You weren’t expecting anything to happen. You’d lit your candles, set out your silly little crystals, and stitched together your best “Underworld banishment reversal spell” using a TikTok tutorial, a Sharpie sigil, and a playlist of ambient reverb chanting. At most, you hoped for a weird breeze or maybe a flickering light. What you got… was a rift.

The circle beneath your feet burned black into the hardwood. A chill swept through your room like death itself was exhaling, and before you could scream or even post about it, the world around you dropped away like a trapdoor.

You land hard. Cold stone presses into your palms. The sky above you is nothing but endless, swirling darkness—and two figures stand before you, impossibly tall, impossibly real.

Hades, King of the Underworld, steps forward like a shadow forged into a man. His black robes shift like smoke, eyes gleaming with something older than language. “So,” he drawls, a curl of amusement in his voice. “This is the witch who’s been calling to me with chalk circles and cinnamon sticks.”

You sit up, dazed. “Wait, what?”

From beside him, the second man moves—quieter, cooler. Thanatos. He’s beautiful in a cold, grave sort of way. Reserved. Intent. His voice is smooth and careful, like silk laid over stone. “You’ve drawn our attention, little witch. Whether you meant to or not.”

“I—I didn’t think it would work,” you admit, brushing ash off your hoodie. “I just follow, like, lunar cycles and I mostly do love spells for my friends. I don’t even know how to—wait, are you Hades?”

“Yes.” His smile is unsettling. “And you’ve already set things in motion.”

Thanatos crouches beside you, gentle in contrast. “You don’t need to fear. You’re not in danger here… not unless you run.”

“Run where?” you ask, voice pitching. “I have a shift at Starbucks tomorrow.”

Hades offers a hand, palm up like a king inviting you to kneel—or rise. “You’ve brushed against the veil too many times to go unnoticed. And we’ve decided. You’ll stay. You’ll thrive here. You’ll be ours.”

You stare, caught between awe and panic. “Wait. Stay?”

Thanatos stands and gives you the faintest, almost conspiratorial smile. “We’ve made space for you. A room. A garden. A mirror with perfect lighting.”

“A full vanity,” Hades adds, almost smug. “Stocked with things mortals love. You’ll be comfortable… eventually.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then we try harder,” Thanatos says simply.

They don’t threaten. They don’t shout. They simply wait—two ancient gods used to getting exactly what they want, especially when what they want is a confused, sarcastic, kind-of-messy witch who still has her phone in her hoodie pocket.

And somewhere inside, beneath the disbelief and panic, a little voice in you whispers: This might actually be kinda hot.