“Your fingertips have turned to prunes. It’s not healthy to soak that long,” Persephone said, her hand on the tucked-in fold of her towel, ensuring it was secure. She hated herself for sounding like her grandfather, but she would’ve said anything to make Hades leave.

Hades shrugged. “Have I spoiled your dream of deflowering your bathhouse? I apologize.”

“What? That’s not—I—”

“Perdix and his crew might have taken a dip besides, we would never know.”

Persephone huffed. “That’s not the point!”

Hades closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the rounded edge of the bath. “Do not be cross, Persephone. I have had a very, very long day.”

Persephone was not about to let this one little thing ruin her enjoyment after months of hard work. There was room enough for thirty people, with space aplenty. She could just ignore Hades and pretend she wasn’t there.

She had bathed nude with her nymphs many a time and thought nothing of it, but still she blushed to set aside her towel, keeping her back to Hades all the while. She walked to the open showers, standing under the cold spray to rinse herself, shivering as her skin turned to gooseflesh.

Once she was clean, she squeezed out the excess water from her hair, delaying the moment when she had to turn around and cross the steps between the showers and the bath. It took a few deep breaths to relax the muscles in her forehead. Deflower a building? She had never heard anything so ridiculous. Hades just had to sweep every innocent thought into the gutter.

When she turned around at last, Hades wasn’t even looking at her, preoccupied with weaving her hair into a braid. Persephone stepped into the bath, flinching as the warm water enveloped her. She lowered herself on a seat until she was covered up to her chin. “You shouldn’t do that when it’s wet,” she said. “The strands will break.”

Hades finished her braid and tossed it over her shoulder. “You seem unusually concerned for my well-being today.”

Persephone crossed her arms over her chest and glared, then forced herself to look away and relax her posture. Her well-meant intention to ignore Hades seemed impossible, like the gesture of an opium addict throwing away their pipe. She would always come back to her.

Wait. Always?

Persephone stewed in silence, trying to draw comfort from her warm and lush surroundings and failing miserably. The staccato drip of a water clock wore away at her consciousness, her thoughts spiraling in ever-decreasing circles.

She hated Hades. She hated her.