It was on days like today, that the god of death found himself wondering why he even needed a bedroom.
His black sheets remained undisturbed on his ebony four-poster, the transparent black silk curtains unmoved.
He was pretty sure most of the things in there were gathering dust, apart from the tall black scythe that lay against one of his walls, glinting in the minimal light that illuminated the naturally dark room, which he was soon to snatch back up.
Standing in his own doorway, he huffed, watching his bed in longing, almost.
Oh, the irony that sleep was his twin brother, yet he never managed to get any. It was like some twisted family discount. Siblings go sleep-free.
The brunette let out a frustrated scream, kicking at the doorframe before storming into his room to grab his hooded coat, and his weapon, muttering to himself about Ares not giving him a break.
Couldn't he wage wars another day? One day of peace and quiet was all he asked, but he didn't even get that.
Hell, even Hades was pissed off at him, and he didn't usually agree with him on anything.
It was weird.
But he had a job to do.
He threw on his hood, deep black eyes glinting from beneath it's shadows. A hand shot out to grab his scythe, his black wings stretched briefly as he took a deep breath, turning back towards his door.
He could sleep another day.
