As the eldest, the memories have always been a sort of duty for him— no one truly remembers Father’s rages, or Mother’s long spells of quiet weeping by her grand loom. No one truly remembers and so they blame her. She didn’t love me, they say. Mother never had room in her heart for anyone but herself, Hera spat, Mother abandoned us, Mother hated us, Mother left us to the cruel Fates.
But in missing the bad, they forego all the good as well, but he remembers. He remembers well.(x)
I tried to make a picture for one of Hades’ memories. I might have broken myself on the meanwhile.