Persephone

III

He hated this throne. He hated sitting on it. It felt like ice, and he so often curled into himself instead of sitting straight, which undermined the imposing presence the seat was intended to have.

It was a few millennia ago now, that he had stopped using its ridiculous monarchal symbolism. He had moved it from the throne room to the corner of his cluttered chamber, and covered it with a black velvet cloth triumphantly. He came back from another summoning to Olympus and drifted into the diplomatic hall, lurching to a halt as he stared at the seat, restored to its rightful place, glowing slightly with an electric light.

A warning.

He hadn't moved it an inch since.

"Styx will be here shortly to discuss Scylla once more."

Hades rubbed his face roughly with his hands. "Yes, yes, she will."

Alastor lowered his head, before marching out, charred hooves clattering on the raised stone and ears flicking at the sounds of souls ebbing past. He blew out a breath, resting his head back on the carvings of the Titanomachy. His hair shifted slightly over the onyx sewn into the rock, showing him plunging a blade deep into Kronos's chest, a lethal snarl twisting his features as rubies and dark opals exploded from his father's ribs. The light always caught it just right so it projected faintly onto the far wall. A reminder to everyone that walked through the doors the brutal ways of the God of the Underworld.

He hated it. All of it. Everything about this room sickened him. He closed his eyes to puncture the cruel memories worming their way into his mind.

"My lord."

He recognised that voice. Without relinquishing his sight from his strangling mental grip, he replied lightly, "My lady Styx."

He wasn't sure why he expected her to look different when he opened his eyes.

She always looked like death.

Thin, pale skin, unblemished as the face of a youth. But there was deep age behind her eyes that told of many horrors lurking below the honeyed contempt.

She walked forward, obsidian robes rippling around her bare feet like ominous tides swirled by eerie monsters lingering at the bottom of the sea. When she had reached the bottom of the throne's dais, she bowed, low and deep, before smoothly rising to her feet again. She always stood so tall, with such beautiful, elegant disdain.

"Why do you still partake in that."

She smiled. He caught a glimpse of the pointed needle-like teeth before her full blue lips covered over them again.

"Because traditions must be maintained, my lord," she said in that lilting, intoxicating voice. She had offered her body once, on one of her rare journeys down here. He had said no. Sometimes he regretted it.

Hades stood and began stalking to the bureaucratic chamber.

"No, traditions must be discarded when they no longer serve their purpose and become a hindrance in crucial change."

He could hear her smirk as she slid into the room, the only sound the whispering of Oceanid silk on the floor.

He exhaled inaudibly and scratched his nose self-consciously before saying, "I'm sorry. It has been - it has been trying, recently."

She nodded, the silver in her skin shifting as she lowered her head.

"It is near the changing of the moon and stars," she said, brushing her fingers over the obsidian tabletop. "All the Olympians are unsettled at this time. Nyx has been, more so than usual."

There was another silence, and Styx stared at the god of death's uneasiness before lowering herself into a chair of water and darkness. Hades did the same, less delicately, before sitting up straight and turning a hand over the tabletop, where a long roll of parchment had now appeared out of a haze of smoke.

"Scylla," he said, bringing into existence a new burn on the page with the date stamped neatly in the centre.

"She has been more aggravated lately."

"I know. I know."

He set his elbows down on the tabletop and messied his hair before mumbling, "Should we ..."

He trailed off, uncomfortable with the suggestion he was about to make. Styx finished the thought for him.

"Yes, I think it's the only way. She almost had Hermes' head whilst he was delivering a message to Alkaios. There has been much too much power in the Styx at the moment, with all the death."

"I'd noticed," he muttered bitterly, staring out across the plains of death at the now dangerously high levels of the river. Ares had been hard at work being an impulsive fool.

"It's not just Ares' fault," Styx stated simply, staring at his face, now contorted in irritation and anger. He looked up and frowned.

"It's Zeus. He refuses to keep him in line. He is too distracted by young mortal girls and good wine to behave like a king -"

"Enough, lady," Hades said softly, staring at the place on the table that was set aside for messages from Olympus.

"You agree with me Hades. He is creating chaos out of nothing, and he has not been fit to rule Olympus for a long time -"

"Enough, Styx."

It was a command this time, and the goddess of the river remained silent.

He stared at the table before murmuring, "It will take time to restrain her. Your chambers have been made ready for you."

She nodded, cheek resting gently on her hand, her regal posture still maintained. She was mesmerising when she wanted to be.

He couldn't be in the same room as her when she was like this. She reminded him of everything he'd lost rotting in the dark. It wasn't fair. And he couldn't give her what she wanted in any case.

It was hard when he was so lonely.

He stood up, hand slithering over the back of the chair as he made his way towards the door. He would have liked to excuse himself politely, but he was in too much pain to speak.

"Hades."

He stopped, unwillingly.

"I wish you would speak to Zeus. Or any of the Twelve. They do not know how difficult it is, watching over the dead. They feel your absences as slighting insults."

He closed his eyes and tried not to let memories seep into his consciousness again. That was what dreams were for.

He turned his head only slightly, so that Styx could partially see his face.

"Let them," he hissed, before striding out the room, into the lifeless fluorescence of gemstones that screamed an age old story of death.