In Thrace, a land of mountains and forests, there lived Orpheus, the most extraordinary musician who ever existed. Orpheus was the son of Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, from whom he inherited a divine talent. He played the lyre, a stringed instrument given to him by the god Apollo himself. And when Orpheus played, the whole world stopped to listen.

When Orpheus played his lyre, wild animals drew near, gentle and tame, and lions and wolves lay down at his feet. The trees bent closer to hear, and the leaves danced even without wind. Rivers changed their course to flow nearer to him, and it was said that even the stones wept for joy. On Olympus, the gods themselves paused whatever they were doing to listen.

No one, mortal or immortal, played music as beautiful as Orpheus's.

One day, Orpheus met a nymph named Eurydice. She was lovely as the spring, with hair that shone like honey in the sun, gentle eyes, and a musical laugh. When Orpheus saw her, his heart sang a melody it had never played before: the melody of true love. And when Eurydice heard Orpheus play, she fell in love too.

"Your music," said Eurydice, "speaks straight to my soul."

"And your smile," said Orpheus, "is the only music my heart wants to hear."

They were married in a beautiful ceremony. All the gods attended, and even Hymen, the god of marriage, came to bless them. But something strange happened: Hymen's torch smoked and went out. It was a bad omen, and the guests murmured nervously. Orpheus and Eurydice, though, had eyes only for each other.

"Nothing can separate us," they said. "Our love is eternal."

They were immensely happy. Every day was full of music, laughter, and love. Orpheus composed songs for Eurydice, and she danced while he played. It was a perfect love.

But the happiness did not last long. One day, Eurydice was walking in a meadow with her nymph friends. She was picking flowers, laughing, dancing among the trees. Suddenly she felt something at her foot: a venomous serpent had bitten her ankle.

Eurydice cried out in pain. The venom spread quickly, and she fell. Her friends ran to help her, but it was too late. Within minutes, Eurydice was dead.

When Orpheus heard the news, he ran to where Eurydice's body lay and held her in his arms.

"No. Eurydice. Come back to me," he begged, softly.

But she was cold and still. Her soul had gone down to the World of the Dead.

Orpheus wept a grief so deep it made the mountains tremble. He played his lyre, but the music that came out was so sad that the trees dropped their leaves, the rivers stopped flowing, the animals cried, and the sky itself grew dark.

"I cannot live without her," said Orpheus. "I will not live without her."

Then Orpheus made a decision no living mortal had ever made.

"I will go to the World of the Dead," he declared. "I will bring Eurydice back."

Everyone said it was madness.

"No living soul enters the realm of Hades and returns," they warned.

"Then I will be the first," said Orpheus.

He took his lyre and walked until he found an entrance to the World of the Dead, a deep cave that led down into darkness. Down he went, and down, and down. For hours, for days, until he reached the river Styx, the river that divides the world of the living from the world of the dead.

Charon, the ferryman of the dead, blocked his way.

"You are alive," he growled. "You cannot pass. Only the dead cross the Styx."

Orpheus did not argue. He simply began to play his lyre. The music was so beautiful, so sad, so full of love, that Charon wept. For the first time in millennia, tears ran down the old ferryman's face.

"Come aboard," he whispered. "I have never heard music so beautiful."

And Orpheus crossed the river.

At the gate, Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guarded the entrance, snarled. His three mouths dripped, ready to devour Orpheus. But Orpheus played again, and this time the music was like a lullaby. Cerberus lowered his three heads, closed his six eyes, and slept, snoring softly.

Orpheus walked past the sleeping monster. He crossed the fields of spirits, and all of them stopped to hear his music. Even the most tormented souls found a moment of peace as he passed by, playing.

At last, Orpheus reached the palace of Hades and Persephone, the king and queen of the dead. Hades sat on his dark throne, Persephone at his side. They both looked coldly at Orpheus.

"Alive?" thundered Hades. "You dare enter my realm alive?"

"Please," said Orpheus. "Let my music speak for me."

And he began to play. The music told a story: a love at first sight, a perfect happiness, a sudden loss, a grief beyond measure — and a love so strong that it defied death itself.

As Orpheus played, something impossible happened. Persephone began to weep — she who had been carried off by Hades, who knew separation, who lived divided between two worlds. And then, more impossible still, Hades wept. Hades, the god who never showed emotion, the lord of the dead, hard as stone. For the first time in all eternity, Hades felt compassion.

"Stop," said Hades, his voice breaking. "Your music is too powerful."

"Orpheus," said Hades slowly, "you have done the impossible. You have moved my heart of stone. We will give Eurydice back."

Orpheus nearly fell to his knees with joy.

"But," Hades went on, "there is one condition. Eurydice will follow behind you, walking in the shadows, and you will lead her back to the world of the living. You must not look back. You must not look at Eurydice until you are both fully in the sunlight. If you look before then, she will return to me, forever."

Orpheus trembled.

"I understand. I will not look. I promise."

Orpheus began to climb. He left the palace, passed Cerberus, crossed the river Styx. Up through the dark cave he went.

Behind him, silence. He could not hear Eurydice's footsteps. He could not hear her breathing. "Is she there?" Orpheus wondered. "Did Hades trick me? What if she isn't following?" But he kept going. He did not look.

He climbed higher, and the darkness began to thin. "Almost there," he thought. "Just a little farther." But the doubt kept growing. "What if I reach the surface and she is not there? What if I have been walking alone?"

Orpheus could see the sunlight ahead now. So close. The waiting was unbearable. "I have to know. I have to be sure she is with me."

He took one more step, and the sunlight touched his face. "There. I am in the light." But was he, completely? Were both his feet on the surface? In that moment of uncertainty, in that one second of doubt, Orpheus looked back.

And there she was. Eurydice. Beautiful, alive, smiling, reaching out her hand. Still in the shadows. One step from the light.

"Orpheus," Eurydice whispered. "Why did you look?"

Their eyes met. For one second, they were together again. Then Eurydice began to fade, pulled back toward the darkness.

"No!" cried Orpheus, reaching out.

Their fingers touched, for an instant.

"Goodbye, my love," Eurydice whispered, without anger. Only sadness.

"Eurydice! Eurydice!"

But she dissolved like smoke, melting into the shadows. And she was gone. Forever.

Orpheus tried to go back. He ran to the entrance of the cave. But this time Charon refused.

"You had your chance," said the ferryman. "There is no second one."

Orpheus stayed at the entrance for seven days, without eating, without drinking, playing his sorrowful music. But the gates of the World of the Dead remained closed. At last, broken, Orpheus returned to the surface. He was a shattered man. He never smiled again, never loved again. He only played sad songs about Eurydice.

For years, Orpheus wandered, playing songs of mourning. He refused the love of every woman. "My heart belongs to Eurydice," he said.

One day, a band of women seized by wild frenzy, the Maenads, followers of Dionysus, came upon Orpheus. They wanted joyful songs, but Orpheus could only play sad ones. Enraged, the Maenads attacked him. Orpheus tried to defend himself with his music, but there were too many. They killed him, and threw his lyre into the river.

And they say that when Orpheus died, his soul went down to the World of the Dead. And there, waiting for him, was Eurydice. She smiled and reached out her hand. This time, nothing could separate them.

They walk through the fields of asphodel hand in hand. Orpheus plays his lyre, and Eurydice dances. Forever.