Sure, I'd love to see a bit of the story. Sounds really cool!

Sounds interesting!

First of all, sorry that I didn't get back sooner.  I've been pretty busy the past few days.  Secondly, this is only my rough draft.  Please give criticism on this.  I am very open to new ideas and helpful comments.  I love having people help make my writing better.  Well, here goes:

The door flew open.  A ghostly solider with a long, bushy beard and fierce eyebrows that framed his disdainful eyes stood in the entrance to my new home.  Though he did not cast a shadow, his presence darkened the feel of the room with an ominous sense of doom.  His dark eyes briskly glanced over the room before landed on my huddled form on the wooden floor, trembling with a newfound fear of this formidable ghost. 

The solider barked at me, "Are you________, the sole occupant of this household?"

I gave him a shaky nod.

"Good.  Lord Hades has requested your presence  in his throneroom.  Now.  You are to respond to his questions with a 'Lord Hades and speak respectfully.  Understood?"

The man did not wait for my response.

"Right then.  Follow me."

Then he marched me out of the door to what I was sure was my last sanctuary and hope for a normal life- or Afterlife, if you will.

My mind reeled for a possible answer to the curious behaviors I had encountered as of late.  First my death, then the crazy old man predicting that I would make a choice that would decide the outcome of the entire Underworld, my new home that was a replica of my old home before I had been enslaved, and now Lord Hades, King of the Underworld, wished for an audience with me, a lowly newly-deceased slave girl.  I mean, how messed up is that?  But the question that pulsed in my mind was this: What was the reason for these queer happenings?  Why would the judges of the dead be given orders that I was to go to the Elysian Fields?  Why had my luck seemingly turned around?  Why? Why?  Why?!?  I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. 

"Sir."  My voice was came out barely a whisper, a croak.  I cleared my throat (how does a spirit clear it's throat?)  and tried again.  "Sir."

If the guardsman heard, he showed no sign of it.

"Sir.  Mr. Guardsman-Solider-Person.  Why does Ha- I mean, Lord Hades wish to see me?"

"I wouldn't know.  I'm a solider, nothing more.  I don't meddle in the Lord's business."

"Oh.  Well, Mr.,"

"You may call me Primus." Primus said in a softer tone.  "I'm sorry, but we have no time.  Lord Hades insists that those who are important enough to meet with him must be punctual, as his time is precious.  Therefore, we have only enough time to get to the palace.  Again, I am sorry, but we have no time."

Primus led me through alleyways, across bridges built above creeks more silt and sorrow than water, and finally past the tormented figures of those poor sinners in Tartarus.  Tanatalus, Sisyphus, and many other wretched figures, doomed to enternal torment in order to pay for the sins of their mortal lives.  In my opinion, it seems slightly harsh to force a soul to be tied to a burning wheel that is then pushed of a hill that goes on for enternity. Just for the crimes of 40 or 50 years of life!  I was greatly relieved when we left those figures behind, but my relief was soon replaced with dread and fear of the unknown as the castle of Lord Hades loomed into my view.