The Orestiad: Epiphany
Bright, white, boring, and hideously feminine. No one prepared me for that part of death. If they had, I never would’ve been so on board with the “glorified deaths are the height of honor” mantra and I certainly would never have entered into anything liable to send me to this monotonous, ladies’ perfume-scented hellhole any sooner than the date I actually arrived here. Of course, I knew about the Asphodel beforehand. Who didn’t? But I never really thought about ever being completely surrounded by the ghastly stuff, let alone being surrounded by it for all eternity.
Yes, eternity. A large word for a large concept. It makes me laugh when I remember how the living used to complain of people or things taking an “eternity” to be completed or to do something. They have no idea. No one has any idea of eternity until they have died and are forced to exist, bodiless, amidst this sea of whiteness. And still, the dead know only a fraction of what eternity truly is unless they, like me, are forced to wear their regrets like chains for the rest of it.