As dusk fell rapidly, Hades remained seated in his chair, his posture relaxed yet unmoving, as though carved from shadow itself. The fireplace before him was the only source of light in the room, its flames flickering low and restless, casting warped silhouettes across the stone walls. Shadows clung to every corner, swallowing the room whole, leaving only the fire's glow to breathe life into the darkness.
In his hand rested a glass of liquor. He did not drink from it. Instead, he swayed it slowly, absent mindedly, the amber liquid catching the firelight as his eyes remained fixed on the flames. He watched the fire as though it might speak to him, as though the shifting embers carried answers he refused to voice aloud.
The silence stretched so loudly that it had almost buzzed in the air. Though it seems that Hades enjoyed the silent, the other person in the room didn't appreciate the quietness as he did. At last, the other presence in the room broke it.
