Makaria pulled her face from his hands. His tirade had not gone unheard, but did her father even understand what she was trying to tell him? That she felt inadequate as a Goddess of Death? How many Gods were there in their Pantheon and not one had come calling. Her mother had scores of admirers. She was famous for it. But little Makaria, the death goddess, barely had friends. She had some.
But..
Her eyes watered as she thought about how she felt at times. So alien to their emotions. The odd ducking out of the bunch. Makaria was a death goddess, and to the Underworld that was fine but to Olympus? She knew she seemed odd. Enjoying her work. Which made her wonder, was she morbid? Her father would go on and on about how important their jobs were but.. everyone else seemed to think they were.
"I can't even speak to him because I'm afraid I might kill him or something else will kill him, or.. I mean come on dad, I'm a Death Goddess. I might be the nicer kind of one, but that doesn't change the feeling people get around me. I never said I wanted to throw anyone away but look at me! Most of the people I meet I'm leading down here because they're dead." Makaria felt shame for thinking such things, her face was blotchy red. She thought he'd understand.