“Cassandra, tell me the weather,” He demanded of the device perched on his desk. It sat like a round white ball on the nearly black wood, spoiling the effect with trailing wires. He hated the thing, but his wife had insisted upon keeping it. ‘I’m gone half the time, and you need a woman around to tell you what to do,’ she’d joked.
The thing chimed, and a pair of tiny blue lights flared in recognition.
“In Tartarus, it is cloudy. Again. As ever.”
Hades glared at the oracle’s skull. The modern makeover hadn’t done anything to fix her sass.

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