Giggling maniacally, we spied through the hole in the stone. It had been a slow day in the Realm of the Dead; we were bored. This is a bad thing for dieties to be, especially these kind. "I can't BELIEVE this! Is that Belit? Our little Belly- Bel?"

"SHHHH!" came at Nutmeg from all directions. Yes. It was our Belit. Sneaking out of a cell. That wasn't so unusual; she thrives on torment. The strange and entertaining bit pertained to who's cell it was. It belonged to a mortal too crafty for his own good, one clever King Sisyphus. Sound familiar? Of course! He's something of a local legend down here, having had the audacity to pull not just one fast one on Hades, but several. Even getting repeatedly squashed by a rock doesn't seem to dent his pride and dignity. Or his mouth. Several of us, who shall remain nameless until such a time as I desire blackmail material, decided it would be a waste of a fine, sharp wit and a wonderful sense of humor to allow him to drink of the Lethe upon his third and final arrival to these depths. So we gave him a bit of Belit's roobeer instead, and forged the proper documentation.

And now that same small purple goddess was skulking away from Sisyphus' cell. And straightening her chiton. There was nothing to be done for her hair, save a permanent. It really was possible to take that "tousled" look too far.

This had been going on for sometime now..that was the humor of it. Not only that she was acting like a teenager, but tied into this far- past Springer episode was the fact of Zelus, god of zeal and my immediate cousin. He was madly, deeply, and (hopefully) temporarily in love with our Egyptian transfer student; convinced he knew all of Aphrodite's arts, at his wise old age of seventeen.

We decided to let our quary escape un- discovered that day, as I recall. Too bad, since the Rat Pack immediately rounded on me.

"So." Hel said, a peculiar glint in her already disturbing eyes. I looked at her, not trusting that expression. I'd seen it turned on Hades too often.

"So what?" I replied, and was verbally eviscerated by Persephone. The tart.

"How's your..umm..what's the word? Boytoy?" I ground my teeth, plotting my somnambulent revenge. I'd been getting these cracks since the very badly hung- over day after our last get together, when Finvarra, still quite plowed, had cornered me and made a pass. I blasted him, of course, right upside his head in fact, but that only appeared to encourage him. And my alleged friends.

"How's YOUR husband? Is he getting any yet?" I lashed out. I hated using her abduction as material, but, dammit all! This was WAR! All she did was smirk. Dammit. Then Nutmeg HAD to stomp in with her size seven sandals.

"Y'know, Hec...The more you protest....." They all joined in a stirring chorus of "Hec-cys got a stalker! Hec-cy's got a stalk-er!" And they were even in tune! Bastards. Their words were as close to truth as an immortal stalking could get. Finvarra had taken to treading my steps and seeking me out in odd corners.

It wasn't even safe for me to visit Leuce during the wee hours anymore, since he had gone to visit her and reminded her of how much FUN they had had when she'd sill been slightly more mobile. Memories are very precious to her, and he'd proven to be a virtually endless supply. A trickster, that one. The words he uttered to her were as valuable as water; and in her case, equally needed. When the world must now come to you, anyone who was at your wedding is much cherished.
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Their hounding of me proved relentless. All the day, and into my time as well. Anything would set them off. A look. A glimpse of the high king himself. Any time I seemed to lower my guard at all. It was luck's touch upon my brow that spared me.

Hermes made the mistake of choosing that particular time to visit, so he was promptly turned into No Doze Pinata. Poor guy. That really wasn't his scene. Down and through Persephone's garden we chased the ragged blue figure, his flying badly impaired due to a lucky nip one of my dogs got in. And one of his winged sandals went the way of the beast. I grew bored shortly after that climactic event, and sought solice beneath one of the pomegranite trees Seph had planted as remembrance. It was quiet and dark and alone there, quite soothing, really.

It always seemed that places like these allowed a softer side access to me, so, for reasons unknown, other than Fate, I did not flee when a sad glow gently lit beneath the tree. Finvarra sat, awkward beside me.

"Hello." His voice was no more than the East wind tickling in my ear and rustling my hair. There was no threat here, and loneliness, a companion of mine for more years than I cared to count, wreathed his features in elven misery.

"Hello." I whispered back to him, my dark form -always the shadow queen- consuming the feeble light he cast.

"Why come you here, lady?" I had never really conversed with him - you need no words to curse, contrary to the current beliefs- and so had never known the pleasure of softly accented words gently falling to my sensitive hearing. I came to realise he had a truly beautiful voice.

"Because." was all I could say. In times like those, it is a complete answer, There is no more to tell of it. And, oddly, he seemed to grasp and accept this. It was nice to be alone in my thoughts while together in flesh.
"Why are you so sad?" I whispered to him. I had never intended on asking him that outright. It was a question I thought better suited to setting up house in my thoughts, and letting it live there until it died a natural death. Instead, like a rebellious brother, it escaped and ran to him.

My eyes, night sharp, caught his expression, unguarded, as he sought me. There was no sound, and a breathless sensation clung wetly in my throat as I waited for the answer I knew to be on it's way. His eyes- blue as a sky I could venture beneath no more- closed, sealing their pupiless depths from me. There was no one else there or anywhere as I shared breath with a sad king.

"Have you ever been in love?" I felt his question more than I heard it. Love? What knew I of love? Nothing. My mother loved me; she lived her own life now. My father loved me; he had duties and punishments that had wrenched him from my childish arms long ago. My ill- fated attempt at marriage? Never that. Not even liking, really. Only lust, and short lived at that, as my resistence sent him off into deeper mortal waters, causing my subsiquent and well- earned banishment. Pride almost forced a dead "yes" past my lips simply because of the hurt saying a living "no" made. Aches to be prodded. It is an unclosed pain, to have that void in your breast never filled. Regardless of the "happily ever after", or the sunset's beckon. A lost love is still a love, and I had not that.

"No," I condemmed myself. I ignored the wave in favor of his reply.

"I have." And he said no more. I waited, his admission wetting my curiosity with all the force of knife on a stone. The two words called to me, me and my sorry aching self, the stupid goddess too frightening to be welcomed by Eros' arrow.
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