Oh you sweet, poor naive little thing.

How could you be so clueless to accept the gift of Helheim, the fruits which lay bare by your windowsill in delicate china-when you couldn't remember the last time you've bought or picked it.

"Eat.”

As you picked at the reddish brown skin, the treat that lay within, seeds which presented your life that will be taken away.

A pomegranate.

“Just a little bit more, love...”

You're Hades now, just as he is yours. You poor, poor unfortunate soul.