The smirk was duly noted by the youngest of the brothers. The order of selection had been discussed before, when they had argued—or, rather, discussed—the means of dividing the cosmos.
Zeus would go first, then Poseidon, then Hades.
The shortest brother stepped forward, meeting the eyes of the witch, then closing his eyes as he reached toward the bag. Only one of his eyes, his right, not visible to his brothers for how his head was turned, was nearly, but not quite closed. He saw the smallest pinprick of white as his hand entered the bag, and he went for it, fingers closing around the lightest stone.
He pulled the stone out from the bag, then opened his eyes as he opened his hand, looking at the stone that lay in the middle of his palm, white and gleaming. He said nothing, but the grin that spread across his features, smug as ever, was an indicator that he was most pleased with the outcome.