Hades turned slowly to face his throne, he who had laughed at the souls of the heartbroken dead, those who took their lives to ease their pain now understood the reason, if such a word could be applicable to his situation, they did it. For him, an immortal, there could be no cessation of the pain. He was doomed to suffer under her spell for eternity. He would always suffer under the spell of Persephone the goddess of spring. She had spurned his advances and turned from him. He had tried to please her in every way. He had made her flowers but she rejected them, her excuse that they were made by the dead and were flowers of the dead. He could not give her more than he had given already for he had given her his heart and felt it break when she returned it after her own fashion. No, she had not returned it at all she had kept his heart and given him a new one which felt strange and wrong in his chest.

The souls of the dead could sense something was wrong and curled around him, their strange grey forms resembling the incense burnt to the gods in their temples. All of these souls would have burned that incense in their time yet here they were all alike, all these unformed shadow children who cluster to their lord's distress like moths to a candle. Hades swept his hand towards them meaning to push them away yet his hand passed through them like a sword through incense and as sword through incense it did them no harm.

Hades cursed his luck that he could not be alone with his misery for more than a second without his servants dancing attention on him. He turned from them and went to find the Fates. These three women who knew every nuance of mortal life may be able to help him with his mortal affliction.

How dark the halls of Hades seemed now she had left. Where once she had tried to bring life and beauty to his home, now in the agonizing aftermath of her pitiful attempt the cloying darkness seemed to reign ever stronger among the withered roses that twined into cracks on walls slowly crumbling with age and the force of Hades's wrath. Only the echoing sound of Clotho's singing as she spun her threads of life let him know he was not the only one left trapped in this silent hell inside a twisted love story that the Muses would love to whisper into the ears of some unsuspecting poet. He entered the Fates' cavernous hall, barely pausing at the door to allow them to acknowledge his presence in their domain. Clotho's singing continued and though he knew she was singing the songs of the mortals whose thread she spun it fell upon his ears like the ringing of some death knoll echoing for some unloved king for whom, even in death, the correct ceremonies must be observed. The only sound in this damp cave was Clotho and the River Styx as their voices mingled in painful harmony. Clotho's voice rose ever higher reaching for a note few mortal singers, though they be accounted great among those short-lived, scurrying ants, could ever hope to reach.

"O, Fates."

Hades bowed low, he may be the Lord of this decaying realm but even he had to observe some basic courtesies to these women.

"Lord Hades, what brings you to our humble abode?"

Atropos, the oldest of three beautiful sisters, stepped forward her shears in her hand and an evil smile upon her lips. The mortals, which were bound so deeply to the immortal it was sometimes almost impossible to tell the difference, were most afraid of this women with her dark pleasure in ending their brief lives. Her sister, the fair beauty, Lachesis stood behind her with her measuring stick in her hand. They held their instruments like weapons as though they longed to escape from his iron shackles and live among the world of light in Olympus with the golden gods. Clotho remained seated, she was the most shy of the sisters hiding herself in the shadows. She was content to stay here while her sisters dreamed of something beyond the night of Hades, of the bright lights of Mount Olympus. She alone of the Fates offered him a tentative smile though it vanished under her sister's withering glare. She knew his fate for she alone of all the fates had spun the thread of the lives of the Gods of Mount Olympus and she alone knew the fate of the Fates and had accepted a life in the frost untouched by the sun's glimmer of hope.

"I have a favour to humbly beg of you."

Atropos laughed cruelly, the harsh sound grating on his ears like a call of a carrion crow when it's far-sighted eyes spot a carcass in a barren land and calling to it's flock mates it lands.

"The great Hades has lowered himself to talk to us lowly Fates though our destinies and his are intertwined as we deal in mortal lives."

Lachesis replied, Clotho as was usual for her said nothing and allowed her sisters to fight.

"I do not consider it lowering myself to talk to you, it is a most refreshing distraction."

Clotho's lips twitched in amusement as Lachesis looked slightly disconcerted. Clotho rose from her chair and stood just behind her sisters.

"Perhaps you would tell us your errand here?" she suggested quietly.

Hades nodded.

"I wish to know my fate."

The eldest two fates turned from him, only Clotho stood her ground though she shrunk back slightly in fear.

"That is not permitted." Her voice was still quiet yet steady and stern, she would not falter.

"By whom is it not permitted?"

"By the laws of the universe laid when it was created." Clotho answered.

"Then there is a force greater than the gods?"

"Then there is a force which rules all which is the gods."

"Yet we are the gods so rules do not apply."

"Yet we are the gods so the gods' rules apply."

Clotho replied sadly and Hades was reminded of the rules that bound her life, the rules of fate. Atropos returned to her sister's side.

"I think it is best you go now Lord Hades."

He bowed

"Thank you for your time it has been most interesting talking to you."

Clotho didn't reply while Atropos merely narrowed her eyes, he couldn't see Lachesis' expression though he could see her shoulders tighten as he turned to leave the hall. He would have to find another way to answer his question.