The cave was alive with music. It had always been alive with music, for it is said that it was the only thing within the cave that was alive. The eternal dancers of this cave were once called Bacchae. But they’d since lost that with Rome. Every second of the day was spent in a celebration, but many of the dancers had forgotten what they celebrated. They simply stepped in line to the tune. The only things that they feared were the ceasing of the music and the exhaustion of the wine. The man, if he could still be called a man, would weep and howl until the wine was replenished and the hide of the drum refashioned. Bacchae, for their part, would do anything to keep the forever dance.
They had loved the creature that had once been a man. They loved him for his voice and for his talent for song. They loved him so dearly that they tore his head free from his body, if only just so they could be free from how it made them feel. They never expected the body to grow back.
The Bacchae would have killed the man for his insolence, but they could not bear to part with his music. They wanted to keep him with them forever. So they tore him apart and refashioned him into a creature that could never die.
The man was now a thing of nightmares. A being of unending hunger and thirst. A being that could never rest. A being that was nothing more than a shell of a man.
Would that be any different from what they were?
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