Hades sat with deliberate calm at the long table of obsidian stone, a goblet of dark, viscous wine poised before him. He looked, at first glance, like any other wyverian man draped in black, his skin pale as bleached moonlight, his horns curling high and wickedly twisted. But his eyes betrayed him, eyes red as freshly spilt blood, unblinking and predatory.
‘My dears,’ he purred, twisting slightly to look at the three young women seated upon the settee, their hands forever busy as they wove the fragile strands of fate, life, and death itself. They were a curious trio, each unique in form and beauty, gathered from the farthest corners of the earth; they each shared dark skin, yet their features bore little resemblance to one another. ‘Are you not weary of all this spinning?’
The first to raise her veiled head was Klotho, her milky-white eyes narrowing in irritation. ‘We are all, Hades,’ she intoned, her voice ancient and hollow, reverberating across the chamber. As she spoke, her face flickered like a disturbed reflection, youth and age shifting in restless ripples. ‘We can never stop.’
Hades dismissed her words with an idle flick of his fingers. ‘Do you not miss when you were simply gods, and nothingmore?’
The sister with the sharp black dagger tilted her veiled face and cackled, the sound like cracking glass. ‘We do not dwell on such things, Hades.’ As if to punctuate her words, she sliced through a glimmering golden thread, and somewhere far away, a scream rose and died on the wind.
‘You enjoy it too much, Aisa,’ Hades said, lips curling into a sly, knowing smile.
Aisa chuckled, her long black hair cascading like silk as her veil slipped, caught on the antlers crowning her head. She twisted towards the sister at the centre, her expression sharp. ‘Hurry, Lakhesis,’ she hissed, voice like a serpent’s whisper. ‘You take far too long.’
The sister seated at the centre, dark-skinned like her kin but marked with wolverian blood, her blue eyes piercing and her hair white as winter frost, snarled in return. ‘I must measure correctly, sisters.’
Hades exhaled, his patience fraying, already weary of the Moirai and their endless squabbling. Salvation arrived as the heavy black doors groaned open and Thanatos strode in.
He was tall and slender, his pallor so stark it resembled carved marble. There was an almost sculpted perfection to him, the sharpness of muscle hidden beneath his black garb. His short white hair curled delicately, one errant strand falling across eyes so dark they seemed carved from onyx.
Thanatos sank into one of the empty chairs, his expression taut, his movements carrying the weight of some unspoken frustration.
‘Melinoe is gone,’ the god of death said at last.
‘She will return,’ Hades replied easily, reaching for another goblet of wine and passing it across.
‘How can you be socertain?’
‘I know my daughter.’ Hades’ lips split into a sharp, toothy grin. ‘Though I still think we should tell her the truth. It would be simpler than weaving lies. She would help us willingly instead of turning every word into an argument.’
‘No.’ Thanatos’ jaw locked, the muscle ticking beneath his pale skin. ‘We do not tell her.’
‘Why are you so against her knowing the truth?’
Thanatos turned away, his hand tightening around the goblet until Hades half-expected it to shatter beneath his grip.
‘Because…’ Thanatos swallowed, visibly struggling with the words. ‘She will suffer if she discovers the truth.’
‘She will suffer regardless.’
‘No. This will break her, Hades,’ Thanatos said quietly, pain singing in his voice. ‘And I cannot bear to see her hurt. I would sooner tear out my own heart than watch her suffer.’
‘Your heart does not even beat,’ Hades muttered, rolling his eyes.
Thanatos sighed, shoulders sagging. ‘You are right, it does not. But for her… for her, it does.’
Hades rose to his feet, a soft chuckle curling from his lips as he clapped Thanatos on the shoulder.
‘Very well, then. We shall keep the truth from her. But I do hope you truly know what you are doing.’ With theatrical flourish, he gave the Moirai a sweeping bow. The sisters lifted their veiled heads, the faintest rustle of displeasure escaping them, gods who clearly had little patience for constant intrusions.
‘Your sisters do not seem to like me much,’ Hades observed lightly, turning his back on their cold, unyielding stares.
‘No one particularly likes you,’ Thanatos replied dryly.
Hades laughed, deep and genuine. ‘You’re not wrong.’ He clapped Thanatos’ shoulder once more before saunteringaway, every step slow and unhurried. ‘Try smiling, Thanatos. You’ll need the practice when Melinoe comes crawling back to us.’
With that, Hades flung the heavy doors wide, the sound reverberating like thunder, and strode into the shadows beyond, his laughter echoing against the volcanic stone until it faded into silence.
They are not what they seem. None of them.
