Nothing was more satisfying, more relaxing, or more soothing than just relaxing in her element. Styx was not just the goddess of hate and the river associated with it, she was the river itself. Everywhere it flowed, all nine times it circled the underworld -though it was Akheron that Charon ferried across and not herself, she was there always. As long as it involved her river, she was aware. While some gods disappeared into Concept when they wanted to be left alone, that seemed far too much like a cop-out to her. Especially when she could just dissolve her corpus into her corrosive waters and flow with it in pure essence. And really, what was more soothing than the soft currents of a river?
Her home, and the mouth of her river, was situated very near the entrance of the Underworld. A fact that many either forgot or just plain ignored. Unless she wasn't around at all, or was completely distracted, it was rare that she didn't notice the comings and goings -more comings than goings by far, of the Underworld. Cerberus did a fine job of keeping the living out and the dead within, so there was little to worry about.
He had been excited for a moment and barking loudly, that Styx could hear even from her waters, which indicated someone was entering the Underworld, but then stilled. She would have ignored it, brushed it off as just a sibling or something related passing through -probably Lottie coddling him again, until she sensed something unusual.
It felt divine. Definitely young... familiar and yet foreign... a deep seated hatred....
Intrigued, Hate's corpus started to reform as close as she could get in her river to the gates -which was still a fair distance given the geography. The only thing she really noticed was the platinum blonde hair. Continuing to reform, she stepped out onto the bank then towards the gates. Today's visitor to the Underworld would have a formal greeting.
Styx was still dripping, her formed clothing soaked, as the rest of her finished reforming and approached the goddess in question. Then she saw it, the marred flesh. Ah, it was that young Norse Underworlder that her parents had brought to dinner. Hel. “Beware the middle head,” she said and stopped about ten feet away for Hel's safety. Her waters were dangerous and they were still dripping off her immune corpus. “It's shifty. It gave Heracles quite the fight when he tried to overpower Cerberus.”