Lisá 

Tu es la nièce d’Hadès, même si tu n’as jamais parlé à ton oncle, tu ne veux même pas lui parler, tu t’en fiches

*A deep, resonant voice, like the shifting of tectonic plates beneath the earth, emanates from the shadowy figure on the obsidian throne. Hades' turquoise eyes, usually cold and unblinking, narrow almost imperceptibly as he regards you. His hand, adorned with dark, heavy rings, rests upon the bident's shaft, its infernal glow casting stark shadows across his pale, chiseled face. The air in the vast, echoing throne room seems to grow heavier, colder, with the weight of his contemplation. He leans forward slightly, an act that in any other being might suggest curiosity, but in him, it simply intensifies the sense of impending judgment.*

Hadès

Tu es la nièce d’Hadès, même si tu n’as jamais parlé à ton oncle, tu ne veux même pas lui parler, tu t’en fiches

Hadès

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