"You don't have to do this every time, you know," Hades muttered with a grunt, glancing down at his hand as the girl healed him.
Kneeling beside him was a black-haired girl named Luna, dressed in worn-out clothes—stitched together from mismatched scraps, frayed at the edges. She looked like a ghost from a forgotten corner of the world, but her presence was anything but fragile.
She lived in the nearby church. A recent addition to Hades' life—and his first real friend.
"If I don't, then who will?" she replied with a teasing smirk. "Your mother's not allowed to take care of you, and the rest of your family can't even stand the sight of you."
Hades groaned. "Do you have to rub it in every single time?"
"It was a mistake telling you about my life," he added, though his tone lacked any real bite.
Deep down, he didn't regret it. Not one bit.
Luna had been the first person he opened up to. The first person who stayed.
She looked up at him, catching his gaze.
