Tags: angst (mild), existential crises, first kiss, god character, greek mythology, humor, mutual pining, mythology retelling, nonbinary character, past tense, pov third person
*
At the heart of a bright city was a place where the shadows lived. In just one room, on the ground floor of a building that was otherwise sun-drenched, there were well-fed, glossy shadows that spooled out over the floor, over chairs and tables and countertops. All the floors above had wide glass windows and smiling neighbours—but downstairs, little nicks of purple and blue promised teeth in the dark. The blackness clung to the walls in spiders’ leg patterns, and it moved slowly, creepingly. There was a hum in the air—something deep, too low for human ears to hear, low enough that only the heart could heed it.
At the centre of it all was always a lone figure. He was tall, with skin that had the ashen-pale undertone of death, and he wore a long robe, its silken folds catching the shadows in small screaming pools of darkness that shifted and cried harder when he moved. He was gaunt, with dark hair and heavy brows. His eyes were raven’s-wing-black and lost in a thousand-yard stare. And his every movement, from the curve of one finger to the tilt of his sharp jaw, was in the shape of tragedy. His gaze never lingered; every time it moved on was the end of another story, the snap of another thread, the withering of another life. He was demise. He was ruin. He was Hades, Lord of the Underworld.
Today, he turned around and said, “Sorry, did you want those cupcakes to go?”
The customer on the other side of the counter stared at him for a long moment, a middle-aged woman with several plastic shopping bags on her arms. Faint strains of Beethoven’s Fifth wafted from wall-mounted speakers, filling the silence.
“Um,” she said, staring up at Hades with wide eyes. “Yes, could I get a box?”
“Absolutely.” Hades turned his attention back to the four cupcakes sitting on his counter—black velvet, with blackberry icing—and set them neatly into a coffin-shaped box. He sealed the lid with a sticker that read, in swirling purple letters, “Tomb Many Cooks.” With a flourish, he slid the finished product towards the waiting customer. “Here you are. Careful not to tip the box. But feel free to tip the baker!”
He gestured a little hopefully towards an urn on the counter with a sign reading “Tips” that stuck out at a jaunty angle. The customer stared at it for a silent second then fumbled for her wallet.
“Thank you! And if you’d like to taste one of our samples, go ahead! We’re testing a new recipe this week.” Hades indicated a tray that had several bite-size squares of brownie arranged neatly on top.
With a slightly fearful glance at Hades, the customer picked up one of them and put it into her mouth.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s so…”
The colour drained from her face. Hades watched as her expression fell from surprise to sudden terror, and onward to sadness, and then downward to a deeper terror. Her hands trembled. Her eyes met Hades’s, full of despair.
“Oh, god,” the customer said.
“Yes,” Hades said, a little wearily. “That’s me.” He bent down, crow-like, to look under the counter. His fingers drifted over paper bags, stickers, pens, a pair of scissors, and settled on a copy of a book of quotes from Nietzsche, one of a small stack. With a sigh, Hades straightened up and set the book down on top of the customer’s cupcake box. “No extra charge,” he said. “I hope it helps. Thank you for coming to Tomb Many Cooks. Don’t forget to rate us online?”
His tone held an uncertain note, as though wondering if he wanted this particular customer experience to be rated. The customer, with the fear of mortality sharp in her eyes, picked up her cupcakes and her book and left the shop. Hades watched after her for a long moment and then glared at the brownies.
He stalked through a black, gauzy curtain to the kitchen; picking up a marker, he wrote “buy more Nietzsche” on the whiteboard by the door, underneath “new bread roll recipe by Friday” and “look up what ‘foreclosure’ means.”
The pile of letters on the desk to the left of the whiteboard, with their red stamps and threats, demanded to be opened. Hades, though, stood still by the door, surveying the chrome-and-velvet cleanliness of his kitchen with something bordering on despair.
He let out a sigh that held the doomed screams of millions along its edges.
There came a sound of bells tolling—mournful, full of menace; at the noise, Hades pulled out his phone. Tapping on the notification, he saw an email about a new review online. With a wince, he clicked the link.
“Great cupcakes. Free book. We all die anyway. Four stars.”
Hades breathed out. His thumb gently touched the yellow stars on the screen.
He lifted his chin. With a small nod to himself, he put his phone away and got back to work.
*
“…it’s inevitable,” said the teenager with six piercings and dyed black hair, staring into nothingness with a light dusting of powdered sugar on his lips. “Every life is nothing more than a promise to death. Even as we begin, entropy takes hold.”
“Mmhmm,” Hades said, reaching across the counter and gently taking the sample spoon out of his hand. “So, did you want the jam or custard doughnuts?”
“What’s the point?” The teenager looked down at his hands. “What’s it all for?”
Hades looked at the kid’s pale, abject expression, and reached absently for Nietzsche. Behind the teenager, there was another customer; Hades glanced briefly towards them as though worrying they’d leave before fixing his attention back on the existential crisis before him.
“You wanted to buy doughnuts for your mother,” Hades said. The natural cadence of his voice turned it into a tragedy, as though he were certain the doughnuts would be her last.
“I…” The teenager looked wildly around the whispering shadows of the bakery, desperate eyes seeming to see almost through the veil to what awaited on the other side. He met Hades’s gaze. “Custard,” he whispered.
“Excellent choice.” Hades used tongs to slip two custard doughnuts into a paper bag. “That’s eight-fifty.”
The teenager held his card to the machine until it beeped, and Hades handed him his receipt.
“Have a grave day,” Hades said. “A great—sorry, a great day.”
Without another word, the teenager grabbed his doughnuts and left the shop. Hades turned his attention to the next customer.
“Hi!” they said brightly, stepping forward.
They were short—at least a foot shorter than Hades himself, though they looked to be about the same age, minus the eternity of loss and torment. They wore a pink rabbit onesie with the hood pulled up so that the ears flopped on either side of their face and a smile that widened when they met Hades’s gaze. Their almond-shaped eyes crinkled at the corners.
They intercepted Hades’s full sweep of their outfit. “You don’t want to know,” they said.
“Oh.”
“Wait, well—that makes it sound bad, doesn’t it? Like I’m in some kind of crime ring or something. A rabbit onesie gang.”
“I, um.” Hades stared at them. “Are you?”
“I wish.” The customer peered down at the cupcakes absently. “It’s way more boring. I work at a pre-school, and one of the kids spilled juice on my jeans, and this was the only thing I had in my car. So…” They looked back up to Hades and held their hands out to the sides, striking a pose for his inspection.
“It’s, um. Nice,” Hades said.
“Wait until you see my fluffy tail.” They grinned, and Hades blinked again, three times, very fast.
“Oh. Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “What were you looking for today?”
“Nothing specific,” the customer said brightly. “I just had to come in and take a look, and can I just say… wow. This place, it’s really…” They looked around the room, eyes catching on the sharpened shadows and the casket-shaped blackboard advertising the cupcake flavour of the day. “Really different to anything I’ve ever seen. And—”
“Thank you?” Hades hazarded, interrupting without meaning to.
“Yeah! No, but really,” the customer went on. “Like, I’ve seen my share of gimmicky pop-up bakeries, let me tell you. Takes a lot to surprise me these days.”
Hades glanced at the twisting darkness looming around them and back to the customer, but they just smiled at him, apparently unbothered. The pink of their onesie was so bright it practically glowed. It looked so soft. Hades’s fingers curled up by his sides.
“Thank you,” he said more quietly.
“There’s a real… commitment to this place,” they went on. “I mean, you look amazing, for a start.”
Hades brushed down his robe, self-conscious, as they turned their attention to the array of cakes and buns on display. One of their rabbit ears fell into their face, and they attempted to blow it back away with a sharp breath; when that didn’t work, they swatted it with a hand.
“Anyway, I saw the sign. I had to come in. What should I try? Any recommendations?”
“Oh.” Hades cleared his throat. “Well… the bread rolls are freshly made every morning. The jam in the doughnuts and the Victoria sponge cake is made from locally-sourced fruit. And, um, the cupcakes are popular. We have black velvet, red velvet, lemon…”
“Wow! They look incredible.” The customer peered closer through the glass. “Who decorates them?”
Hades looked down at the array of cupcakes, which had an assortment of delicate skulls and bones painted across the frosting. A few had gravestone-shaped cookies sticking out the top.
“Um. Me,” he said. “I’m the owner. And the only employee. I’m… yes.” He swallowed.
The customer looked up at him, eyes going round.
“You made these?” they asked, a note of gentle awe in their voice. “They’re so beautiful!”
“Thank you,” Hades said, and his tone sounded less doom-laden and more quietly flustered than usual.
“Do you think I could try one?”
“Oh. Um…” Hades glanced down at the Nietzsche under the counter and then back up to the onesie-wearing customer. Their smile was hopeful, and they looked very small against the shadowy backdrop of the high-ceilinged bakery. “Well—I mean, yes, if you really want to.”
“I’ll pay for it,” the customer said. “Don’t worry.”
“Oh, no, it’s not—not that,” Hades said, plucking a cupcake out of the cabinet—the one with the lightest frosting, dismal lilac rather than doom-laden ebony. He held it for a second and then put it on the countertop, quickly, as if fighting the urge to snatch it back. “It’s just, they’re a bit… potent. Some people don’t—”
“Yum,” the customer said as they picked up the cupcake, peeled back the case, and took a big bite.
Hades watched, the tips of the fingers of one hand pressed to his mouth as though he’d had to stop himself from calling out for them to stop. He watched, eyes anticipating the worst—as they always did, but perhaps even more so than usual.
“Oh, god,” the customer said. Hades closed his eyes, his shoulders hunching.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s—”
“Oh, wow. This is delicious. I mean, really.”
Hades’s eyes snapped open. The customer was chewing through a mouthful, looking at the cupcake rapturously. Their face wasn’t ashen; their eyes weren’t leaking existential despair.
“Excuse me?” Hades said.
“Like, holy wow. That frosting, is it blueberry?”
“Um. Blackberry,” Hades said.
“It’s literally incredible. I seriously don’t think this can be real.”
“It’s…” Hades stared at them as they peeled back a little more of the cupcake case and took another bite. “You don’t… do you feel all right?”
The customer snorted.
“Why?” they said lightly. “Are they poisoned? Arsenic in the frosting? Oh… my god.” They swiped a little frosting off their lip with their thumb and licked it. “I wouldn’t even care. I’d finish this anyway.”
Hades blinked hard and shook his head as though to clear it.
“No,” Hades said. “It’s just that, after eating my cakes, people sometimes feel just a bit too… um. Mortal?”
The customer looked at him with frank, level-headed confusion. They flipped the ear of their onesie back again.
“Mortal?”
“Yes. Well… you saw, earlier…”
“Oh, the kid who was right before me? Yeah, he was a bit intense, wasn’t he?” The customer took another giant bite, rolling their eyes up and lifting the cupcake higher as though in praise of its existence. “Mmm. So good.”
“It’s not just him. Everyone’s like that, actually,” Hades said, a note of careful misery in his voice, beyond the usual underlying endless tragedy. “What I bake, it makes people sad. I keep trying to change my recipes. But I… I always make people sad.” He held out his hands for a moment, at a loss.
“Not me,” the customer said stoutly, and took the last bite of cupcake.
“No,” said Hades, “not you.” He stared at them, dark, thoughtful eyes taking in their full-lipped smile and dimples. Almost to himself, he said, “My first happy customer, and it’s right before I’m about to shut down.”
“Mmhmm. Wait. Wait, what?” they said. “No!”
The corners of Hades’s mouth almost turned up at their sudden vehemence, but he re-gathered himself.
“I keep on upsetting people,” he said. “It isn’t right.”
“But—”
“And it isn’t a good business model. I spend so much money on philosophical literature.”
“You didn’t upset me,” the customer pointed out with a touch of indignation. “Anyway, what do you even mean, you make people sad by baking? Because, one, that sounds kind of bananas. No offence. And two, even if it’s not bananas, you’re, you know, taking a lot on yourself there. Maybe these people are already in a bad mood when they come in here? I mean, the decor really lends itself to a certain kind of person, that’s all I’m saying.”
Hades looked into their eyes and saw a lightness that refused to believe what he’d said. He hunched his shoulders self-consciously.
“I don’t think it’s that,” he said. “I think it’s me.”
“Well.” The customer finished licking frosting off their fingertips and adjusted their fluffy hood. “Either way. You can’t close down now. I need to be able to come back here.”
“You…” Hades’s head whipped back up, his robe of mortal darkness swishing around him, the whisper of its passing like the last gasp of a damned man. “You want to come back to my bakery?”
“Don’t tell me that’s never happened before.”
“It… well, no,” Hades said. “People don’t usually like to have their sense of reality broken twice.”
Across from him, the customer put their hands on their hips, dimpling the folds of their onesie.
“Okay,” they said. “That can’t be right. Your food is amazing; there must be something else going on. Maybe we just need to… do some surveys. See how people feel when they come in versus when they leave. That could clear up the whole ‘this is all my fault’ thing, right?”
“Um,” Hades said.
“I mean, look, I’m not saying that I just lost sixteen of my hours at the pre-school to Deborah, and so I’m gonna be at a loose end two days a week and could really use the distraction, but what I am saying is, I’m great at surveys. I love a clipboard. We could make this happen.”
They raised an eyebrow at Hades, who looked back down at them with an expression that mingled the usual awareness of infinite universal destruction with confusion and a little shyness. His mouth opened and closed as though he didn’t know what to say, but his head gave a shake—preparing to reject the offer.
The customer’s smile dimmed, and they tilted their head to one side. In a lower and quieter voice, with a clearer note of sincerity, they said, “Maybe you just need some help? I’ve got the time. And I’m not kidding. I’d do anything to save these cupcakes.”
The hard and sharp lines of Hades’s face softened. He pressed his lips together, and then, very slowly, he nodded.
They turned their grin up to full power and stuck out their hand.
“All right, then,” they said. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Oh—and my name’s Seph, by the way.”
*
On the first day working with Seph, Hades handed a customer a small bit of brownie, watched him take a bite, and saw his face fall.
Seph, standing next to Hades and watching the customer, too, said, “Interesting.”
“Oh, no,” the customer said.
“I don’t underst—” Seph started.
“Oh, no. Everything comes to an end, doesn’t it? Everything— Even— Oh, god, even the people I love the most—it’s all going to end one day, and…” He trailed off, one hand clammily gripping the counter.
Hades opened his mouth to reply, but Seph leaned forward, pen in one hand and clipboard in another.
“Mmhmm,” they said. “So, out of curiosity, how would you rate your mood on a scale of one to ten?”
“Rate?” The customer looked at Seph as though they’d lost their mind, as though they were blithely roasting marshmallows over the cold fires of hell. “My mood?” He shook his head. “It all ends,” he said faintly. “All of it.”
“Uh-huh,” Seph said. “I’m going to mark that down as a two. Okay, well—taking another bite, so that’s a two-point-five.”
*
On the seventh day working with Seph, Hades found himself in his kitchen late in the evening, staring at a whiteboard covered in figures.
“Right,” Seph said. “I’m saying, people were returning ratings up to three percent higher when they ate the cookie samples instead of the brownies, so maybe you should lean into that. Pelt them with chocolate chips and see if we can bump the numbers any higher.”
Hades had one finger thoughtfully pressed to his chin. Seph, in front of him, stuck their blue marker into their mouth and grabbed an orange one, which they used to circle the word “cookie” several times.
“You don’t think that…” Hades cleared his throat. “You don’t think the numbers might be slightly off since you have to make up all of the ratings after they’ve eaten the samples? Because they’re too busy having a crisis to give you a number?”
“Huh?” Seph turned to look at him, indignant behind their mouthful of marker. They made some more noises that could have been words; Hades reached forward and unobtrusively took the pen out of their mouth by one end. “—and that’s why my ratings are completely unimpeachable, and you should do what I said.”
They caught Hades’s eye with a little knowing smile, which he returned.
“Okay,” Hades said.
*
On the eighth day working with Seph, Hades cooked with someone else in the kitchen for the first time.
“More chocolate chips,” Seph said.
“I’ve put all of them—”
“I know you’ve got another bag. I saw it last week in the cupboard in the corner.”
“I don’t know how extra chocolate chips are going to stop people from realising their inextricable bond to mortality…”
“Are you kidding? I forgot my own name the other day when I ate that doughnut where you put orange zest in the filling.” Seph, sitting on a counter in the kitchen, pointed a finger-gun at Hades and twisted their accent into something out of a Western. “Add the chips, kid.”
Hades used one hand to lower their weapon and went to fetch the chocolate chips.
*
On the fifteenth day working with Seph, Hades threw a mini-cupcake across the shop, and Seph caught it neatly in their mouth. They lifted their arms up, eyes sparkling, chewing triumphantly.
“You’re concerningly good at that,” Hades said.
“It’s a gift,” Seph answered before they’d finished their mouthful.
“Maybe we should take it on the road.”
Seph’s eyes went wide as they swallowed. “Yes. You make the cupcakes. You throw the cupcakes. I catch the cupcakes. I eat the cupcakes.” They checked each item off the list on their fingers, and when they held up their thumb, they turned it into a thumbs-up. “We profit.”
“Profit does sound good,” Hades said. He reached down and picked up the last copy of Nietzsche that he had, setting it on the counter as would a widow lay flowers on her beloved’s grave. “I need to restock on these, but I blew the budget this week on Earl Grey for those scones I wanted to try.”
Seph wandered over to the counter. Hades tensed as they came closer, shoulders hunching, a hint of colour appearing in his ashen cheeks. Seph smiled at him and slid the Nietzsche off the counter to look at it.
“Um,” Hades said. He swallowed as Seph stared down at the book. “I was wondering. Tonight, if you’re… if you wanted to, I mean…”
“Wait. This is what you’ve been giving everyone to try to, you know, help with their crises?” Seph said, holding it up.
Hades blinked.
“Um. Yes?”
Seph slapped him lightly on the shoulder with the book.
“No! Really?”
“…yes?”
“Don’t buy any more of these, okay? We need something new. Like… a Paddington book, or something.” They rolled their eyes. “They need reminding that life matters, that it’s good sometimes, not…. whatever that’s meant to be.”
“Paddington?”
“Trust me. Anyway, sorry.” They tossed the book back down onto the counter. “You were saying?”
“Um… just…” Hades sighed and it rang with the grief of a thousand lost loves. “I was saying that I was going to cook tonight. That’s all.”
“Well,” Seph said after a little pause, “I was going to go home and nurse a box of cupcakes. But, I mean…”
“Stay,” Hades said, and then added, “if you want to.”
Seph looked at him quietly for just a moment, and then smiled.
*
That evening, Hades stirred a bowl of cake batter while Seph sat on the part of the kitchen counter that had become their personal spot. It was close to the heater but also near enough to the cooking that they could swipe any spoons-coated-in-something-sweet that Hades left unattended for too long.
“So then Deborah says,” Seph said, swinging their feet, “that she doesn’t care if my gerbil’s ill, she won’t cover for me.”
“That’s rude.”
“I know. It’s almost like she doesn’t like me,” Seph said.
“She doesn’t?” Hades asked.
“Are you kidding? She can’t stand me.”
“Why?” Hades said, setting down his mixing spoon with a little less doom-filled finality than usual. He had his eyes on Seph, and there was something approaching lightness in his expression. Seph grinned.
“Probably the same reasons a lot of people can’t. I don’t know.”
“A lot of people don’t like you?” Hades’s voice shifted to outright astonishment. He stood up tall, a raven with its feathers indignantly puffed up.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Seph said, half laughing. “With the amount I talk? And these cutesy clothes? And the way I’ve always got my nose in someone else’s business?” They gestured to themselves and then around the kitchen as if making their point.
“But those are good things,” Hades said.
“To you, maybe,” Seph said.
“Yes,” Hades said. “To me.”
The two of them tilted, abruptly, into silence. Neither of them seemed to know where to look, glancing at each other and then away, cheeks reddening.
Seph leaned over. Hades went still—and then Seph reached out, swiped the mixing spoon, and licked off a bit of batter.
“Well,” Seph said, “thank you.”
Hades sighed, and what could have passed for a rueful smile crossed his face.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
*
On the thirtieth day of working with Seph, a customer came in who looked messy-haired and a little unwashed, her clothes mismatched and rumpled as though dragged, still dirty, back out of the laundry basket.
“Welcome to Tomb Many Cooks,” Hades said. The imposing note in his voice made a fair attempt to compensate for the crumbs strewn down his robe by the cookie that Seph had been balancing on his nose two minutes before. “How can I help you?”
“And how would you rate your mood on a scale from one to ten?” Seph added.
“Um,” the customer said, her eyes trying to take in the two of them as well as the baking on offer. “I… an Earl Grey scone, I think, and… erm… maybe… a four?”
“Four,” Seph echoed as they made a note, while Hades reached for his tongs.
“Well, four sounds a bit dramatic, doesn’t it?” the customer said. “A five? Thank you.” They accepted the scone in its paper bag from Hades and then glanced over the samples. “May I…?”
“Please,” Hades said, though his eyes betrayed concern. The customer reached out, took a cookie, and bit into it. Watched by Seph and Hades together, her face shifted as she chewed.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh,” she said. And her shoulders relaxed.
“Are you all right?” Seph asked, while Hades reached for a Paddington book from under the counter. The customer looked down at the cookie and then up at Seph.
When she spoke, her voice was clearer than before.
“You know, everyone keeps telling me I am,” she said. “Or I will be. And that it’ll get easier. But to be honest, it’s really bad, and I’m not—I’m not— Everyone just wants me to feel better, but this…” She took another small bite. “This is… this is what it feels like all the time. I didn’t think anyone else knew what it’s like.” She blinked, and a tear dropped, heavy, down her cheek. She swiped at it. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. It’s just a cookie. What am I even saying? This is so embarrassing. God, I’m sorry.”
Hades set down the Paddington book on the counter and then looked her in the eye with all his understanding of endless loss. She breathed out and took another bite of the cookie.
Seph was quiet for a moment, and then they said, “And how would you rate your mood now?”
Hades nudged them in the ribs with an elbow as sharp as a grave-digging shovel, but the customer looked over at them, unfussed, and said, “I think… a two.” And their expression lightened, just a bit. “But it was a one before.”
*
On the fifty-first day of working with Seph, Hades heard them say thoughtfully from across the kitchen, “Something’s changing.”
Hades looked up at them, away from the tray of coffin-shaped pomegranate-and-white-chocolate cookies he’d been decorating with small pink hearts. Seph was staring thoughtfully at the whiteboard, tapping on their chin with the nib of their marker pen, leaving little spots of ink. Hades smiled to himself and picked up a damp cloth as he moved towards them.
“What do you mean?” he asked as he went.
“The ratings,” Seph said.
“What about them?”
“They’re different. You’ve noticed it too, right?”
Hades reached them, gently took the marker out of their hand, and replaced it with the cloth. They let him do it without asking questions, seemingly too deep in statistical analysis to notice, and the ink started to come off as they kept tapping their chin.
“I mean,” Seph went on, “it’s like a hundred-and-twelve-percent increase in customer satisfaction. Was it just the extra chocolate chips? Or Paddington? Did anything else change?”
Hades looked down at their thoughtful face, the way the lines at the corners of their eyes got deeper as they narrowed them. He didn’t answer.
“Plus, the amount of customers we’re getting every day is up.” They grinned at Hades, who smiled back—not the worn, accepting smile of eternal mourning, but just a smile. Warm and sincere. “We’re making it work, aren’t we? You’re going to need someone in here full-time with you, soon.”
“You,” Hades said, far too quickly.
“Ha,” Seph said. “Wait. What?” They turned to look at him, and their eyes widened when they saw no trace of humour on his face.
Hades’s shoulders hunched. He looked away, searching for words; when the silence stretched, he turned and disappeared out of the kitchen and back into the main shop, where he began tidying his counter with hands that weren’t quite steady.
After a few moments, he heard a voice say, “Do you mean it? You want me here full-time?”
Hades stopped rearranging the Paddington books. He looked at Seph. As they always had, they glowed against the backdrop of the bakery—the shadows deeper and more lovely behind them, the look in their eyes so gentle and bright. They were watching Hades as though waiting for him to laugh, with several splodges of ink still on their chin.
Straightening up, Hades met their gaze. For a second, it seemed as though his courage would fail him—then, quite suddenly, he reached out and took Seph’s hand.
“Stay,” he said. “For as long as we have.”
In his voice was the knowledge that it would not be forever. In Seph’s eyes, as they looked back at him, was the certainty that it was—without doubt—worth it, all the same. They came closer still. Hades cupped one hand under their chin, and they closed their eyes.
Only the shadows saw the rest. The shadows that pooled across the floor, still full of wails and murmurs, coating the inside of Hades’s building at the heart of the bright city.
But shadows can live well within bright hearts, as it happens. So long as the hearts are true.