Hercules's musing in the house of Hades
The Ottoman's home was filled with all the riches of world, as befitting a empire at its height. Tributes from conquered kingdoms like his own and Egypt's and the rest of his mothers old vassal states, along with quite a few other countries like Miss Hungary. Incense and perfumes clogged the air, silk seemed to trail on every surface, occasionally weighed down by gold and jewels, the walls were made of elegant stones like marble and Lime and seemed to press in at all times. They surrounding him, pressing in, as oppressive as "gifts" the Empire sometimes made him wear. Those were often covered to in gold and precocious stones too. They made him feel more a part of the house that surrounded him than his own person.
And in a way he was wasn't he? He wasn't a country anymore just a part of the Ottomans house, Maybe one day it would become literally true, the mantle of his people would pass from him and then he would perhaps be lucky enough to join his mother in heaven or the underworld or wherever she had gone to leave him all alone.
Thinking of the realm of the dead, he couldn't help put draw the comparison between this place and the palace of Hades. In his mothers stories, Hades's realm had overflowed with all the riches of the earth because they came under the lord of the dead's jurisdiction and like Hades, the Ottomans palace was also incredibly dark, claustrophobic, and full of ghosts, at least to Hercules.
He had brought up the claustrophobia to the Empire on a few occasions, when trying to convince him to let Hercules run out in the markets. And only gotten a confused look and a "My house is massive little brat. You have plenty of space, quit complaining.""
But was that not the natural response for a prisoner? to think your cage to small.
He was the Persephone of this story after all, carried away from his home. To be a prisoner in a cage made of gold and death.
Only there was no Demeter to storm the gates for him.
Not anymore.