Velvet, Fangs and Vengeance
(Written in the Book of Eternal Woe... and silk threads.)
ACT I: The Arrival
The Underworld was unusually still.
The kind of stillness that made Hades suspicious.
Cerberus was asleep (only one head twitching).
The Hydra had been silenced with threats of Banshee karaoke.
The Minotaur was sedated by his weighted blanket and banana bread.
Even Medusa had curled into a stone-scented eye mask and purred softly through her snakes.
Hades—robe disheveled, mug in hand, expression permanently locked at “Don’t”—allowed himself a single, blessed moment of peace.
Naturally, that’s when the gust of wind hit.
A clap of thunder.
A swirl of dramatically conjured fog.
And from the shadows emerged a figure wrapped in more velvet than a cursed curtain shop.
“Good evening,” cooed the Vampire.
“I’ve decided to grace your sleepover with my presence.”
---
ACT II: The Ritual of Unreasonable Luxury
Hades watched silently—mug trembling—as the Vampire floated into the room like disappointment incarnate.
He carried:
A monogrammed coffin lined with crushed obsidian silk.
A jar labeled “Moonlight-Infused Hydration Elixir – Do Not Touch, Peasant.”
A diary bound in bat leather titled “Heartbreaks & Hematomas.”
A single black rose in a crystal vase that softly sobbed if ignored too long.
“Where will I be sleeping?” he asked, without looking at anyone.
“Hopefully in the river,” Hades muttered, sipping his ambrosia like it was vodka.
---
The Vampire began his routine:
He summoned seven floating candles with flames shaped like screaming souls.
Spritzed the air with night jasmine and unresolved tension.
Applied eye cream that shimmered with starlight and vague emotional damage.
Began softly narrating the tragic tale of his first love: a sun priestess named Lysandra who danced in dawnlight and betrayal.
---
Cerberus (head #2) began crying in his sleep.
Hades flopped onto a chaise.
“You had to show up, didn’t you?” he groaned. “I was this close to ignoring the existence of my brothers tonight.”
The Vampire glanced over.
“Oh? Did little Zeus ruin your bedtime again?”
Hades’ eye twitched.
“He sent me a scented scroll. It just said ‘sleep tight 😈’ and it smelled like coconut and ego."
---
ACT III: Bedtime…?
Once the Vampire’s skincare reached Phase Twelve (Moonbeam Rejuvenation Serum and a chant about emotional rebirth), Hades snapped.
“Just. Lie down.”
“I do not lie down,” the Vampire sniffed, “I recline with meaning.”
“Then recline the hell down and shut up.”
---
Eventually, the Vampire climbed into his coffin (complete with plush lining, mood lighting, and what suspiciously looked like a signed photo of himself).
He fluffed his despair-pillow.
He folded his arms like a tragic hero.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, “to my cursed companions… and to the cruel, beautiful moon that shall never love me.”
From down the hall, the Banshee screamed, “SHUT UUUUPPP.”
---
Hades, standing in the doorway, stared blankly.
“Poseidon never needed a skincare routine to sleep,” he muttered.
“He just passed out face-first in his own surf and called it a cleansing ritual.”
Cerberus snorted. Medusa groaned. The Minotaur let out a sleepy moo.
---
The Vampire blinked one red, glowing eye.
“…If you ever need someone to talk about it, I’m available after 3 a.m.”
“NO.”
---
CURTAIN FALLS.
Hades refills his mug.
The Vampire adjusts his blanket just so.
Peace lasts approximately six minutes.
Just long enough for Head #7 of the Hydra to poke into the hallway and yell:
“DID SOMEBODY OPEN MY DREAM JOURNAL?!”
---
End Scene.
The Underworld was unusually still.
The kind of stillness that made Hades suspicious.
Cerberus was asleep (only one head twitching).
The Hydra had been silenced with threats of Banshee karaoke.
The Minotaur was sedated by his weighted blanket and banana bread.
Even Medusa had curled into a stone-scented eye mask and purred softly through her snakes.
Hades—robe disheveled, mug in hand, expression permanently locked at “Don’t”—allowed himself a single, blessed moment of peace.
Naturally, that’s when the gust of wind hit.
A clap of thunder.
A swirl of dramatically conjured fog.
And from the shadows emerged a figure wrapped in more velvet than a cursed curtain shop.
“Good evening,” cooed the Vampire.
“I’ve decided to grace your sleepover with my presence.”
---
ACT II: The Ritual of Unreasonable Luxury
Hades watched silently—mug trembling—as the Vampire floated into the room like disappointment incarnate.
He carried:
A monogrammed coffin lined with crushed obsidian silk.
A jar labeled “Moonlight-Infused Hydration Elixir – Do Not Touch, Peasant.”
A diary bound in bat leather titled “Heartbreaks & Hematomas.”
A single black rose in a crystal vase that softly sobbed if ignored too long.
“Where will I be sleeping?” he asked, without looking at anyone.
“Hopefully in the river,” Hades muttered, sipping his ambrosia like it was vodka.
---
The Vampire began his routine:
He summoned seven floating candles with flames shaped like screaming souls.
Spritzed the air with night jasmine and unresolved tension.
Applied eye cream that shimmered with starlight and vague emotional damage.
Began softly narrating the tragic tale of his first love: a sun priestess named Lysandra who danced in dawnlight and betrayal.
---
Cerberus (head #2) began crying in his sleep.
Hades flopped onto a chaise.
“You had to show up, didn’t you?” he groaned. “I was this close to ignoring the existence of my brothers tonight.”
The Vampire glanced over.
“Oh? Did little Zeus ruin your bedtime again?”
Hades’ eye twitched.
“He sent me a scented scroll. It just said ‘sleep tight 😈’ and it smelled like coconut and ego."
---
ACT III: Bedtime…?
Once the Vampire’s skincare reached Phase Twelve (Moonbeam Rejuvenation Serum and a chant about emotional rebirth), Hades snapped.
“Just. Lie down.”
“I do not lie down,” the Vampire sniffed, “I recline with meaning.”
“Then recline the hell down and shut up.”
---
Eventually, the Vampire climbed into his coffin (complete with plush lining, mood lighting, and what suspiciously looked like a signed photo of himself).
He fluffed his despair-pillow.
He folded his arms like a tragic hero.
“Goodnight,” he whispered, “to my cursed companions… and to the cruel, beautiful moon that shall never love me.”
From down the hall, the Banshee screamed, “SHUT UUUUPPP.”
---
Hades, standing in the doorway, stared blankly.
“Poseidon never needed a skincare routine to sleep,” he muttered.
“He just passed out face-first in his own surf and called it a cleansing ritual.”
Cerberus snorted. Medusa groaned. The Minotaur let out a sleepy moo.
---
The Vampire blinked one red, glowing eye.
“…If you ever need someone to talk about it, I’m available after 3 a.m.”
“NO.”
---
CURTAIN FALLS.
Hades refills his mug.
The Vampire adjusts his blanket just so.
Peace lasts approximately six minutes.
Just long enough for Head #7 of the Hydra to poke into the hallway and yell:
“DID SOMEBODY OPEN MY DREAM JOURNAL?!”
---
End Scene.
