The first thing that went through Demeter’s mind when she looked at her newborn daughter was that the child looked rather strange. Not in a bad way, really, but she was so pale. And she had gray hair already. Demeter hoped that didn’t mean anything bad.

Her girl was so cold, too. Her skin was icy. In fact, now that Demeter looked, the infant’s lips were bluish. Demeter’s breath caught in her throat, and one of her hands slid down to measure her infant’s heartbeat. The strong, steady rhythm only slightly relieved her.

What on earth was wrong with the girl?

The baby sighed and wiggled, opening her eyes. They were solid black, without even a trace of the whites, let alone any color. Demeter felt another surge of panic. Was her daughter even focusing? Could she even see? It was impossible to tell.

Demeter wrapped the blanket tighter around her cold-skinned, listless child. What was wrong? Would the girl even live?

“She’s divine, Demeter. She’ll be fine.”

Demeter jumped; Hades put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “How do you know?” Demeter demanded, clutching her daughter close.

Hades sighed and moved back a little. “How do you think I’d know, Demeter?”

“You’re not one of the Fates.”

“I don’t have to be. Doom lives in my house, remember? As does his brother.”

A silence colder than the baby’s skin settled over the room. Demeter was the first to break it. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I came to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter. And bring you a gift.” Hades nodded to a basket by the door; it was heaped with molu flowers.

“Thank you,” Demeter said stiffly.

“What will you name her?”

There was a long pause. “Kore,” Demeter said finally. Hades nodded and left as suddenly as he’d come.

Demeter looked down at her daughter. “Kore,” she said again, and Kore stared back, unblinking. Demeter held her close.

“Yes, Kore’s a good name. You’ll be my daughter, and you’ll be perfect.”