She was so engrossed with her task she almost ran into Hades straight on.

“Allow me.” Hades fixed the clasp for her, the tips of her fingers brushing Persephone’s skin as she did so.

Persephone blushed and glanced away, the echoes of her dream still vivid in her mind. A dream... or a vision, yet to pass. Would there ever be a time during her long immortality where she could bring herself to forgive Hades?

The goddess in question wore black again, as if it were some kind of uniform, the color bringing out the unnatural paleness of her skin. The fabric was so diaphanous it billowed out behind her as she walked, like smoke floating in the air.

“Come,” Hades said. “We should not keep our shades waiting.” She proceeded, not glancing back to see whether Persephone was following. Her strides were long, so that Persephone had to hurry to catch up.

“Our shades?”

“The dead.” Hades had seemed so talkative the night before, but this morning her words were clipped, the expression on her face neither tender nor kind.

Persephone tried to maintain the silence but failed. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, then bit her tongue, silently cursing herself.

“Well enough. And you?”

Persephone blushed again, grateful that Hades was not looking at her. “Yes, thank you.”

They reached the back of the throne room. A raised dais held two thrones, one black and tall, the other slightly smaller and finished with its natural grain. They were both carved from olive wood, with anthemia ornamenting their backs. Above them was a large cupola with arched windows inset, pouring natural light into the room.

Past the dais were statues of some of the other gods and goddesses of the underworld: Thanatos, Hypnos, and the Moirai, larger than life and lining the walkway that stretched down for many lengths.

Hades took her place on the black throne and gestured to Persephone to sit beside her.

Already assembled were several members of Hades’ court. Persephone crossed the dais and sat down, uncomfortably aware of all the eyes upon her. She should have fixed her hair, after all.

“I thank you all for your attendance,” Hades said, her voice pitched to carry through the chamber. Black drapes hanging along the walls dampened any echo. “We have a long list of judgments to administer today, so let us begin.”

A herald standing to one side of the dais glanced down at a scroll and announced the first mortals. “The hero Theseus, of Athens, and King Pirithous, of Thessaly.”

Persephone gripped the arms of her throne, watching as the two men came into view and began the long walk down toward the dais. She was somewhat relieved to see neither of them showed the wounds of their death, no ragged scar encircling Pirithous’s neck and no stab wounds soaking Theseus’s tunic. They both looked alive enough, though somewhat grayer of face.