactly when Hera banished all the Amazons out of the normal world into this strange realm, all because of what Hippolyta called Penthesilea's stupid sacrifice.

She had sacrificed Zeus' son and earned fury of the god.

It was all Penthesilea's fault and she intended to make her suffer the same way she made her suffer.