Calliope sings her song, but then her voice inexplicably becomes drowned out, leaving Infinity to sing the last of her song. That song tells the story of a woman lost at sea who hears a woman in distress from ancient times. A dark ruler punishes her by forcing her voice to be trapped in an echo. The echo travels thousands of years in order to reach the point where the woman lost at sea finds her way home. Infinity sings the last of the song so that the woman lost at sea can find her way home and for the other woman's echo to become freed from its perpetual echo. "A broken marble visage greets her eyes. She has been here. She has seen this moment unfold. It has already happened, but her voice remains unheard, untextured by time. She is frozen in her own heart's secret infinity. Sing, Muse, sing, a voice says. But her own voice falters in its epic reply. All she can do is soak her heart into the fragrant depths of a poetry unspoken. A poetry that moves along the rhythms of the ocean. She yearns for her voice to come out. But she must wait. She knows it. She cannot yet sing. Her slender frame moves across the room like a whisper in the wind. This familiarity becomes even more familiar. Her mind races. The marble statue's fragmented cheek strikes her elusive core, and then her sight drifts beyond the flawed curvature to focus on the marble eyes. She sees how the marble eyes gaze at infinity, and then she loses all focus. Something echoes from afar, deep through rich olive groves under a burning blue sky and the honeyed voices of poets. Someone calls upon her, and she hears a voice from where she is, a lofty outcrop that nearly mirrors the heights of Mount Olympus. But she cannot yet sing. Her thoughts scatter like raindrops across a windswept ocean. But then she begins to regain focus, her thoughts swimming along a familiar orbit. Her blue dress partially reflects the bruised bar of sunlight on the wall. A man and woman lay lifeless on the cold marble floor as they hold each other. On her left, she sees a man laying face down, exposing a bloodied heel. She darts her eyes outside the spotless wall of glass. Her sight drifts across the Cycladic architecture to see the shimmering sea. The kernel of her most recent memory is freshly perfumed. That memory pierces the whiteness of the dome above. She now inhabits the present moment, feeling the atmosphere weighing down on her. Inside this lavish room, she sees shadows dancing invisibly. She feels someone calling upon her from beyond the ocean to help tell a tale, to summon and splay endless unadorned rivers of truth. But she is not ready to help tell a tale yet. Her own memory takes a fruitless leap across a void from time to time. She cannot tell the tale of who these people were. Suddenly, she realizes that the bodies that lay here are from different times. The bodies vanish but then reappear separately at various intervals, as though her mind is secretly trying to trace the elusive scent of her own memory. She hears a voice: "Sing, Muse." But she cannot yet sing."