and the ground returned to cool
polished dark stones making a path
that led to a bridge in the distance.
Before I could think more
on the fog that surrounded it,
or the strange light that rose
from beneath the bridge,
I heard a cold, awful wailing.
Kokytos
It was a sound so full of despair,
so profoundly mournful
that I wanted to cover my ears.
What could make such a noise?
I squinted my eyes to see another river,
this one cut between a smooth floor.
So perfectly shaped,
I almost didn’t think of it
as a river at all.
All around it walked spirits,
translucent, barely there,
threads of mourning connecting them.
Every now and then
they would stop to drink
from the waters of this river,
and as they lifted their heads
they would wail and mourn,
all over again.
‘This is Kokytos,’ Styx whispered,
‘The river of lamentation.
Every soul who drinks these waters
