“And this is the Great Hall,” Zeus said proudly. His guest nodded, her eyes wide, full mouth rounded in a silent “ooh” of appreciation.
“Shall we dine?” he asked, smoothly waving a hand. Two chairs across from one another towards the head of the table pulled themselves out and tilted toward them invitingly. At a click of his fingers, a skeletal butler, who had somehow found skin to cover its bare bones, carried over a tray loaded with fragrant covered dishes.
The girl smiled nervously. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Can living people eat the food of the dead?”
“Sure you can!” Zeus put a hand on the small of her back and steered her over to the seats. The butler set the tray down on the table between them and bowed its way out. Zeus waved a hand dramatically and the covers lifted, settling further down the table where they wouldn’t be in the way. “See? Delicious!”
The girl played with the hem of her dress uncomfortably. “This is… I don’t usually eat food like this.”
“Right. Sorry – I didn’t know what kind of dirt Dryads liked. But this is basically just like compost, right? You can stomach it?”
They both started. Zeus more nervously than his companion. He swore, then looked around for a hiding place before footsteps spurred him into action – he dived under the table, shuffling backwards until he was entirely hidden by the gloomy black tablecloth.
A woman appeared at the top of the black marble staircase on the opposite end of the Great Hall. She wore a brown dress, edged with black, and behind her were unfurled two glossy black feathered wings. She stepped down lightly, sandals lightly tapping on the stone.
The Dryad kicked the lump under the tablecloth. “He’s here.”
The woman paused, one foot still on the last step. “What are you-” her gaze swept across the table, noting the carefully prepared food on its tray, the chairs set out, and the black rose petals scattered across the tablecloth. “Oh. Oh.”
“Sorry,” said the Dryad hastily, standing up. “I didn’t know he was married. I’ll be going.”
“We aren’t formally married,” said the woman. Still, I’d been hoping...” she shook her head. “I’ll show you out,” she said. “It isn’t prudent for living people to be down here.”
“He didn’t tell me that!” The young Dryad looked shocked that such deception could exist.
The woman shook her head. “Yes, he has a tendency to… omit certain parts of the truth. You’ll be sure to tell the other Dryads in your grove, of course?”
Zeus waited until the sound of their footsteps faded entirely before dragging himself out from under the table. He sighed as he sat himself at the Dryad’s vacated chair. Shrugging at his own misfortune, he began to dig into the dishes – no sense letting them go to waste.
Just when he reached for his glass of pomegranate juice, a shriek tore through the air, the stench of rotting flesh filling his nostrils and making him gag. A vulture with a woman’s head – or a woman with a vulture’s body – somersaulted out of the air and landed on the table in front of him, plopping straight into the middle of his food.
“Hey!” he said indignantly. “I was eating that!”
