Forget Me Not

Contrary to popular belief, the Underworld is not as bleak as it’s made out to be in the Upper World.

Tartarus is certainly more dismal and terrifying than expected, with its perpetual thunderclouds and the distant echoes of screams and wails; yet, the majority of the Underworld is lush, filled with rich, dark soil, enchanted forests, and ethereal gardens.

It is the perfect blend of Lord Hades’ darkness and Lady Persephone’s beauty. It is shadowy but elegant; somber yet mysterious. 

Asphodel, however, is not at all what I expected.

The vast meadows are indeed filled with white flowers (lively ones, not ghostly and pallid), but they are only a fraction of a much bigger whole. They are not occupied by hooded souls wandering languidly and aimlessly; instead, we reside beyond. 

Tucked within the mountains are villages abundant with souls that, surprisingly, brim with life. We do not live in luxury like the chosen in Elysium, but we live peacefully and comfortably. Some live a mild existence, particularly those who died naturally of old age. The children, of which there are an unfortunate few as they had passed too early, live playfully. The others, such as myself, live colourfully and help where we can.

Within our whitewashed walls adorned in bougainvillea, we share plenty: stories, laughter, songs. Here there is no concept of time—only connections and who we build them with. When the new dead arrive in Charon’s boat, we welcome them with open arms. During annual festivals, we gather in the village square and celebrate with feasts, games, and music. It is something we do over and over again.

It only ends (or begins) with reincarnation.

It is by choice in Elysium, but mandatory in Asphodel. We cannot choose when we reincarnate or who we will be in our next life—that is entirely up to the Fates. The annual Day of Reincarnation takes place sometime after Lady Persephone’s return to the Underworld, which I can only assume means autumn in the Upper World. On the morning of, souls selected by the Fates are given a coin engraved with an Ouroboros: an ancient symbol representing a never ending cycle. In all my time here, I have never received one.

Until today.

I answer the door to a messenger cloaked in gold—an emissary of the Fates. He hands me two coins: one for myself, and the other presumably for Reyna. He disappears before I can ask.

I shut the door and clutch the two coins in my hand, my throat suddenly full. Today will be our last day in this form; our last in Asphodel before we are born anew. Part of my heart soars with excitement at the promise of a new adventure, but it mostly feels dread at the thought of leaving behind this existence with Reyna. 

It had been wonderful.

With her, I felt like I was already in Elysium: in a state of pure happiness and fulfillment. To say I was hesitant to part with it was an understatement. 

Before I know it I am in our rooftop garden, doing what I know I must. 

“Elias?” 

I turn to find Reyna, hair down and still dressed in her nightgown, peering at me from behind the door. She’s small in stature, a small wisp of a woman, but no one could command a dance floor or a room quite like her. The children were especially fond of her during story time, but I couldn’t blame them. She was mesmerizing to watch and full of imagination.

I don’t recall much of my past life, but I know for certain that I loved her. I was drawn to her the moment we arrived in Asphodel, and there was an ease of being with her here that my heart knows did not exist in the Upper World. Here, she was beloved by all, always interacting with the other souls politely and with grace. I’m convinced she must have been some form of royalty, and judging by the way my hands have naturally gravitated towards paints and blank canvases, I must have been an artist.

It’s mere speculation, but it would explain why we couldn’t be together in our past lives. A royal couldn’t marry a common artist, no matter how talented, but in the Underworld, we’re only separated by our deeds and how we lived in the Upper World. There is no separation of class. 

In some cases, we are freer in death than we were in life.

“Did we have a visitor?” Reyna asks, catapulting me back into the present.

I approach her with both hands behind my back and a hollow smile.

“Yes,” I answer. My expressions are like the books she’s reread a thousand times—familiar and unmistakable, which means that she already knows something is amiss. So with my right hand I reach into the pockets of my trousers and reveal the two coins inside. 

Reyna gasps. I see the initial excitement, the one I had felt earlier, but then see it melt away in the face of the same dread. She knows. She knows that later tonight, we’d have to drink from the Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness, to start anew in the Upper World. We’d have no memory of our time here: no memory of our strolls through the meadow, of our festivities with the other souls, of our humble home littered with books and paintings. 

For the first time in decades, maybe even a century, we’d be apart. 

“Don’t despair,” I say when her eyes begin welling up with tears. “We’ll find each other again.”

“How do you know?” she whimpers.

“Because we are literal soulmates that love each other to our very core, and I am convinced that the Fates have intertwined our threads for eternity. Why else would we be reincarnated at the same time?”

Her bottom lip quivers as she covers the coins with her own hand, pressing the two together. Always together. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Look at it this way: we'll get to fall for each other all over again,” I encourage. “Isn’t that exciting?”

I know I’ve cheered her up a bit when I see a hint of mischief in her grin. 

“Maybe in our next life your hair won’t be as shaggy,” she jests, running a hand through my unruly brown locks. 

I smirk. Two could play this game.

“Maybe you’ll actually reach my shoulders,” I counter, patting her on the head with ease and affection. 

She crosses her arms with a huff, and it’s then that I decide to give her the gift that I’d crafted for her this morning. I draw my left hand from behind my back and present her with a crown of forget-me-nots, intricately woven in a perfect circle as a symbol of my unending affection. I gently place it upon her head, and the tears that she’d been withholding fall freely as she pulls me into a desperate embrace.

“We’ll find each other again,” I say with hard certainty. I pull her closer despite the pain throbbing in my own chest. “Whatever our names will be, however we’ll look, we’ll know.”

She sobs harder and it takes everything in me to stay strong and not crumble alongside her.

-

At dusk, we head for the Lethe. 

We walk down the cobblestone pathways hand-in-hand, dressed in our finest garments: me in my tunic, vest, and trousers, and Reyna in her favourite periwinkle dress and crown of forget-me-nots. We’re joined by the other souls that received a coin, and those who haven’t shower us with well wishes and lead the way with sky lanterns. 

As we approach the meadow, I begin to wonder what Reyna and I will be like in our next life. What would we look like? What kind of life would we have? Perhaps our hair will be light instead of dark, hers long instead of short. Instead of cerulean blue with flecks of storm grey, maybe her eyes will be green, or brown, or a combination of the two. But no matter the colour, I know I’ll eventually find the perfect mixture for it, and I’ll willingly drown in them all the same. 

Perhaps society will let us marry, and we’ll have kids and grow old together. We had died in our early twenties in our past life (a mass devastation involving a volcanic eruption, according to Thanatos), and in all our time in Asphodel we have not physically decayed. Reyna’s beauty will forever be unmatched, but it would be nice to see her age as a caring mother. If Atropos, the sister responsible for cutting life threads, was generous enough to let us grow old, maybe I’d even see her as a grandmother, white-haired and elegant as ever. 

The possibilities were endless, but so long as our threads remain intertwined, I know my life will have purpose.

We approach the riverbank all too soon, the one surrounded by a grove of silver trees, and fall into a single-file line. One by one we watch as souls receive blessings from Lord Hades and Lady Persephone, drink from the Lethe, and pass through the Gates of Rebirth on the other side. 

Seeing Lord Hades and Lady Persephone here brings about a sense of calm in me. Like the true, caring rulers they are, they welcomed us here and they will see us depart. In the Upper World we were taught to fear the very mention of Lord Hades, and while he is rather reserved and rightfully feared by those in Tartarus, I have come to learn that he is a generous god. He genuinely cares for the souls in Asphodel and Elysium and addresses us all by name whenever the opportunity presents itself.

We’d also been made to believe that he kidnapped Lady Persephone and coerced her into marrying him, but judging by the way she gazes at him during the many many banquets that she hosts in their opulent palace, she is here of her own volition. She looks at the God of the Dead with reverence and admiration—a look I’m quite familiar with, given that it’s one I receive from Reyna daily.

A look I hope she’ll continue to give me on the other side of those gates.

Reyna is up next, and I watch as she tucks a few strands of her dark hair behind her left ear. It’s something she does whenever she’s nervous, and one of the many things I memorize and love about her. The soul in front of us passes through, and she tenses when she is called up next. I know she’s trying to put on a brave face, but in her eyes I can see a swirling maelstrom of fear and doubt. I squeeze her hand tighter in support.

“Have courage, darling,” I tell her. “We’ll be together again.”

“Promise?” she whispers.

“I promise.”

I press a loving kiss to her forehead; a gesture that has all sorts of emotions threatening to burst out of me, so I keep it short and sweet.

“Reyna?” Lady Persephone calls, her voice soft and melodic. From here I can see that she and Lord Hades are in their divine form: glowing, powerful, and magnificent. “It is time.”

Reyna parts from me with a shaky breath and composes herself, something that has always seemed so effortless for her, and steps forward.

“I’ll see you soon,” I assure.

She glances back at me in her current form one last time, and I find myself yearning to capture her on canvas—to suspend her adoring expression against a backdrop of sparkling waters.

“I look forward to it,” she says. They’re her final words to me before she takes her leave.

I watch as she receives words of wisdom from Lord Hades, a narcissus from Lady Persephone, and feel my lungs convulse when she drinks from the Lethe, wiping all memories of us in this form from her mind. She then walks through the iron-wrought Gates of Rebirth and disappears in a flurry of twinkling lights, born anew in the Upper World.

It dawns on me then that this probably isn’t the first time we’ve done this. It could’ve been the second time, the tenth, or even the fiftieth, but I’d go through it a hundred more times and a hundred after that until she and I eventually made it to the Isles of the Blessed.

But only together—always together. 

“Elias,” Lord Hades calls.

I straighten and walk forward, ready for whatever the Fates have in store for me beyond the gates.

22 years later

“Matcha latte with almond milk!”

I set down the order on the pickup counter and watch as a student wearing massive headphones wordlessly takes their drink and leaves without eye contact.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter. After a discreet eye roll I turn back around and review the next order.

Being a barista at The Daily Grind wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it was something. Of course I’d much rather be putting my Fine Arts degree to good use, but until then, this would start paying off the mountain of student loans.  

And given that I was a coffee addict, the thirty-percent discount didn’t hurt, either.

My hands go through the motions of making the next order, a purely repetitive and non-creative process, and place it on the pickup counter once more.

“Caramel macchiato for Roslyn,” I call out. Unlike the first time, I don’t bother waiting for the customer to take their drink, but my ears perk upward in surprise when I hear a gentle “thank you”.

I turn towards the customer and catch her glancing at my name tag.

“Thank you… Erik,” she says graciously. My lips part in awe. 

She’s breathtaking. 

Caramel-coloured hair, bright brown eyes beneath thick-framed glasses, cute button nose, and pouty pink lips. In one hand she carries her drink, and in the other, a manuscript. An aspiring book editor perhaps? She wears a teal-coloured dress that compliments her perfectly, fit and palette-wise, and I find myself completely enamored. 

I must’ve been staring too long though, because I appear to be making her nervous. She tucks some hair behind her left ear and something about the gesture has me feeling the strangest sensation.

I can’t quite explain it, but we’ve crossed paths somewhere. These are eyes I’ve lost myself in before, hands I’ve held, lips I’ve kissed. They don’t look quite the same, but they’re familiar, I know it. 

Somehow, some way, she must feel the same, because not long after we say the words simultaneously.

“Have we met before?”