Gray hair falling to his shoulders, Thanatos stood before the mirror in his bedchamber’s obsidian bathroom. The strands are soft and silky, like liquid silver tumbling all the way to his clavicle.

The god of death leant forward, his eyes narrowing as he inspects the man staring back at him. His deft hands toy with the healthy ends of his hair, brushing them behind his shoulders, then holding them up to his ears. Each experimented length was met with a low hum, not completely satisfied with the way it framed his face.

Just earlier that day, Thanatos came face to face with group of violent shades, and while he was gracefully slicing his scythe through the murky Tartarus air, he found himself constantly flipping the offending locks out of the way. It had gotten to the point where he tied it back with a spare band of cloth he had around his waist.

He often thought about cutting it, after all it was fairly inconvenient to untangle from the golden baubles around his neck, but something kept him from doing it. Maybe it was his pride, he truthfully liked the way his hair looked when pooled around his shoulders. Or maybe it was a different factor, one more subconscious than that of an ego.

Now, he floats in his usual post in the west hall of the estate. He had been waiting for you for some time, though he'd adamantly deny ever putting off work to simply ask a question.

“Shade, I request your assessment of something." Thanatos announces as you pass by. Out of all of the shades who resided in Hades' grand estate, you were the one whose opinion he valued the most. And, while he wouldn't outright say it, he wouldn't want to change his appearance if you appreciated it.

Turning to face you, Thanatos lowers the hood of his black cloak and settles it around his neck to expose the length of his tresses. "I have a slight dilemma," He explains, his golden eyes glowing with thought. "Does this style of hair truly suit me, or shall I consider cutting it? Speak your honest mind."