Thanatos cannot see in daylight.

That thought is always in the back of Moros’ mind when he visits his brother, and he visits often. He finds it a great tragedy; Thanatos would appreciate the beauty of the world under the sun. Then again, maybe it’s a mercy he cannot see what he must, eventually, kill. Moros knows Thanatos thinks on these things a great deal, also.

Besides, Thanatos, like all Nyx’s children, is a creature of shadow, and looks the part. He is tall and dark, one of only three of their mother’s children to inherit her black hair. Like many of his siblings, there is something about Thanatos that keeps people from seeing him clearly; in his case, people simply forget the exact details of his appearance.

Except for his eyes, Moros thinks, standing in his brother’s doorway. Thanatos’ eyes cannot even be said to be eyes; rather, they are pools of roiling shadow, the strange solid shadows of their mother.

Moros raps on the doorframe, watching with unsurprised sadness as Thanatos scrubs bloody tears off his face. Yes, it is a tragedy that Thanatos cannot see the world he so longs to see, Moros thinks.

But it would be a mistake to call Death blind.

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People like to say that Love is blind, but nothing could be further from the truth. Eros’ eyesight is quite keen, thank you very much.

The primordial god stares at his reflection in the mirror, searching out imperfections. There are, of course, none. Eros is quite proud of his appearance, really; it is his greatest weapon, moreso even than his compelling voice or intoxicating touch.

He came into being with unfortunate coloring; stark white hair and eyes will put off anyone. He should have been a shunned god, like those poor unfortunate children of Nyx. But crafty Eros turned his oddness to his advantage, carefully cultivating his uncanny appearance until it became not a warning, but an invitation. Soul after hapless soul took that invitation and looked closer, only to be ensnared in Eros’ traps – and, ultimately, destroyed in a kind of living death. Eros is particularly proud of this, as it means that the weight of years held in his eyes has been successfully hidden by his youthful facade; his subtle misdirections work.

Eros looks again at his eyes. They are as they always are – white, old, ageless, charmed, and the seat of his greatest weakness – the only weakness in a god famous for none.

You see, Eros cannot see at night.