The Underworld.
Hades' Fortress.
Unlike the currently chaotic overworld, Hades' fortress was quiet, the dim lantern-flames along its obsidian halls flickering with a steady, patient glow.
Hera, as one of the twelve Patrons of Hades, walked with her usual regality, though the storm of Olympus still weighed on her mind.
Her sandals echoed against the marble floor as she approached the dark, looming doors of Hades's office.
She composed herself, lifting her chin, and with a single push, opened the door.
And froze.
Her eyes widened, almost popping out of her head at the sight before her.
Aphrodite sat on Hades's lap, facing him, her silken hair spilling across his chest as she leaned close, speaking in a sing-song voice.
Hades, for his part, looked utterly exhausted, his purple eyes heavy, but his hands rested at her hips nonetheless, steadying her absentmindedly as he listened.
The air grew sharp. And Hera saw red.
