The poker table in the Gods' Realm was a sight to behold. Intricately carved with symbols of power and dominance, it was the stage for the most powerful beings in existence to test their wits and luck. Tonight, it was home to a game between Ophelia, the goddess of death, and Hephaestus, the god of fire and forge.
Ophelia was a striking figure, with white hair that cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall, and pale blue eyes that seemed to see straight through a person's soul. She sat at the table with a smirk playing on her lips, her long fingers moving with practiced ease as she shuffled the deck. Her white silk gown clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.
Across from her sat Hephaestus, his eyes focused on the cards. His muscular frame was tense, a testament to the anger and hurt that bubbled just below the surface. He was the ugly duckling of the gods, with a lame leg and a face that was never going to launch a thousand ships. But he was powerful, and that was what mattered in this realm.
Ophelia dealt the cards, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, Hephaestus, let's see if you can keep up with me."
Hephaestus grunted in response, his eyes narrowing as he studied his hand. He was a man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for him. But Ophelia's words cut through him like a knife, and he couldn't help but flinch.
Ophelia leaned back in her chair, a picture of nonchalance. "So, Hephaestus, I heard your wife Aphrodite cheated on you with your brother Ares. Must be tough."
Hephaestus flinched again, but quickly masked his expression. "It's none of your business, Ophelia."
Ophelia laughed, the sound musical and taunting. "Oh, come on. We're all gods here. We might as well be honest with each other."
Hephaestus' eyes glinted with anger, but he said nothing. He knew Ophelia was baiting him, trying to get a rise out of him. But he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.
Ophelia continued to taunt Hephaestus, her words like daggers. "You know, Hephaestus, you're not even Zeus' favorite son. He only acknowledges you when it benefits him."
Hephaestus' face paled, and Ophelia could see tears forming in his eyes. She leaned forward, her voice softening. "Aw, look Hephaestus, you're going to cry."
She handed him a bottle of pills and a bottle of vodka. "Here, take these. You don't deserve the dream you're living in. You're going to die alone."
Hephaestus stared at the pills and vodka, his hands shaking. He knew Ophelia was right, but he didn't want to admit it. He was a god, dammit. He was supposed to be strong and powerful.
Ophelia stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. "I'm out. This game is boring."
She turned into a rabbit and hopped away, leaving a joker card on the table. Hephaestus stared at the card, feeling the weight of Ophelia's words settle on his shoulders. He knew she was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept.
He picked up the pills and vodka, staring at them for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he downed them both. He didn't want to die alone, but it seemed like that was his fate.
The god of fire and forge slumped in his chair, his eyes heavy with sadness. He was a god, but he was also a man, and the pain of rejection and betrayal was more than he could bear.
Ophelia's laughter echoed in his ears as he closed his eyes, ready to embrace the darkness that awaited him.
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