She walked to the door and stared at it. It continued to thud and pound, and tears began to fill her eyes. She had never seen the door do this before, and as Apollo always said, she was not clever, and she became very distressed that she had dome something to break the door.
"Apollo?" came a voice. She blinked twice, staring at the wood. Had it just...spoken?
"No, he's upstairs. Er...this is the door?"
"Fuck," came the voice. "Uh, yeah. This is the door. Can you get Apollo for me, please?"
"Yes, hold on, and I'll..."
"You'll what?" snarled a voice from behind her. Apollo stood, his hair matted and toussled, hastily buttoning a shirt. "Get back into the bedroom, Calliope. I have business to attend to."
"With...the door?" she asked, puzzled.
"No, you idiot. Doors do not talk. Avert your eyes."
She closed her eyelids tightly, and heard a heavy creaking noise. An acrid, bitter smell filled her nostrils; she wretched. There was a loud clomping noise, and another creaking, and a click.
"Hell, Apollo," breathed the door.
"Open your eyes, Calliope."
When she did, she gasped. There, standing before her, was a creature...at once like them, and not like them. Scars crossed his flesh, but he was not like one made to be beautiful, but made to be hideous. His skin was pockmarched, patchy, and checkered; his eyes were mismatched and watery; his back was raised in an assymmetrical lump. Where Apollo was lithe quicksilver, this...thing before her was a lump of coal, of lead.
"You can't even let her see what's out there?"
"No. The outside world is no place for our kind, you know that."
"Apollo is right. He has told me many times."
The creature looked upon her with pity in his eyes, and wrath filled her stomach. How could this wretched abomination have pity for her?
"Calliope. This is Hephaestus. He is an old friend."
The creature bowed awkwardly with its misshappen spine. "How d'you do?"