“Because it’s fun,” he said, then paused and looked up. “It’s the best time of year.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, still suspicious. She moved languidly, like a river, observing his work.
“So, the mortals decorate trees for fun?”
“Gods too,” he said. “You should see the Underworld.”
Her brows rose and Hermes chuckled.
“Are you still telling your unfortunate visitors it is a joyless, dark place?”
“If it is not, then Hades has indeed changed.”
“Not to be rude, Circe, but the only thing in the world that hasn’t changed is you.” Hermes skewered a berry as he spoke, fingers throbbing. He’d been at this for hours and didn’t have a lot to show for it. “Though, you should probably continue to threaten people with a dreadful afterlife. I’m not sure mortal life is very motivating compared to it.”
“Tell me about it, then,” said Circe, taking a seat on her fur-covered lounge.
“You want to know about the Underworld?” he asked, surprised.
She shrugged. “And the Upperworld. They celebrate this festival too?”
“It’s not really a festival,” said Hermes. “I mean there are Christmas festivals, but not in the way you likely think of festivals.”
Circe did not look pleased with his comment.
“You said there are lights on trees and yet they do not burn. How?”
“Electricity,” he said. “Think of it like…contained lightning…except don’t because Zeus wasn’t responsible.”
Circe’s expression was blank. “You are certainly painting a picture, though I am not sure it is the one you intend.”
“Well, if you had electricity, this would all be easier. I could show you pictures and videos.”
“It sounds as though you have lost your ability to tell stories without this…electricity.”
“I can tell stories,” Hermes argued.
“Then do,” she said.
He thought for a moment; his mind scrambled as he searched for a place to begin, reaching for the words that would convey not only what the world was like but how he felt about it, especially during this time of year. He closed his eyes and thought about what he’d left behind when he’d been transported here.
“The lights are like the stars here,” he said. “I had forgotten how beautiful the sky truly is, the city is so bright. Maybe that’s why I like them so much, all those clustered bright lights.”
“If you love the stars so much, why do you spend your time in the city? You could see lights like that every day here.”
“Are you inviting me to stay, Circe?” Hermes asked.
The goddess offered a dull look, and he answered her question. “I stay because that’s where my friends are,” he said
Circe looked at him like that was a foreign concept.
She rose from the lounge and approach the table where he sat. “What are you doing?”
“I am making garland for the tree,” he said as he stabbed another berry. Then he looked up and asked sheepishly, “Do you want to help?”
She sank into the chair across from him which he took to mean yes.
Hermes measured out a length of string and threaded a bronze needle he’d found in a box under one of Circe’s tables. If it bothered her, she didn’t say, but he wasn’t about to admit that he’d turned her entire house over in the search and discovered she collected some weird shit over the years.
