( In her dream... )

Melpomene gazes out the window, watching her faint reflection.

"Sometimes I wonder about that. Whether, for example, things could have been better if the library of Alexandria hadn't been burned. But... that's why the idea of a time machine is terrifying. Because we can't know until things are already changed."

This story happened a long time ago, before the Nine were separated, before the dance was forgotten and the temple abandoned. This story is about the time Melpomene went down to the river to talk to Akheloios.

( Listen. )

Arriving at the Visitor's Center, Melpomene takes a look around.

"Well, this is it. In all its touristic glory. "

Melpomene slept deeply without dreaming, and only woke up when the light between the curtains fell across her eyes.

It was a nice way to wake up. So now, as she opens her eyes, she stirs only slightly, and then settles back into a comfortable position.

They are outside the Blue Owl Bar. It's mid-morning, so there are cars rushing [so to speak] by, and people walking, biking, or rollerblading down the sidewalk nearby.

"Well, here we are,"  she says brightly, ponytail ruffled by a light breeze.

They step through the door, and find themselves on the cracked sidewalk outside of a lively bar. A sign glows: "Blue Owl."

It's nighttime, but the city still glows with all kinds of light, and shakes with the noise of honking, shouting, music, the clinking of glasses, all blending together into the cacophony and symphony of the city.

Melpomene looks around. "Well, we're back... Right where I started."

Yes, she'd been away for a long time-- or was it only a few days?-- and she didn't miss it. She didn't. New York City, with its flickering lights and smoky dark rooms, had everything. Things were gritty and gloomy, and she liked them that way. Yet--

-- there was something charming about a sentient bar, and the cheery chatter that was different. But she wouldn't admit she wanted to go back, not ever. She didn't keep a calendar, and she didn't go over to that bar she'd stepped through that one time into another world every Friday just to see if it would do that again.

But the one time she wasn't trying, it happened, and without even a breeze. She stepped through.

It has been a long time since she's acknowledged the fact that she is dead.

She's immortal, but her heart has never raced, or throbbed, or ached. She's never had one.

She pretends she's whole without it.

That fools no one, least of all herself. Often, lately, she stops pretending, and remembers (too well, Mother, you drag me in)-- it is a dull pain, a long-lasting twinge in an organ she's never had, that never screams but murmurs softly in her ear, the Chinese torture of myths. Can't rip it out; it's already gone.

Lately, sitting at the window is torture, too. Knowing that she cannot throw herself down through the glass fall with the wind in her brittle hair let it all go jarringly into darkness peacepeacepeace the world goes ticking on--

The problem is, no god can be an atheist. She has no choice but to believe.

It's the most wonderful time of the year, sings Melpomene absently to herself, avoiding eye contact with the sky, which threatens to sleet on her at any moment. Afterwards she immediately wants to hit herself over the head with something heavy. She's feeling a distinct lack of cheer, and every Santa-hatted elf flashing her a quick smile grates on her nerves.

The windows she passes are filled with colorful lights and laughing families, putting ornaments on the Christmas tree together or cleaning up after their pot roast dinner, as if posing for a portrait. Outside, Melpomene shivers under her trenchcoat, hurrying home with a pack of cotton candy bubble gum from the drug store around the corner.

They don't remember, she thinks. It should be a smug thought, but it's mostly desperation. It's just gift certificates and satin ribbons to them, isn't it?

She's about to turn down the dark street which, after a few more twists and turns, will lead her home, when she decides instead to go to the bar. It's not a pastime she's particularly ashamed of, and a tequila might sooth the sharp sound of laughter echoing out onto the street...

So, tucking the pack of gum into her pocket, Melpomene reaches the door, which jangles with overflowing holiday cheer, and pulls it open. Inside is something she's not expecting - Ho, ho, ho.