Domestic Disputes
Once their children had departed, Nyx was silent for quite some time. Meticulously, she straightened up the sitting room, moving like a living ice sculpture - her back ramrod straight, her movements graceful but incredibly deliberate. Her hands smoothed out the fabric on the couches. Manually, she fluffed pillows.
He'd broken the Girls, and in breaking them, he'd indirectly caused Styx to break. He'd lied to Clotho, who would inevitably discover this fact, if she hadn't already, and it would adversely affect her. He had failed to consult the Fates themselves before meddling in their affairs, and worse - so much worse, he had opted to consult Aither - Aither - but not her. Above all else, it was that fact, in a way, that stung the most, since part of why they worked was because on the rare occasions when his male idiocy threatened to cause harm, they would have a conversation and perhaps he could gain some perspective. Perhaps not, but at least she could make sure nothing too dire happened. Her grip on one pillow went too hard, and it tore slightly. Giving it a disgusted glare, she dissipated it, and made another, perfectly fluffed one appear in its place.
Finally, as she was straightening one of Morpheus' paintings that hung on the wall, she spoke, her voice low and steady. There was a question that needed answering before she could decide how to proceed with Ere. Her gaze did not yet touch him, however.
"Did you do all this before or after your son," the word fell from her mouth like a foul thing cast off, "beat Hybris' influence out of you?"
He'd broken the Girls, and in breaking them, he'd indirectly caused Styx to break. He'd lied to Clotho, who would inevitably discover this fact, if she hadn't already, and it would adversely affect her. He had failed to consult the Fates themselves before meddling in their affairs, and worse - so much worse, he had opted to consult Aither - Aither - but not her. Above all else, it was that fact, in a way, that stung the most, since part of why they worked was because on the rare occasions when his male idiocy threatened to cause harm, they would have a conversation and perhaps he could gain some perspective. Perhaps not, but at least she could make sure nothing too dire happened. Her grip on one pillow went too hard, and it tore slightly. Giving it a disgusted glare, she dissipated it, and made another, perfectly fluffed one appear in its place.
Finally, as she was straightening one of Morpheus' paintings that hung on the wall, she spoke, her voice low and steady. There was a question that needed answering before she could decide how to proceed with Ere. Her gaze did not yet touch him, however.
"Did you do all this before or after your son," the word fell from her mouth like a foul thing cast off, "beat Hybris' influence out of you?"