#neonopen

the king of the death was tired . his usual flawless face now had bags under his eyes . it was hard for him , not knowing . he knew his brother had many ( many ) enemies . “ but who is stronger than the king of the gods ? ” he mumbled , not even realizing the words had left his mouth .

life goes on. this much had grown rather apparent to hel in her time above. people live, and then they die, and life goes on. you see, she — in her many, many years — had not experienced much of that living bit, subjected only to the after part. it was strange. life goes on, but things were different now.

hel could tell it in every soul she crossed — something had changed. everyone was much more on edge than they had been previously. she could understand why, to an extent. after all, there was a god killer on the loose. if even zeus himself could be killed . . . and yet, as everyone around her found themselves developing a rather acute case of neurosis  — life went on for hel.

unlocking the front door of her antique store, hel stepped out into the golden, morning sun, watering can in hand. how she had grown to love that warm, tingly feeling of sun-rays dancing across her skin. there was no sun in niflheim, only shadows and darkness and the cold.  hel decided she’d never grow tired of the sun — never.

she had caught an earworm shortly after rising that morning — some tune that played on the radio as she dressed — and found herself humming it as she watered her young, freshly planted chrysanthemums. she was in rather good spirits, considering the somewhat bleak sense of being the rest of new crete had subscribed to.

her tune was interrupted by the clumsiness of another, stopped just before trampling right over her newly planted flowerbed. 

“careful now, dear.” she hummed, offering the almost-chrysanthemum-killer a polite smile. “mind the ‘mums, they’re new — and i’d be dreadfully upset if they got trampled before they even had a chance to live.” 

where: the charity ball

when: sometime later in the evening.

great, a ball for the name for what, zeus? of course there is. even when the god is dead people still seem to remember who he is. then again, no one ever thought that a god could die and someone as important as zeus. if he was even as important as people made him out to be. seeing a busser walk by with a tray of champagne glasses carefully resting on the tray, the busser looked like he didn’t want to be there, not wanting to be the one to have all the champagne flutes shatter and swiftly eros grabs two glasses. one for him and one for the one next to him. “cheers.” he says handing it over to the other. “for, life i guess.” he says not really thinking of his next words very carefully.