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polskasroka · 4 months ago

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The Promise of Eternal Oblivion

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hades (Supergiant Games Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Melinoë & Odysseus (Hades Video Game) Characters: Melinoë (Hades Video Game), Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Achilles (Hades Video Game) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Written During Hades II (Supergiant Video Game) Early Access, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father Figures, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, ody can no longer run from his past, POV Odysseus (Hades Video Game), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Word count: 6,868 Summary:

The Lethe, the famous river of oblivion, is a tempting option.

Read on AO3 or below!

All’s said and done, at last. Chronos has been cut into pieces once more and hidden in the darkest corners of the Earth and the Underworld by all the gods who fought against him. The feasts have been thrown, both down in the House of Hades and high up on Olympus to celebrate the victory that has restored the once lost peace and balance in the world. It’s currently being rebuilt and reborn, now with Demeter’s and Persephone’s great aid. So is the House of Hades.

The shades are taking care of everything, with Dusa and Zagreus being in charge of the design choices. The latter wouldn’t be in that position if it hadn’t been for his mother’s power to convince the rightful lord of the house that it was a good idea.

Melinoë has also been offered to share the job with her brother and the maid but she politely declined, as she usually does. She prefers to continue acquainting herself with everyone around here and becoming more knowledgeable when it comes to what is where in her old-new home.

She isn’t the only one who was encouraged to stay at the House of Hades or return to it.

Hypnos did it without hesitation. So did Skelly.

Nemesis refused.

Hecate chose to stay at the Crossroads, for it had always been and would always be her home. Apart from that, she wants everyone to have that sort of safe haven ready in case anything went wrong once again.

Moros would follow Melinoë wherever she’d go and reside. That earned the House another child of Nyx.

Then, there was Odysseus, who had to consider all pros and cons of staying at the House of Hades or claiming his spot in Elysium. Certain that he’d have few to no things to do there, he accepted the invitation. Sentiments similar to Moros’ might have also affected his decision. However, Odysseus would follow the goddess to the edge of the world for reasons different from those of Doom’s.

It did sound great at the start, it really did. A change of scenery was meant to do good, especially when moving from the middle of magic woods to a house. One that belongs to none other than the God of the Dead, the King of the Underworld, at that!

And maybe it was a bit vain of Odysseus to be thinking such things but he’d once lived in a luxurious place like this. He’d owned it. He’d been a king.

That part is, however, a far cry from who he is now.

He does have responsibilities but they’re not overbearing. He’s not a ruler of men anymore. Not in the mortal sense, at least. He’s still a tactician, though. That particular trait got him a task, for the fulfilment of which he’d have to use his experience and knowledge to invent new ways of preventing the Shades from leaving the Underworld.

The task never ends, obviously, but Odysseus doesn’t really mind. He’s got a purpose, so he’s not sitting idly, spending his every waking hour thinking about his past. The scrolls of plans and maps always lying on his private desk efficiently pull his thoughts away from the heartwrenching things he’d done when he’d been alive. The gut-churning war crimes or sacrifices made that would’ve ended badly no matter what he’d done.

When the war against Chronos was being waged, the duties he’d perform for Hecate and Melinoë kept the intrusive thoughts at bay in a similar manner to how his current job is doing it. The difference is that the constant fighting was much more consuming. There never was a real break from anything. Now there are. Even Shades aren’t able to work all the time.

Odysseus desperately clings to the most recent plans that he’s been working on, even while leaving his private chamber, granting himself one of these breaks. He’s almost afraid to let the thoughts about his best blueprints go for fear of spiralling down a breakdown filled with guilt and hundreds of ‘what ifs.’

He would be so successful at that if he hadn’t exited that room.

The spell is broken once he steps out of there. There’s no going back now, although he wishes he still had that boldness in himself, so that he’d just turn around and crawl back into the safety of his own four walls.

It’s not Melinoë who’s making him want to return to the blessed solitude, no. It’s the cries that he hears and blood that he sees that make him want to do that. It’s memories of the ‘great war of Ilium’, as Moros once dubbed it, that feel like crashing against a stone wall. The memories evoked by the sheer sight of Achilles. And Odysseus hasn’t even heard him speak today yet! Now, that is a new record for him.

“We, um… don’t talk about me and bows,” Melinoë says, laughing a bit nervously. “Isn’t that right, Od?”

“Ah, the bows!” he replies cheerfully, not to infect the goddess with his sour mood. As he approaches them, he continues, “the Nightmare Goddess here has many talents and the bows seem to be her only weakness.”

“You’re much too kind.” Melinoë rolls her eyes.

“It can’t be that bad, lass. Come on, let’s see what we can do about that.”

Melinoë doesn’t see the way Odysseus’ eyelid twitches at what Achilles has just offered. The man in question does.

“I’m not sure, sir. I always shoot everything but the target!”

“Your brother used to do the same thing. I managed to teach him, so I dare say I can manage to teach you too. Surely, it can’t be impossible for some of us, at least.”

The only reason why Odysseus holds back whatever snarky comment he’s got ready is Melinoë’s chuckle. He can’t bring himself to ruining her moment of amusement.

“Why don’t you join us, Od?” she asks as if nothing happened. As if Odysseus isn’t gritting his teeth so hard, that they’d shatter were he not a Shade.

“I might as well.” He smiles his usual smirk at Melinoë but drops it once she’s not looking at him anymore. Instead, he looks Achilles right in the eye and says, “watch out for your heel.”

Odysseus would really like to be happy for Melinoë and maybe he is. He surely is proud that she’s actually trying to learn how to use a bow properly but he’s so mad at himself for not having taught her himself. The worst thing is that he doesn’t know what he’s been doing wrong this whole time. The bow just didn’t work out a couple of times and they abandoned the idea. And now she’s picking it up in no time!

And it’s thanks to Achilles at that, out of all people!

Ridiculous is what this is.

As if to add insult to injury, Odysseus has been suffering from nightmares recently.

It’s not that he didn’t have them earlier, back when the war against Chronos was still on. He did have them but they contained much different things. In those days, he’d dream about losing a lot. He’d dream about losing the afterlife he had at the hands of the Titan. He’d dream about losing the Crossroads and everything that he and the rest of their inhabitants stood for. And he’d dream about losing Melinoë.

Such nightmares had Odysseus wake up with cold sweat running down his spine.

Now that the dangers are gone, his mortal past is catching up with him. It’s also getting progressively worse, for he soon can’t remember a night without a nightmare. He thinks about telling the goddess about it, wondering if she could help cease the images and noises of bloody battles and the terrible events that happened during his 10-year-long journey home.

The arduous way back has a lot to offer in the nightmare department. So does the war. Every night, it’s as if his mind’s casting lots as to what kind of suffering it’ll inflict upon itself.

There is something that tops everything, though.

The memory of dropping that infant from the wall.

That horrifying and infamous moment looms large over Odysseus’ dreams. If he happens to have it appear in his sleep, the rest of the night becomes restless. It makes him sick to the stomach no matter how many times he’s relived those dreaded seconds inside of his own head.

Giving him sleepless nights is one thing. One day, he goes to walk around the House of Hades and lands on the top of the high walls that surround the place. Everything is perfectly fine until he looks over the edge at the floor all the way down at the bottom of the wall. His head starts spinning immediately and there’s suddenly no air left in his lungs (as if he needed it), and his throat’s all dry. His knees almost give out and he has to stumble backwards and sit down.

Breathing, albeit unnecessary, seems impossible for a good while and the tactician feels like he’s about to pass out, his chest painfully tight. Luckily, though with tears welled up in his eyes, he manages to calm down, one palm on his breast, the other trembling.

He’s visibly shook even by the time he comes back to the main halls of the House. He needs the safety of his chamber, even though he’s not high up on the wall anymore.

“Odysseus!” Melinoë’s voice pulls him out of his head and he stops, and turns around to face the goddess. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

WHAT?!

“Me? Never!” he announces quickly, confidently, gesturing with his hand in the air. “I could be working on the most time-consuming plans but I’d never purposefully ignore you, Goddess.”

When he’s done talking, his hand stays in the air for a while and Melinoë’s face gets shrouded in concern.

“You’re trembling, Od. What’s going on?”

Odysseus looks at her and then at his hand, and he quickly shoves it downwards, focused on not letting his façade break.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Melinoë folds her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

There’s a sudden urge to tell her that one thing he’s never told her. The one that haunts him in his worst nightmares and the one that broke him down back up on that wall.

“I…” he tries, he really, really tries, and Melinoë knows it. She hears the way that one syllable wavers. But he can’t let it out. Not now. Not here in the hall. “I haven’t been sleeping too well, Goddess. You see, now that the future is not that uncertain anymore, all the tensions from the not-so-recent times seem to be catching up with me and thus affecting the quality of my sleep. This shall pass soon enough, though.”

A half-lie. Not bad.

But Melinoë furrows her brows nonetheless. She still accepts that explanation and doesn’t pry further. Odysseus couldn’t be more relieved.

“If you say so. But if there’s anything troubling you, just tell me, alright, Od?”

There’s so much genuine care in her tone and the way she’s gazing at him that he knows he can’t tell her that it’s his nightmares that make him look like one of the undead from Ephyra back in the day. Not when she’s caring so much.

What would he even tell her? You don’t go to the Goddess of Nightmares and forbid her from giving you nightmares. That sounds highly disrespectful at the very least.

The nightmares don’t pass.

In addition, immersing himself in work and blueprints doesn’t help as well as it used to. Even receiving compliments from the Lord of the House or his son doesn’t aid Odysseus’ situation much.

The problem is that he doesn’t have anything to look forward to. While alive, reuniting with his family had been his driving force. Not too long ago, ending the war with Chronos was the ultimate goal that he and everyone around him shared. Now, making it more impossible for a simple Shade to leave the Underworld is a dead end job.

Then, a very foolish idea appears in his head. One of the worst he could have ever had – reopening old wounds is never a smart idea.

So, even though he’s made peace with his wife and son after they all died, he’s started considering finding and seeing them again, all the while hoping that they are still able to recognise him after all this time. After all, the Lethe, the famous river of oblivion, is a tempting option.

Indeed, he hasn’t seen his first own family since that day. But although they parted in a friendly way, without arguments or resentment, Odysseus has been yearning for seeing his loved ones anyway. He’s never really come to terms with them having gone their separate paths. Maybe it’s selfish of him but letting go of people one loves so much is not a simple thing to do.

Odysseus knows it’s not going to end well but he commits to the idea anyway. Anything to sleep through the whole night and stop experiencing the war and his journey home every day, every moment he’s not too busy with whatever is on his hands.

But he can’t just go to Elysium straight away. Wandering pointlessly around that place in search for his family rubs him the wrong way, so he has to ask someone for help. It won’t be Hades, no. He’s dealt with his brothers before and he’s not going to tempt fate anymore. Or ever again, for that matter. But he can ask Melinoë. She should be able to help, especially now that she’s already spent some time in the Underworld and in the House.

Thus, Odysseus seizes the first best opportunity at making such an inquiry to the goddess when he happens to stumble across her in the garden she shares with her mother now. And since old habits die hard, the tactician often tends to the garden, for which both the Princess and the Queen are always grateful.

“Oh, hi, Od! I’ve just finished here,” Melinoë says, standing up and brushing the dirt off of her hands. “I’ll leave some patches for you next time.”

“It’s your garden, Goddess, and you don’t have to remember to leave it for me to care for anymore. Those days are long gone.”

“It’s still our garden. It’ll always be. But,” she sighs, “you haven’t come here to talk about our plants, have you?”

“In fact, I… I’d like to ask for a favour, if that’s not a problem.”

Melinoë looks at him incredulously, folding her arms. “Of course, it’s not. What can I do for you?”

“Let’s suppose I were to visit Elysium. And look for my wife and son.” Odysseus notices how Melinoë’s face lights up, so he continues before she can start. “Is there any way to know if they’d still… remember me?”

His voice breaks a little at the end there and he wishes it didn’t. The goddess doesn’t let him dwell on that for too long, though.

“The Shades in the Administrative Chamber will know. Or they’ll know which scroll we should read to learn what we want to know. O-Or what you want to know! It’s your private matter, after all.”

“Well, I’d be honoured if the Princess of the Underworld herself decided to accompany me to both the Chamber and the Elysian Fields,” he claims in a warm tone, one that’d convince anyone to do whatever he pleases.

He also bows his head and Melinoë can’t say no to it all. Not that she was ever planning to.

“Let’s go then!”

The Shades in the Administrative Chamber willingly help out the two after given enough information on the souls in Elysium they’re meaning to find. While they’re waiting for the right scroll to be obtained, Melinoë gifts Odysseus with a hopeful smile and a bright look and it does fuel his beatless heart with the happy kind of anticipation.

Soon, Melinoë receives the scroll and hands it to her friend. An aura full of gleeful energy surrounds him because he doesn’t want to think of the tens of reasons why his family may have already chosen to drink the waters of the Lethe. And all those reasons would be equally sensible.

Odysseus finds the correct line and his enthusiasm is gone in an instant. He lets out a long exhale and gives the scroll back to Melinoë who also reads the bad news. She then watches him turn his back to her and run his hand down his face. She returns the scroll to the Shades of the Chamber and walks over to Odysseus to lay a hand on his shoulder. He slouches slightly.

“Do you still wish to see them, Od? It’s not a problem for me to find them, even if they don’t… As long as you’re still willing to go,” she offers gently, kindly.

“Aye, Goddess,” he says lifelessly.

The majority of their walk to Elysium is shrouded in silence. Melinoë isn’t too surprised, considering the information that the scrolls contained. Odysseus is visibly tense and nervous, something he rarely allows himself to show. In fact, Melinoë can’t tell if she’s seen him this restless around anyone but herself.

She stops at one point and Odysseus follows. He looks at her and then to the front. A while ago, he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice two Shades a couple of steps before them, floating above the green meadows.

Odysseus glances at Melinoë again, his expression screaming confusion and disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Od,” Melinoë says quietly and watches him turn his gaze back at the pair of Shades. “I assume that they didn’t look like this the last time you saw them… did they?”

“No, Goddess,” he replies curtly. “They were… more whole, if that’s how I can put it. They looked more like I still do. Why has this happened?”

“There’s two reasons for that. The more forgotten the Shades become, the less they look as they used to, back when they were alive or when they arrived in the Underworld. Then, if they have no purpose, no duties that bind them or keep them motivated, they turn into those trusty green Shades. The latter is connected to drinking from the Lethe. After that, all they’ve ever known are these Fields,” Melinoë explains calmly, sensing how gloom’s gripping her friend’s dead heart.

“No sorrows or pain?”

“None.”

A shaky exhale leaves Odysseus’ mouth. It’s filled with some relief, though, and Melinoë hears that. It makes her feel a bit better about him and what he’s got himself into seeing.

“That’s why they have no motivation. This ever-present bliss of Elysium is what rids them of it. They have everything they could ever want, so why pursue something else?” the goddess adds.

“Will they stay in this… form forever?” Odysseus asks with the last embers of hope that he could dig out from his despondent self.

Melinoë hesitates, aware of how the Shade next to her is hanging on the edge of a breakdown by a thread. But he asks, so she can’t let his question stay unanswered.

“They won’t.” Straight to the point. “They’ll fade away, eventually, and their life energy will return to Primordial Chaos. Their essence will never cease to exist. But they won’t be reborn as the same persons.”

Heaviness fills her own heart as she hangs her head and stares at the green grass before her.

As soon as Melinoë hears Odysseus sniffle, she has to squeeze her eyes shut, so as not to let tears fall from them. Her own breathing wavers and she focuses on steadying it back to its natural pattern but still registers the air around her moving and the sound of the Shade next to her plopping down onto the ground.

Glassy-eyed, the goddess utterly pities Odysseus, the sorry sight he is right now. Hoping it’ll be at least a bit of comfort, Melinoë sits down next to him and lifts her hand to lay it on his back. She rubs at it carefully and then his whole frame shakes as he does his best to mute the sob that breaks from his chest. He’s got his eyes covered by a hand that he propped on his knee but Melinoë knows they’re at least as teary as hers.

“When they do fade away, they don’t even notice it. Nothing’s ever going to hurt them again,” Melinoë states reassuringly.

She’s met with silence, which Odysseus breaks after a while. “They drank from the Lethe right after we went our separate ways.”

So he read that entry in the scroll too.

A tear rolls down Melinoë’s cheek, hearing a weep rip itself from deep within his soul.

Odysseus doesn’t speak of his family ever again. He also doesn’t mention the encounter in Elysium and neither does Melinoë, for which he’s utterly grateful.

Days go by as they always do in the House of Hades again. There’s plans lying in front of the tactician’s eyes for most of the time, as he constantly draws his attention away from how his son and wife decided to forget about everything so quickly… But he doesn’t blame them, he can’t blame them. In fact, he thinks it was the most reasonable thing for them to do. They’d suffered enough once and they deserved to be free from those days.

The reality of it hurts Odysseus anyway. It always will.

It’s also yet another thing that’s going to be haunting him, weighing him down. He hates himself for dreaming not only about his mortal days but now also about that blasted stroll to Elysium.

Odysseus wakes up in the middle of every night. The nightmares seem to never be leaving him and he thinks he’s growing used to being torn away from his sleep while yelling and sweating cold beads along his spine. That’s when he knows that it’s no use going back to sleep because he’s not going to doze off again for another two or three hours.

So he revisits his newest plans and ideas, sitting at his desk with the chamber being illuminated only by a single torch hung up on the wall, next to him. In the dim light, Odysseus studies the blueprints, pondering over any possible changes or improvements. There is one concept that involves a wall and he’s feeling brave to assess it one night.

He digs it out from the pile of scrolls that he decided he would deal with later and spreads it across the desk. Holding the two sides down with his hands, he peers over it and an unpleasant sensation washes over him. He tries to weather it by swallowing and releasing a long exhale but it looks like it’s not going to be enough in the long run.

There’s that feeling of something clutching at his chest again and Odysseus blinks and attempts to compose himself because it’s nothing more but a scroll! A Great Tactician can’t be scared of scrolls, it’s absurd!

But it’s true.

Odysseus rips the plan into shreds.

Some other day, Odysseus wakes up with a thought of telling Melinoë about the most gruesome crime he committed during the war. He’s determined enough to do it as soon as possible before the courage leaves him and he’s left with that burden all alone again. He needs to share it with someone. He needs to finally feel better, lighter, and this must be the reason why he’s been coping so poorly lately.

If the goddess is not in her chamber, she is at the training grounds. Courtesy to Hecate, said training grounds look just like the ones back at the Crossroads. Melinoë wouldn’t stand it if they were different from what she’s used to.

So Odysseus heads exactly there but the closer he gets, the more familiar swooshes slicing the air he can hear. Curious and watchful, he peeks inside from the outside of the area and notices the goddess practising her archery skills. It brings a smile onto his face that disappears from there once he lays his eyes on Achilles who’s apparently still there to supervise Melinoë’s progress.

The tactician’s eyes grow cold at the sight and his fists clench tightly when Melinoë’s hit the mark and runs to Achilles to hug him, beaming with happiness and pride. Oh, she’d be a joy to look at if he weren’t there with her. Teaching her. Telling her how to shoot. Praising her for her first ever successful shot. Being there to witness it. Being there to laugh with her and return her embrace.

Odysseus should be there, not him.

When he storms off, all enraged and gritting his teeth, he’s got no chance of hearing how much Melinoë wishes he saw her do that and that her new goal is to better herself at archery even more and then show him how much she’s learnt.

The decision takes him a while to make.

Wanting to smooth out the process, Odysseus lists down all the advantages and disadvantages, both for him and for the residents of the House of Hades who are the most dear to him. Or one resident.

It’s rather sad to admit that the scale tips in favour of resolving to do the deed and finally be truly free. Free from worries and sorrows, and pain, and nightmares.

Odysseus knows it’ll terribly hurt Melinoë but he can’t go on like this anymore. He’s been trying to fight all those intrusive thoughts and remedy his terrible dreams and painful memories but nothing’s helped. Each day and each sleepless night are only making him more and more hopeless and desperate for a moment of respite. And the promise of eternal oblivion is something he’s found himself yearning for for the last couple of months or maybe even years.

The man of duty he is, the tactician doesn’t just leave. He makes an effort to inform everyone in the House about his decision and he’s relieved to hear their responses. The ones he’s talked to understand him but they’re upset anyhow. Maybe except for one figure who understands but is not too distraught. Odysseus is not too baffled by that, either.

He hasn’t told one particular goddess yet, though. And he doesn’t want to discuss this specific matter when he passes her in the halls. Instead, he asks her if she could visit him when she’s done with whatever business she has to attend to.

Odysseus also hasn’t told her about the infant yet. He doesn’t think about the possible repercussions. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

And it’s going to happen sooner than he’d like. It almost seems as if Melinoë resigned from doing whatever it was that she was planning on, and came straight to Odysseus. He shouldn’t be surprised – it’s not the first time such a thing’s occurred.

Melinoë is perplexed immediately after entering the room and having the door closed behind her. With a puzzled look, she follows Odysseus and takes a seat on a chair opposite him. She searches his face for any indications regarding the matters he wants to tackle but finds nothing but deep concern and… shame?

“Something isn’t right, is it? It can’t be, look at yourself, Od. Is it connected with something or someone around the House?”

“No, Goddess. It, erm… involves my mortal days.”

He swallows and exhales. Then, he drops it, looking Melinoë straight in the eye.

Her mouth falls slightly open as she hears what he’d done. There is clear shock in her expression but then the goddess furrows her brows and purses her lips as if she’s pondering over something important or serious. It puzzles Odysseus, for he was expecting her to… to do what? She’s a goddess, she could know a thing or two about sacrifices that have to be made sometimes.

Will she understand, then?

“Why haven’t you told me about it before?” she asks carefully, quirking an eyebrow up.

Odysseus’ eyes widen.

“Well, I…” He’s at a loss for words – something that never happens to him. “I’ve told you all about my greatest deeds and I suppose I was worried about you changing the view you had of me.”

“You’ve told me about the… less great deeds too. I see why killing a mortal child can be something that leaves a mark on a man but gods aren’t the purest beings, either. I’m sure you know that. And I think I can imagine what it means to be made to choose while being pressed by a god.”

Melinoë sends him a little smile which he returns, remembering how she mentioned being forced to make such decisions during her nightly ventures to Erebus or Ephyra. But then Odysseus also looks at her in a way that she can’t quite read.

I see why killing a mortal child can be something that leaves a mark on a man.

Does she now? She said it with something akin to lightness in her tone. Odysseus can no longer hide his own incredulity.

“That moment is still haunting me, Goddess,” he admits wearily. “Every day and every night.”

Silence.

“I’m so tired of–”

The tactician doesn’t let his voice falter any further, so he just shuts up. Tears well up in his eyes and he hates it. Averting his gaze, he blinks the tears away but it’s to no avail especially now that Melinoë’s got up to come closer and crouch in front of him. She cups his face to wipe the tears away and then grabs his hands with hers and squeezes soothingly.

“I need to rest, Goddess,” Odysseus gasps out. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand all these thoughts and memories for much longer. You see, after you defeated that old bastard for good, I was looking forward to whatever it was that the Fates had in store for me. For us all.”

“But?”

“But the optimism died out sooner than I would’ve preferred.”

He tells her about his dreams and his nightmares. He tells her how the latter are only getting worse and worse, never asking Melinoë to change anything about that. Even the sheer fact that he’s telling her that the night terrors are constantly rendering him terrified and exhausted is something he never assumed he would be so open about to the Nightmare Goddess.

Odysseus talks about the walls he can no longer wander atop of. He talks about the torn plans and ideas that he had to forget because they included either constructing walls or getting onto the already existing ones.

And then, he speaks about the utter disenchantment that he was met with when he read the scroll about Penelope and Telemachus.

Melinoë’s radiating with genuine pity and it’s only making Odysseus feel worse. Her mood is visibly plummeting and it’s all his fault. But he can’t keep it all bottled up anymore. He has to let it out, so that she’ll understand why he finally wants to forget everything and claim his spot in Elysium.

“Od?”

His expectant look is enough for Melinoë to go on.

“I’m not making you feel any better when I practise using the bow with Achilles, am I?”

The question quickly pulls Odysseus out of his torpor. He takes a sharp inhale and stands up, pulling Melinoë up too. She doesn’t even notice when he embraces her and draws her close to his front.

“The last thing I want is you blaming yourself for that, Goddess. Or for anything that concerns me, for that matter. It’s him I’m mad at, not you,” he says firmly and feels Melinoë release a breath that she was holding.

“Are you sure? I can talk to him if you’d like me to,” the goddess offers, shrugging. Not a big deal.

“No.” Odysseus then lets her go and wavery words leave his lungs. “It won’t change anything. I’ve made my decision.”

“What decision?”

Revealing the news causes Melinoë to burst out crying and bury her face in Odysseus’ shoulder. He’s there to hold her while she’s shivering, hidden in his arms, clutching the fabric of his cloak. She keeps telling him that she understands but her weeping seems to be implying something else. It’s as if she wants to tell him that everything can be mended, as if that idea’s ready at the tip of her tongue, but such a proposition never makes it past Melinoë’s lips. They’re both perfectly aware of how stubborn he is. She’s taken it after him.

He explains to her why the Lethe is the only solution to the hardships he faces every day. He once again mentions the things he’s already mentioned – his past now going hand in hand with him – and Melinoë is truly listening, absorbing and analysing the information, in-between the sobbing.

Odysseus feared she’d start questioning him and convincing him not to do what he’s yearning to do. But she doesn’t.

To Odysseus’ amazement, she calms down as he keeps talking to her, rubbing her back in a comforting manner. Only then does the goddess truly start to realise the severity of the horrors he’s got to endure daily and nightly.

“Goddess, you’re the last one to hear it all from me because… I’d be honoured if you accompanied me to Elysium,” he adds in a hushed way.

“Do you want to go already?” Melinoë mutters gloomily.

“I’ll wait if you need a moment.”

“Thanks, Od.”

“Take your time.”

It’s Melinoë who starts talking about the pleasant memories of the past she shares with Odysseus. After all, if this is the last time she’s talking to him while he still recognises her, she may as well use it to reminisce, so that they don’t part in melancholy. Not that Odysseus would remember that for too long once they’re off to their own, separate fates.

The goddess’ heart sings when she mentions all the times she played hide and seek with Hecate and Odysseus would help little Melinoë find the Titaness. They’d all always laugh the alleged cheating off later. Melinoë also played the game only with him from time to time and once found, he’d chase her around the Crossroads, purposefully failing to catch her, only to make her smile.

He’s cherished Melinoë’s laughter since the first time he heard it. There was a time when the little goddess didn’t have many reasons to laugh, for nightmares tormented her and she woke up crying in her tent. And Odysseus was always there first, ready to console her and talk flowery words about his own past, prattling on about the challenges he’d faced during the war or his long journey home.

And Melinoë would always fall asleep, listening to his calming voice.

Just as she’s doing now as he ends one of his monologues with a joyous chuckle. It then fades away when the bank of the Lethe appears in the distance before them. They fall silent and the audible sigh that Odysseus makes has Melinoë’s heart sink. They don’t stall, however, and steadily reach the river, stopping a couple of steps away from its gently flowing waters embraced in veil-like mist.

The sight is beautiful. Breathtaking.

“I guess our journey ends here. Thank you, Odysseus. For everything. We wouldn’t have any of this if it hadn’t been for you,” Melinoë utters, her words shaky, as she’s stood in front of him, looking into his tired but pleased eyes.

“Likewise, Goddess. I must admit I never expected the afterlife to be this eventful.”

“But now it’s time to rest. You deserve it, Od. We’ve got our share of it already, so now it’s your turn. Go and enjoy it. Be truly free from all that haunts you.” She smiles but her lips tremble.

Melinoë can’t stop her teeth from clattering, yet somehow manages not to let tears fall from her glassy eyes. She sniffles and puts on a brave face. She shakes her head and then throws her arms around Odysseus’ neck, pulling herself close to him, so that he can embrace her too. He holds her tightly, as if he were to never let go for fear of losing what they have, the bond they’ve forged over the years that Odysseus has always been too cowardly to name or call out loud.

He almost says it then. Almost, since the words die in his throat and all he does is clear it, emotions overwhelming him.

Melinoë sniffles again and soon releases Odysseus from her arms. She then wipes her eyes and tells him that she’s alright. He rubs her arm comfortingly and the goddess mourns the moment he stops and turns around, unable to look at her.

He’s breaking her heart and his own in two at the same time. He knows it but he also knows that this memory, this sentiment will be erased in a moment. He’ll feel no more pain and he’ll finally be free.

That’s what he’s craving, so he doesn’t waste more time and walks away from Melinoë. She’s following him with her gaze, which is boring a hole in the back of Odysseus’ head and he almost can’t resist whipping back around and returning to her.

In fact, it’s when he hears her choke on a sob that his resolve breaks.

Odysseus has the goddess pressed to his chest in no time. She’s not holding back now, crying into the fabric of his clothes, gripping them in her hands not to let him go to that blasted river.

“It’s no use crying over an old bastard like me, Goddess,” he says gently, his own voice shaking.

“H-how am I supposed not to?” Melinoë hiccups and continues, muttering the words into Odysseus’ front. “After all you’ve done for me? After all we’ve been through?”

He wants to say something but tears suddenly roll down his cheeks of their own volition. He grunts to compose himself again but he still remains quiet.

Tell her, you fool.

… Or let her do it for you.

“How am I supposed to just let you go without you knowing how much you mean to me, Od? You raised me and have always been by my side… I could never dream of a better father.”

Something grips him from the inside. It holds tightly and then loosens up, making a wave of relief wash over him, making him cry with no more inhibitions.

Pulling Melinoë impossibly close, Odysseus kisses the top of her head and rests his chin there, weeping just as heavily as she is.

“And I could never dream of a better daughter, Melinoë.”

His heart shatters into small pieces, hearing the muffled cry that she lets out. One last time, Odysseus tightens the hug for a fleeting moment and then opens his arms only to see how downcast Melinoë looks.

He pulls himself together for her, though. He can’t allow it all to get to him. He can’t allow it to convince him to return to and stay at the House of Hades.

Having brushed the freshest tears off of his own face and then hers, Odysseus holds her by her shivering arms and Melinoë locks her eyes with his.

“It’ll be alright,” he tells her (and himself). “Go home now and enjoy the rest of your life, aye? No more tears, Goddess. Chin up.”

She nods, still snivelling.

“I love you.”

It takes all of Melinoë’s willpower not to completely break down right in front of Odysseus. It only feels more impossible when he lets her go again and turns around to wander off in the direction of the Lethe.

“I’ll never forget you, Od. I love you, too.”

When Odysseus glances over his shoulder, the goddess is there no more. He thinks it’s better this way, for this way, she won’t have to watch him do the deed. She won’t have to witness the moment his memory becomes blank.

With his fists clenched and his step faltering, Odysseus reaches the bank of the river Lethe. He sits down on the soft, grassy surface and exhales, staring at the spot where he and Melinoë stood only a while ago.

It’s one of the happiest things in his whole life knowing that Melinoë’s seen him as her father all this time. He wishes it was possible to purge one’s mind solely from bad memories.

But it’s not and the longer he’s there, gaping into the distance with longing for the goddess to return, the stronger the pain in his chest’s growing. And it can be over so soon. Freedom and rest are right there, waiting for him to take a sip. Melinoë’s not coming back and he really shouldn’t be thinking about how she must be feeling now, grieving alone.

Left there, without him to hold her and lift her up, so that she can confidently stride forward again and face another day.

Sitting at the bank of the river, Odysseus glances at his reflection in the lazily flowing water. He reaches out his shaking, uncertain hand and scoops some of the liquid oblivion into his palm.

So this is Elysium?

#hades 2 #hades 2 fanfic #melinoe #odysseus #hades 2 melinoe #hades 2 odysseus

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jzlily333 · 6 months ago

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🌺05/27LiveWell活出美好🌺

God does not want you to be mediocre, God wants you to be outstanding.

If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God, which I command you today, and do them carefully, turning not to the right or to the left, or following other gods, then the LORD will make you the first and not the last, but above and not below. Deuteronomy 28: 13-14).

05/27 Bible verses

He who offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving honors Me; And to him who orders his way aright I shall show the salvation of God."

(Psalms 50: 23)

Whoever offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving glorifies me; whoever walks in the right way will receive my salvation (Psalm 50:23).

05/27Good words of wisdom

1. Whether it is connections, resources or opportunities, they are secondary. The important thing is to first improve your own skills such as knowledge, ability, character and attraction.

2. If you are a phoenix tree, only the phoenix will come to live there; if you are the sea, then all the rivers will come to converge. The fragrance of flowers has its own butterflies flying in. People need to cultivate the characteristics or skills that attract others.

Hymn: Nothing is impossible for You

https://youtu.be/QOJ2WCZY1xc?si=kxXicvGyy9QhAQIe

🌺05/27活出美好🌺

上帝不要你庸庸碌碌，上帝要你出色。

你若聽從耶和華-你上帝的誡命，就是我今日所吩咐你的，謹守遵行，不偏左右，也不隨從事奉別神，耶和華就必使你作首不作尾，但居上不居下 (申命記28: 13-14)。

05/27圣经金句

He who offers a sacrifice of thanksgiving honors Me; And to him who orders his way aright I shall show the salvation of God."

(Psalms 50: 23)

凡以感謝獻上為祭的，便是榮耀我；那按正路而行的，我必使他得著我的救恩 (詩篇50: 23)。

05/27金玉良言

1,無論是人脈、資源或機會都是次要的，最重要的是先提高自己的知識、能力、品格與吸引力等內功。

2,自己是梧桐，鳳凰才會來棲；自己是大海，百川才來彙聚。花香自有蝶飛來，人要塑造吸引別人的特質或技能。

詩歌：在祢沒有難成的事

https://youtu.be/QOJ2WCZY1xc?si=kxXicvGyy9QhAQIe

#photography #aesthetic #spirituality #positivity #illustration #nature #quotes #music #travel #architecture #love #flowers #garden #landscape #friendship

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lucifugousart · 2 years ago

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There's no fucking way i'll have this go lost because of Twitter's downfall

"Design inspiration, symbolism and references behind the water beasts in New Gods: Nezha Reborn"

❗ Premise. DO NOT take what I write for absolute truth or canon material, regardless of the sources. I drew my own conclusions, heavily influenced by my own reading key. Take it as a theory!

The first creature coming to mind when looking at them is surely the Xièzhì (獬豸), a mythical beast that appears multiple times in East Asian legends. We can find a detailed description of these creatures in the Shou Pu (獸譜), a painted album created for the Qianlong Emperor from 1750 to 1761 by court artists Yu Sheng and Zhang Weibang, depicting terrestrial animals and legendary beasts and part of the Emperor's personal encyclopedia. Also known with the korean name "Haetae", the Xiezhi is depicted as a muscular beast with a likeness to a lion, goat, and unicorn (sometimes referred to exactly as a “unicorn lion”) living in the northeastern wilderness.

In Shou Pu, and also in many legends, it's said they're naturally able to distinguish innocent from guilty, right from wrong, making them an ultimate symbol of justice that appears a lot in decorations, paintings, buldings and clothing, giving also the name to the judicial hat (法冠) that symbolizes the impartial and effective enforcement of the law.

It's also known as a guardian against disaster, a symbol of water due to its fire-eating qualities and a messenger of the heaven, which also stands for a sense of justice. The attention on justice's symbolism is also drawn by another design detail of the water beasts: the third eye on their forehead. Comes natural the association with “the Eye of Heaven” (天眼), able to differentiate truth from lies, and with "the embodiment of justice" himself: the noble and powerful warrior god Erlang Shen, who is also related to hydrology in a very interesting way.

Now stay with me, because this will lead to another creature that also possibly inspired the water beasts and that brings EVERYTHING together: justice, water and floods. But to better introduce them, first we have to understand why the reference to Erlang is important.

In Chinese myths, Erlang Shen is also a folk hero that helped alleviate the terrible flooding of the Min river. With his name meaning "godly second son" (er = two; lang = boy; shen = god), he was believed to be the second son of the engineer Li Bing, hired to prevent the yearly flooding that would affect the lives of the people of the Chengdu Plains and Dujiangyan city (Sichuan). However, Li Bing couldn't discover the source of the flooding, as it appeared that the flooding wasn't natural. Legend has it that Li Bing sent Erlang to sail up and down the river for a year to attempt to discover the source of the annual flood, but he couldn't discover the cause either.

One day, as Erlang is walking with seven hunters who had witnessed his bravery in slaying a rogue tiger, they chance upon an old woman who is crying at the edge of the river near Dujiangyan. She tells Erlang that she is distraught, as one of her grandsons is to be sacrificed to a dragon that has held dominion over the river for generations. Believing that he has discovered the source of the river’s flooding, Erlang volunteered to take the place of the woman’s grandson to be offered as sacrifice to the dragon instead.

When the ancient dragon arrived to take his sacrifice, Erlang and his friends leapt from hiding and chased the dragon to the river, where the old woman trapped it with chains in a pool below the Dragon Taming Temple.

With the dragon immobile, Erlang splitted the creature in half with his double-edged lance. And with the dragon dead, the annual flooding ended and peace and tranquility came to the Chengdu Plains. To thank Erlang for his bravery, the people elevated him and his father to godhood and dedicated a local temple as Two Kings Temple in their honor (The Erwang Temple in Dujiangyan).

The myth of the water dragon being chained to control the hydrology of the province instantly felt familiar. And it's here that we find the connection to the water beasts.

Li Bing and his son Erlang worked at the complex irrigation system that protected the area and the people from the severe flood of the Min River: the Dujiangyan irrigation system, constructed in 256 BC, which is still in use today. In literature's classic "Huayang Guozhi·Shuzhi" is recorded that, along other clever solutions to avoid a dam, Li Bing also created 5 massive statues referred to as "Water town god beast" (鎮水神�� if the translation is wrong please correct me!) which resembled a single horned creature similar to a rhino. With a length of more than 3m and a weight of 8 tons, two of these statues were buried in the river to "tame the water spirits". The resemblance with the water beasts, able to trap the river dragons, is astonishing. Curiously, when in July 2013 one of these statues was brought to the surface by archaeologists, heavy rainfalls occurred in Sichuan causing successive floods, and rumors spread saying "that removing the beast from its place, the water spirits couldn't be trapped anymore", followed by the request to put it back in its place claiming their ancestors "buried it there for a reason". According to a popular local tradition, rhinos are a divine beast that can help stop flooding and the newfound statues were supposedly buried by a local folk hero, more likely Erlang himself.

Back to Nezha Reborn, even if Donghai is a fictional city with the name of the raging sea where Nezha kills Ao Bing, it's located near the Eastern Sea. According to what Ao Guang says, is VERY likely that most of the water drawn in by the beasts is from the Yangtze river and its tributary the Min river itself, which would make everything coherent.

In addition to the justice symbolism of the water beasts (and this is my personal interpretation), Ao Guang's control of the waters (and, as a result, of Donghai itself) can also be represented by the chained water beasts themselves, being them the associated with a benevolent and righteous ruler. Therefore, the ending scene with Su Junzhu carrying the beast cub, can be read as justice finally being brought in Donghai following Ao Guang's demise, as the comeback of water finally marks the city's rebirth.

📚 References:

-Qianlong's encyclopedias, republished as "Natural History in the Palace Museum" by the Palace Museum Press and CITIC Press in Beijing

-A Study of Criminal Proceeding Conventions in Tang Dynasty, Xi Chen

-Lunheng 論衡, Wang Chong -Collier I. D. Chinese Mythology

-The Chronicles of Huayang (Huayang Guo Zhi 华阳国志)

-The Collection of Imperial Books of Ancient and Modern Times (Qing Dynasty) Jiang Tingxi, Chen Menglei, etc.

-Probably more I forgot to take note of 🧍

#nezha reborn #nezha #new gods #new gods nezha reborn #chinese mythology #mythological creature #chinese legend #erlang shen #ao guang #ENJOY THIS 6H WORTH OF RESEARCH BECAUSE SOMEONE ASKED WHAT KIND OF CREATURE THE WATER KITTY WAS #I hyperfocused on this so bad #I don't regret it tho #Water kitty go brrr #movie theory #Appreciate my effort for translating from chinese #Which is absolutely NOT a language i know even in the slightest #MothTalks

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guilty-pleasures-and-dead-doves · 7 months ago

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[Dragon Maid fanfic] 'This isn't my fetish, but when you love Quetzalcoatl...'

Lucoa spends most of their life together in human form, but she is a dragon larger and longer than any river on Earth.

She humiliates herself to live as a familiar to a human magician, but she was once a god to whom humanity offered blood sacrifices in terrified reverence.

She would never ask Shouta to do anything that would hurt him. But sometimes, she longs to show him what she truly is.

And he's happy to accept her.

(Content Assurance: NO DEATH. Strictly role-play.)

====

In another world, in a desert with no name in any language he could speak, on a mesa with only a thin tunic to protect him from the cool breeze and sand...

Shouta knelt, and waited.

He felt no fear of attack from strangers or strange beasts. The plot of land on which he waited had been consecrated and claimed by a goddess. No other living being would dare approach, and risk her wrath.

As the sun's light began to peak over the horizon, he saw her likewise begin to appear.

She did not breach the horizon in the same place as the alien sun, though it would have been her right as one who once was the sun of his world. She knew his fragile mortal eyes could not stand the sun's glare directly.

She wanted him to see her coming.

And see her he did. As the sun began its daily flight through the vault of heaven, she made her flight above the earth. Above his line of sight, high enough that he must look up to her.

Distance played tricks on the eye and the mind, for a fleeting human like him. He knew how large she truly was. He knew she must be traveling at terrifying speeds, to cover so much distance so quickly. But he couldn't really grasp it.

By the time the sun was half-way to its zenith, she was half-way to him, and her size and speed and power became more apparent. In tandem with his pitiful mortal eyes beginning to make out more of her majestic details.

Her eyes, of course, had seen him clearly the moment she crested the horizon. At least, physically. Through their divine power, she never really lost sight of him, as long as she cared to peak.

She wasn't merely peaking now. Her eyes were wide open, and her two heterogeneous pupils remain fixed upon him. Unblinking. For hours.

As noon approached, Shouta stood up, and walked to edge of the mesa she had chosen for her altar.

The wind of her storm-like approach whipped up sand that stung his face, bare arms, naked legs and privates. He simply shielded his face with his hands and stood at last at the edge, trying to watch her as best he could.

He knew that she had slowed her pace as she approached, which further messed with his woefully inadequate perspective.

She finally came to a full and complete stop at her geographical altar, and the last of the wind died down for lack of her displacement.

Her tail still stretched beyond the horizon.

Her awe-inspiring head loomed over him, eyes each bigger than his house staring wide down at him. Her neck blocked out the sun and cast him into shadow, returning the chill that the brightening hours had previously banished. His neck protested the angle he needed to look up at her.

It was not his first time seeing the goddess in her true flesh, but he had not at all grown accustomed to the sight of her. He wasn't sure he could live long enough to do so, even if he discovered the magician's tricks to extend his life.

Was she a creature, like him? She was larger than the mesa on which he stood. She loomed over him like a low cloud, but with physical mass exceeding the rock under his feet. The coolness of the shadow she cast began to warm simply from her body-heat.

Was she a force of nature? But no cloud, no river, no flood, no wildfire had eyes that stared into your soul.

She was a dragon.

She was a goddess.

She was Quetzalcoatl.

And she was hungry.

He reached down and pulled the tunic up his body, over his head, and tossed it over the edge. He raised and spread his arms wide, exposing himself completely, leaving no barrier between him and her.

She moved closer.

He twitched, but fought to remain still.

He knew her. He knew he knew her. But his puny animal body, with its base animal instincts, could not help but quail at the living avalanche descending upon him.

Instincts that did not like what was going to happen next.

Her scaled lips parted, her mouth opened. Again, he could not comprehend the scale, intellectually knowing how fast her jaw must actually move to cover so much distance in that span of time. The wind whipped again from the disturbance, chilling his naked flesh. But at least this close to the edge, it picked up no stinging sand.

A blessing, considering how his penis stood tall and sensitive, vulnerable to the elements.

Just for a moment, she broke character. Her eyes leaving his own to glance at his cock, far too small for her to feel even if it poked her in one of those enormous eyes, big as swimming pools. If anyone had dared intrude upon this landscape, the size of those eyes would have given her stray glance away... but every living thing had wisely decided to be elsewhere for the day.

She lowered and extended her tongue, which itself could have been a gigantic, serpentine dragon rather than merely the smallest appendage of the manifest divinity above and before him.

The wind came wet and hot as the tip of her tongue approached. Water beaded across his skin well before it touched him, and not a little of it was his own sweat. The size of her tongue filled his world, and he could barely see her beyond it.

The smell! He dare not describe it.

The tip touched the tops of his toes first, heavy as a small wet dog. The saliva just from that proved copious enough to wash away all dust caked upon the tops of his feet.

He fought against his brain trying to rationalize the tongue as a whole creature to itself. He struggled to comprehend the control and grace necessary for this single organ, which could kill him with one errant twitch, touching him no more forcefully than his father patting his head.

Then her tongue began to move.

Slowly. Torturously (but more torturous still for her, he knew), she dragged the tip of her tongue upwards. Coating him in her fluid.

From his toes to his ankles.

From his ankles to his shins.

From his shins to his knees.

To his thighs.

To his...

He couldn't help it, his whole body jerked, his head thrown back.

But she lingered there, undeterred, knowing, understanding... teasing.

His manhood throbbed so fiercely he thought he would pass out.

Finally, she moved on, licking up to his belly, her drool incidentally cleaning and washing away the sign of his release. Of his body's desperate, futile attempt to pass on his legacy.

To his ribs.

To his chest.

His throat.

His chin.

He was grateful none of his seed remained by the time she covered his face. The smell of her breath might have presented its own challenge, but he actually had to hold his own breath lest he inhale and choke on her saliva.

She did not test him long, before she lowered her tongue back to his neck, and then extended it farther.

Across his shoulder, across his back, under his other armpit... her tongue snaked and twisted around his body like a harness, between his legs, across his balls, back over his manhood, then around his legs.

She lifted him off the ground, and he flailed reflexively, but his thrashing failed to have an effect at all.

As he rose high enough to again meet her eyes, staring directly into his own, he stilled as much from instinctual terror as deliberate will.

He couldn't help but stiffen, as her tongue began to retract him back towards her mouth.

He couldn't keep his eyes on hers, looking from them down to her mouth and back again. Desperately searching her eyes for mercy, fearfully looking back into the abyss that would claim him.

Her tongue paused for one moment, just before she brought him too close to her mouth for her to see him anymore. He met her eyes one more time.

Then her tongue jerked, moving faster than before, and her jaw closed below him all at once.

====

He woke up in their bed, clean, warm, and half-rested. He would have gone back to sleep, but he felt awfully thirsty.

He cracked one eye open to see Lucoa watching him with just as much 'eye'. Her smile became more sincere, more relaxed, as she handed him a glass of water.

He gladly gulped it down, and handed it back to her empty.

As she set it down on his nightstand, he told her, "I can't tell you how beautiful you are."

She giggled. "It would be nice if you tried to put it into words, but I know I didn't choose a poet."

She half-opened both her eyes, giving him not this morning's predatorial stare, but the full, adoring attention of his lover. "But you do show me. I can see it in the way you look at me. Like no one quite ever has."

She hooded both of her eyes, and coyly dragged a finger over the blanket covering his thigh. "Now, do you feel up to letting me show you how beautiful I think you are?"

He smiled, and pulled back the covers, reaching an arm out to accept her.

Author's Notes: Not that I felt it merited much explanation, but I assumed that Lucoa would use magic to ensure that Shouta would be protected against any physical injury from being in her mouth for any brief span of time, and she was ready to teleport him back out immediately.

But the experience still overwhelmed him enough that he fainted.

The vore isn't the point. Either for me as the author, or for the characters as participants.

A man beating his wife is horrifying. A man spanking his wife because she's begging him to is wholesome.

The wife doesn't want to be abused; she wants to surrender control. She wants a confirmation that she can trust her husband to take her to the edge of danger and no farther.

Shouta does NOT want to be eaten, not even as fetish roleplay. He only enjoyed this activity in the slightest because he enjoyed demonstrating his love and trust for his wife.

Lucoa DOES NOT want to eat Shouta. I made that clear repeatedly from the beginning. She would never suggest or agree to doing anything that would hurt Shouta.

But she's a DRAGON GODDESS. She not only COULD eat Shouta, she could do it by accident. She could devour an entire crowd of humans and it wouldn't even be a snack.

She doesn't need to display the power differential between them to love Shouta. But she needs Shouta to let her demonstrate the power differential between them so that she can FEEL loved. Loved for who and what she really is, and not for the disguise she wears to fit into his life.

THAT was my only goal from the beginning. The roleplay of Shouta offering himself up as a ritual blood sacrifice simply EMERGED from that.

It's definitely a lot easier to fake eating Shouta than for Shouta to fake slitting his throat, or for Lucoa to fake smashing him to death beneath her wings or coils.

#dragon maid #miss kobayashi's dragon maid #kobayashi san chi no maid dragon #lucoa #quetzalcoatl #shouta magatsuchi #magatsuchi shouta #monster fucking #kaiju fucking #size difference #fanfic #lemon #roleplay

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isthenir · 17 days ago

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There are as many gods as there are people who follow them.

It was a forgotten truth, but that didn't make it any less of a truth.

The gods mold the world around them just as much as they, in turn, are molded by their congregation.

The Outsider had not always been a river god. He was once something far older, far greater. There are not many who still remember this truth, and those who learn it learn it in sterile, sanitized places where such knowledge does not translate to belief and thus does not offer him strength. But those true followers still scrawl the correct prayer marks and make the right offerings deep within the bowels of the sewers that winnow beneath the streets of Dunwall and there is still a part of the Outsider that remembers what he once was. He does not mind. He is as vast as the leviathans and as ageless as the Void. One day the rest of the world will remember.

After all, god must feed. A god must be fed.

The gods didn't count for much, in the end. The Kaldwins had had their own personal god. A powerful one. One that symbolized their divine right to rule. Had symbolized.

The godkillers had been hard at work for a while, subtle enough that no one knew what was happening until it was too late. Until Jessamine had called out with a voice like thunder and was greeted with silence. Corvo had no idea it could work like that. That a god could die while their followers still made the right sacrifice, but then, maybe that was the point. That the Kaldwins and their country hadn't continued to worship their god, but an idea of something two steps removed from what it was. Regardless, it was hard to argue with the results, not when it meant Corvo with his hands stained red with blood that was not his own or that of his enemies. Not when it meant Emily was hidden away somewhere, kidnapped by the masked followers of an unknown god for an unknown reason.

Corvo had no need for gods, his steel had served him well enough, even if he did give perfunctory service to one of the more popular gods of the hunt. It was lip service nothing more, but between the guilt of his failure and the pain as the Lord Regent's men tried to pull a false confession out of him, there was a dark part of him that wondered if there wasn't something bigger, something more.

The dreams don't help.

Endless expanses of empty space with creatures he could never quite see in the distances he could never quite reach.

And a voice. Calm, but barbed with words he understood but could not remember.

He wakes, sometimes, with hands covered in chalky, white paint and memories of thick bold prayer marks he both knows intimately and knows he has never seen before. His arms and shoulders ache and he knows what he will see if he makes his way down to the sewers.

He asked, once. Are you a god of vengeance?

The silence stretched on and on, just as loud as mocking laughter. It was an answer, of a sorts.

Piero understands, he thinks, though they never speak of it. Corvo sees the white paint on the bottom of his shoes (which could have been there for any number of reasons), hears the bone charms sing in his pocket (which could not). They stand at the river together, sometimes. Never speaking, never acknowledging one another, for that was not what their god was.

#the silt verses #dishonored #tsv #might continue this #might not

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web-novel-polls · 3 months ago

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Have You Read This Web Novel?

The villagers chose a maiden to be the bride of the River God. In order to save the maiden, Liu Qi went to the River God’s Temple, and beat up the River God as soon as he appeared. The River God cries and curses the village to flood; Liu Qi raises his harpoon: “Say it again, and I’ll stab you to death!” The River God cries: “I just want to marry and have a wife!” Liu Qi clenches his fist: “Lao Zi is your wife, just accept it.” The River God suddenly cries even more…

If you’re in the process of reading this web novel, please choose whichever option best fits your situation. You do not have to be completely finished with it to answer “yes.”

If you want to know more, I wrote a review here (includes translation link)

#the right way to offer a sacrifice to the river god #向河神献祭的正确方式 #have you read this web novel #themed polls #polls #my polls #queue

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sonsofbal · 2 months ago

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V. The Mist Festival pt.2

During Morthal's Mist Festival, Alicent is torn between her budding feelings for Seth and her strained friendship with Joric. As the villagers make their offerings to Magnus for protection, tensions escalate and a sinister omen strikes, throwing the ceremony into uncertainty. With Seth's presence raising suspicions, Alicent begins to wonder if the gods are still watching over them, or if something darker is at play.

Morthal was divided into two parts by the Hjaal River. The villagers gathered to the east of the southern region, next to the house of Falion. It was his duty to preside over the ceremony as Court Wizard. The organizers had set up several rows of wooden benches. As the people took their seats, Falion finished preparing the torch to bless the fire.

By the time the ceremony was under way, night had fallen and the sky was aglow with stars. Alicent felt tiny as she looked up at the firmament; Maser and Secunda were shining overhead on this clear night, and the dawning light was the color of fireflies' thoraxes and butterflies' blue wings.

Looking out at his audience, Falion stood before the bonfire the guard had lit for the occasion. Behind him, willow branches swayed in the breeze, dropping leaves and creating meandering shadows in the air as the cold waters of the Hjaal returned flashes of light.

"Inhabitants of the Hjaalmarch, we gather for another year in commemoration of the deeds of Magnus, architect of Mundus." Phalion turned around in front of the fire. "MAGNUS!" he said, lighting the torch and raising both arms to the sky. “Hear our voice, for this day we commemorate your sacrifice, so that when the mists come and hide us from your eyes, you will remember us!".

Alicent felt sorry for Falion. The wizard was not a crowd person. She could almost feel his discomfort as he faced the audience again. He was a terrible speaker: he dropped his free arm to the side, where it would remain until the end of the monologue, and proceeded to recount for the umpteenth time the confrontation that Magnus and Molag Bal had had right there in the Shire of Hjaal, according to the legends.

Falion went on with the telling of the legend. The family of the Jarl took up the front row, and Alicent caught Joric looking in their direction. She was in the back row, next to Seth, and from there she had a good view of everyone. There were people she didn't know well, outsiders who only came to Morthal for supplies or, on days like this, Magnus' blessing.

Alicent's eyes searched for his mother and found her beside Thonnir. They've been spending a lot of time together lately, she thought, watching them lean in to exchange comments. Her attention shifted back to Seth; he seemed to be engrossed in the story Falion was telling.

"Molag Bal's roots in our realm run deep. When the lord of domination and slavery first set foot in these lands, Tamriel was young. It was on this occasion that the cruel Daedra taunted Arkay after the taking of the soul of Lamae Beolfag, the first daughter of the night.

Alicent leaned over to Seth.

"It's a reference to vampires. According to the stories, Lamae was living in this region at the time she met Molag Bal," she explained, trying her best to impress him.

"I've heard of that," he replied without looking at her. Still, Alicent appreciated that he managed to smile, amused.

"Not content with the transgression," Falion raised his voice, struggling to make himself heard over the murmuring of the people and the rushing of the river, "Molag Bal decided to outwit Arkay once more, twisting the magic of Tamriel to give his followers the power to kidnap the souls of those who died. The power to enslave them and thus prevent them from passing on to the afterlife.”

"Now he's talking about Necromancers," Alicent commented in a new attempt to get his attention. But Seth completely ignored her again.

Alicent let out a small sigh. She was beginning to wonder if she had done something wrong.

"You think anything he says is true?" Seth asked abruptly.

The question startled her. She had heard the story hundreds of times before, but she had never stopped to ask herself if there was any truth to it at all.

"Well... I don't know." She confessed.

"Come on, you must have an opinion about it. Do you think it is true?" Seth insisted. He leaned toward her without looking away from Falion.

Alicent shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess so. I mean... If someone doesn't make their offerings, bad things happen."

This got the attention of Seth, who looked directly at her and turned his body in her direction. Alicent mimicked his pose as well.

"What sort of bad things?" asked Seth.

"Laelette didn't make her offerings last year." She whispered.

"It is my understanding that Laelette has left of her own free will," he replied.

Alicent searched the crowd again for his mother. When he found her, she stared at Thonnir and Virkmund, the young son the man had had with Laelette.

"Yeah, but... I dunno. It still feels strange.

Seth's face twisted. Suddenly, he seemed defensive.

"What's so strange about it?" he asked impatiently.

"I don't know. It's strange, that's all," Alicent replied, feeling uncomfortable, "I find it hard to believe she would leave her son for a war she never mentioned. Plus, that's happened before..."

Alicent rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably. She looked away, her eyes misting over.

"Was it someone important to you?" Seth asked after a short silence, softening his tone.

"My father..." Alicent's voice cracked.

"Wow. I'm sorry I mentioned that," Seth said after a moment, sincerely. "Sorry, I didn't mean to distract you from the story."

"That's okay. I know this story by heart," she replied, tucking hair behind her ear.

Seth's gaze was on Falion for a moment before his attention returned to her.

"I'd rather hear it from you then."

That made Alicent smile a little.

"I don't know if that would be a good idea. I'm not a very good storyteller," she hesitated.

"Worse than Falion? I don't think so.”

Alicent looked down shyly, but a smile escaped her lips. Seth's hand caught her chin and forced her to raise it. He didn't have to say anything else, his smile and the way he looked at her encouraged Alicent to speak.

"Magnus did not like Molag Bal's use of magic, nor did he like the fact that he was challenging Arkay again, so he stepped into the body of one of his followers to confront him and his army. Though Magnus defeated him and banished him, Molag Bal managed to gouge out his eye during the battle. That is why the mist has covered Morthal for months. And that is why the flame of the torch is blessed today, so that it will see us today and protect us from his followers when the mist comes".

Seth remained thoughtful after hearing the story, his eyes fixed on the torch Falion held.

"I think I should do some more reading on the local legends," he turned his head back to her. "What would you recommend I read?"

Alicent nodded toward the Jarl's family and shook her head. Joric hurried to look forward.

"Ask Idgrod. She's the book person."

Seth nodded and looked forward again. Falion was just at the end of the story of the battle between Magnus and Molag Bal. It had been the end of a war, more than a battle. Alicent felt that she had not explained the events very well after listening to the wizard for a few minutes.

"Why is he looking at us like that?" Seth suddenly asked in a low voice.

Alicent followed his gaze and caught Joric looking in her direction once more. This time she noticed the look in his eyes. He seemed annoyed. Angry.

"Don't worry about Joric," Alicent murmured, in an attempt to play it down. "He's probably just wondering what we're talking about."

"When I first met him, he looked at me that way, too. I think he was upset that his mother suggested Idgrod and I might spend time together." He said matter-of-factly.

Alicent looked at him, startled.

"Oh," she murmured with poorly concealed disappointment. "I thought it was because of me. He seemed very angry when I told them about..."

Seth waited for her to continue, and Alicent blushed, aware that she had spoken out of turn.

"About me?" Seth asked, before he changed his tone of voice to a more light-hearted one. "I guess there are not too many strangers who come to this place."

"Not too many," Alicent confirmed, without taking her eyes off of the fire. "And you're the first who stays."

"It's not a bad place," he admitted. Alicent followed Seth's gaze. It was on her friend. "Perhaps I should take the jarl's suggestion into consideration."

"To spend time with Idgrod?" she asked, in dismay.

"To settle here. It doesn't have to be with Idgrod."

Alicent turned her head quickly in his direction and then jerked it back to the front at almost the same speed, as if she had done it by accident. At a loss for words, she pointed his chin in the direction of the campfire in an attempt to get Seth to turn his attention back to the ceremony.

Falion had already finished the tale, so he left the torch on a metal stand next to the table where he had everything ready for the preparation of the offerings of the people of Morthal. Falion placed a bowl and a candle on the table, lit the candle with the blessed flame from the torch, and poured a little melted wax into the bowl to stick the candle to the bowl.

"Magnus, today I light this candle in your name in prayer for your protection. And I offer this parchment to Julianos, that he may be my keeper when your eyes are not upon me."

Falion carefully placed the scroll in the bowl. With the sacrifice complete, he approached the Hjaal River. He bent down and placed the bowl in the water. The wizard's sacrifice began to drift slowly away from him, buffeted by the river.

The murmur of the people of the Shire rose a few notes, and as soon as the Earl stood up, many of them began to imitate her. The second to make the sacrifice was always Idgrod Ravencrone. Then each person in the county had to wait their turn for the sorcerer to prepare their offering and make their request to the Aedra.

“Do you think she likes me?” Seth asked out of the blue, innocently.

Alicent looked around to see who he was referring to. Alva was standing a few pews ahead. She said something to Benor and approached the offering table, around which a circle had already formed.

"Alva?" Seth nodded, and her brow furrowed. "You're too late. She's already with Benor."

Seth continued to look at Alva, and Alicent stomped a little, trying to get his attention back.

"You know?" she said in an attempt at a change of subject. "Mom says I'll inherit the Taumaturgist Hut. "

"Really?" Seth asked amused. "And are you going to give me a discount?"

"You might not even pay..."

She stopped looking at him in embarrassment when Seth burst out laughing. Apart from the two of them, there were only a couple of other couples sitting on the benches. Most of the neighbors were chatting animatedly around the fire, waiting for their turn to make offerings. Joric emerged from the crowd and made his way to where they were.

Alicent stood to greet her friend, taking the offering from his lap. Standing next to her, Seth did the same.

"Joric, have you made your offering?" asked Alicent, greeting Joric.

Joric glanced at Seth, then shook his head. He had a childish, shy, hopeful expression on his face. Joric's hair was a shade of ash brown, and though he always wore it short and messy, he had tried to comb it on this particular day.

"I was expecting that we could make our offerings together this year," he suggested, hope shining in his eyes.

Just like Seth, Alicent couldn't take her eyes off of him either. But not because Joric looked so beautiful, but because he looked as if a cow had licked the top of his head.

"Sure. Seth, would you like to join us?" She invited him, trying to shyly comb her hair with her fingers, wondering if she looked ridiculous to him, too.

"I was talking about us. You and me," Joric emphasized. "I don't want to have to make my annual offerings with a stranger."

"Oh, come on now, Joric. Don't be mean." She protested, holding out her hand to Seth. "Join us..." she asked.

This brought a smile to the boy who took her hand. The three approached the offering area. There were quite a few people scattered around the area, although most of them were huddled around the table. The three teenagers moved away from the group after realizing that they would have to wait quite a while for their turn.

"What did you think of Falion's speech?" was Joric's question.

Alicent noticed a certain amount of resentment in the question and frowned.

"I don't know. It was fine... like every year."

Joric's lip curled into a pucker. It was clear he was angry.

"Really? Did you really listen to anything? Because I saw the two of you talking the whole time."

Being addressed like that in front of Seth annoyed her. Alicent opened her mouth to speak, but Seth was quicker than her.

"Alice has been explaining your customs to me. It's good to have someone here who has an education," he reproached coolly.

The reply hit Joric like a bucket of cold water. He glared defiantly at Seth and clenched his fists.

"Do you have a problem with me, Athan?" he asked.

Seth put a hand on top of his head and reached out with his fingers to massage his temples. Alicent sensed an irritated smile behind his hand. He let out a sigh and then stared out into the crowd. Alicent followed where he looked, stopping to look at the torch. The breeze had been on the rise and was rippling the flame. From time to time, Falion raised his arm to light a candle to add to another offering.

"Me?" Seth snapped back, suddenly determined to have a confrontation with Joric. "It seems you're the one with the problem. If you want to talk about it privately..." He challenged.

Joric furrowed his brow and looked at Alicent. She raised her arms in a denial, but Joric stuck out his chest and turned to face Seth.

"Gladly, Athan. Follow me."

Joric walked along the river, in search of the rocks and bushes that would hide them from the rest of the group. As she tried to talk some sense into them, Seth followed.

"Guys, don't be stupid. It's a party, there's no reason to fight." Alicent was on their heels, her attempts at dissuasion in vain.

"What's your problem, Imberbe Raven?" began Seth as soon as they were far enough away.

Alicent could imagine Joric's cheeks flushing at the comment, despite the darkness.

"What did you just call me, Athan?" he asked, closing the distance between them in such a shrill tone that Alicent felt as if he was going to strike Seth.

A white, glowing energy burst out of Seth's fingers and wrapped itself around his hands.

"Joric, stop..." Alicent demanded, trying to get between the two of them so she could face her friend. But Joric gently pushed her away so he could face Seth once more.

"You are my problem, Athan. I don't like you."

Seth raised his eyebrows.

He said: "I didn't do anything to you, kid. That's your problem, not mine, if you can't handle your jealousy."

Joric's aggressiveness did not seem to intimidate Seth at all. Preparing to intervene if necessary, Alicent held her breath. Luckily, Joric just grimaced.

"You have a false look to me, Athan. I don't like the way you look, or the way you talk, or the way you act. And I don't like the way you hang around with Alicent all the time, either," he spat before spitting in front of Seth's feet.

Seth's reaction was a pout of disgust.

"How vulgar," Seth merely commented, with as much contempt as coldness in his voice. "Is that how Earl Idgrod raises his kids?"

"In Morthal, we have Morthal ways. We don't need some hairdo from the city to tell us how to behave!" exclaimed Joric like a spring.

"Think twice before talking about hairstyles, kid."

Joric looked at Alicent, looking for support, but she was slow to react, hiding a nervous laugh after Seth's last comment.

“Boys," she interrupted, wanting to keep things from escalating any further, "We should come back. There's no need to…”

Suddenly, interrupting her words and frightening her, the wind roared over their heads. Though there was a glow of fire behind the rocks that served as a windbreak, only the fire of the torch was blessed. The flowers in her hands were a reminder to Alicent that she had not yet made her offering.

"We definitely ought to..."

"Maybe it was a mistake to come, Alicent." Seth cut her off. "It's clear I'm spoiling some people's party."

Seth's words hit her like arrows in the chest. Because of this stupid fight, he didn't enjoy the festival at all and he wanted to leave. Seth was on his way out, but Alicent grabbed his arm.

"I'm not going to let you go because of Joric."

"I don't understand why you are on his side," Joric complained in frustration.

"Because, unlike you, Seth has shown a respect for our traditions. And you... You're acting out of jealousy." She accused Joric. Alicent didn't even think about how her friend felt because she was so angry with him.

Joric looked at her, hurt. He let out a dejected sigh.

"Do what you want, Alicent." He kicked over a stone and started to walk away from them.

"Thank you," Seth said, whispering.

Alicent smiled and looked into his eyes, where she was once again in the grip of his gaze. Seth released her hand and slowly brought it closer to his face, an intimate atmosphere suddenly created between them. He was on the verge of touching her cheek when he heard Idgrod's voice in the distance, interrupting the moment.

“JORIC!”

The sound of the scream was just like all the times Idgrod had seen Joric on the verge of injury. Alicent's eyes were on the lookout for Joric, who was already on his way back to the party. Joric approached his sister and they began to talk. Not long after, he turned to Alicent in alarm. To hurry her along, he raised both arms and waved them in the air.

Alicent crossed the path of the river bank at a fast pace until she reached the two of them. She saw that Falion was not alone in preparing the sacrifices as she peered over the rocks. The neighbors were hurrying to make their own sacrifices. They could see that the torch fire was dying with every shift of the wind. Alicent and Joric looked at each other, panicked.

The two ran. Joric was picking up two bowls when Alicent reached the table. The wind blew another backhand, and the torch went out over their heads, leaving the two of them in complete silence. Them and everyone else there.

A louder and louder whisper spread along the banks of the Hjaal. Finally, Brelas, a dark elf who lives in a hut northwest of Skyrim, said out loud what everyone was thinking.

"This must be a bad omen for us."

Brelas was standing at the table and had not yet made his offerings, either. Alicent dropped her flowers, discouraged. Then fear gripped her. She was not the only one; there were a number of voices, and she could even hear a few tears.

Just in time to see him run towards Seth, she glanced over to Joric after remembering that he hadn't done it either.

"This is your fault, Athan." He accused.

Seth, who had been walking calmly in their direction, stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms over his chest. When Joric reached him, he shoved him, making him stumble. Seth stumbled and regained his footing with no pretense of self-defense.

"Me? It was you who started the fight."

Idgrod quickened her pace with Alicent at her heels. She stepped between them.

"Leave it, Joric!" She ordered. "Mom wants to see you."

"She's going to kill me," Joric cursed, running a hand through his hair.

Joric turned his back on them and walked away, and Idgrod gave him a farewell glance before following him. Up until that moment, Alicent hadn't even noticed that the people were looking at them. As she listened to the whispers, she understood why.

"It can't be a coincidence that the boy arrives first and then the torch goes out," Uthna commented to her husband Hroggar.

She turned to Seth, worried about how he was going to take this, and was surprised to find that he was looking elsewhere. She followed his gaze and found that Falion's gaze was on him, heavy with doubt. Alicent pretended not to notice when Seth turned his eyes back to her.

"Are you feeling all right?" Seth asked, his head cocked sideways. "You seem worried."

"I..." she murmured with slumped shoulders and a few tears in her eyes, "My offering..."

"It was my fault." Seth said regretfully. He grabbed her shoulder, pulled her to his body and hugged her. "I'm so sorry. I promise I won't let anything harm you."

In any other situation, that would have cheered her up. But the fear was so intense that she couldn't bring herself to look up. She didn't want him to see her crying like that. Then she heard the worried voice of her own mother behind her back.

"Alicent, my child, please tell me that you have made your offering."

#skyrim #tes art #dark fantasy #dark romance #fanfic #magic #morthal #the elder scrolls #tes #daedric lords #molag bal #aedra #tesblr

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sio-writes · 2 years ago

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Sacrifice - Chapter 6

<< Chapter 5

<<< Chapter 1

Summary: This winter has been brutal, and you’re out of options. So, with teary eyes, you take your best goat into the woods, hoping for some pity from whatever god finds you.

A/N: My laptop is undergoing some maintenance right now, and I’m posting this from my iPad. So if you see any editing/formatting errors...No you don’t, haha. (Also I’ll add all links to chapters once I get my laptop back!)

The changeling house is an hour's walk downstream from Aurelius' home. It occurs to me to mark my trail as I walk so I can find my way back, until that first look and I see the tree stretching so far into the sky it disappears through the clouds. It makes the sigil on my back itch, and suddenly I'm not concerned with getting lost anymore. So I follow the river's winding path, over slippery stones and muddy banks. Anything that may have gotten in my way, be it animal or fae creature, all scurry out of my path.

In one arm I hold a basket of fruit from Dachaigh, in the other a book from the library. It didn't disappear when I stepped out of the house, a sure enough sign that I wasn't ripping a piece of Dachaigh away once I left. I only mean it as a tool, a piece of information to trade in case the food isn't accepted.

The cover is lined in gold filigree, but has no title on the cover or the spine. The pages inside are strange, with slanted, irregular text that cuts off at odd places, or rotates around so one would have to read the book upside down. The perfect, typed font tells me it wasn't written by hand, so it's not one of Aurelius' journals, therefore I felt safe enough being able to trade it away.

So down the winding river I go, stopping to sip from the stream and pluck a grape from the basket every now and then. The day is lovely, as always, small feathery clouds dot the sky, the sun lights up the forest floor, and I take the time I'm walking to appreciate just being outside.

Aurelius won’t notice that I’m gone. It’s a thought that strikes at my heart, a hot iron dunked into cool water. Alongside it is the thought that if I’m timely enough, if I make it back before sundown, he would never realize that I left at all. The alternative isn't comforting either. That he knows exactly where I am now, and where I'm going, and he doesn't care.

I feel my control over this situation with him is slipping. Not that I had much to begin with, but the small amount of influence I had is all but gone. The extent of these festival preparations, deciphering his notes, has only led me so far. I 've read what I could and thrown the rest to the side.

The house comes into view through the thickness of the trees, a two-level cottage with a garden to the side, and a stone path to the door. The roof is tiled orange and black, and the walls are colored cream. There's smoke swirling out of the chimney, and I step up to the door and knock.

Gregory implied that I could visit, and I hope he wasn't being facetious, because I'd love to visit the other humans here on a regular basis.

I’d wondered what they’re like, if they’re all similar to Gregory, or if they’re like the fae I’ve come across. Will they reject me, or bring me into their home? Trick me?

Just as I decide it's been too long of a wait and turn to leave, the door creaks open, and a familiar eye catches the light. I offer a small wave and a smaller smile, and the door opens fully to reveal Gregory. He's got a shiny gold shirt on and poofy black pants that end at his knees. His hair is mussed, and there's smudged golden paint around his eyes that speak of sleep— I must've woken him up. Still, after looking me up and down, his face breaks into a smile.

"It's you!"

I offer the basket. "I brought food."

Gregory claps his hands together in delight. "Lovely! Come in, please."

He waves me in, his gold ear jewelry catching the morning light, and I step across the threshold only for my jaw to drop.

The cabin is huge and open, the front room has couches and cushions around a low table, with large windows on the far wall that show a beautiful river just a stone's throw away. There's hallways to my immediate right and left that lead into open sitting rooms, and a staircase on either side leading to the second level.

Gregory, unaware of my awe, continues forward as naturally as I would in the library. He leads me towards the back-right of the main hall that turns into the kitchens, a huge space with a rectangular island in the middle. I follow him only after quickly scraping my muddy feet on the welcome mat and running to catch up. My bare feet slap against the tile, causing Gregory to look back at me, then down to the dried mud caking my ankles and the hem of my dress.

I'd used my first dress, my original dress, for this journey, as I didn't want the nicer ones I'd just finished to pick up mud. I realize that was a grave mistake, and I shift the basket into both of my hands in a futile attempt to cover the mud. Gregory doesn't say anything, only purses his lips and continues into the kitchen.

Inside there are three other humans, more than I thought I'd ever see again. One is sitting on the countertop swinging her legs, her skin is a rich brown and her black, wildly curly hair is piled atop her head, while the two others swim around each other as they cook. One is as pale as the moon with a shock of red hair, the other is tanned, with silky black hair tied to their nape.

"Everyone, this is Kaitlyn." He announces, getting all of their attention. The two cooks turn around, and the one at the counter stops swinging her legs. They stare at Gregory, then at me, as Gegory points to each person, left to right. "Meet Emile, Kimiko, and Josefina."

They're staring at me, all of them expecting an answer, a response. The one on the counter, Josefina, although I doubt that's her true name, has an eyebrow raised as she looks me over, her gaze stopping at my feet.

I shuffle awkwardly, looking between each of them. "Hello."

They all look fresh, clean. Their clothes are all crisp, no fraying at the edges. Kimiko's hair shines in the morning light. My feet are covered in mud and the plait I'd pulled my hair into is simple. Ordinary.

The man, Emile, squints. "Kaitlyn, where have I heard that name before?"

Gregory plants his hands on his hips. "She's the one I tried to steal at the market."

All their eyes widen, and Kimiko scoffs. "No shit?"

"Not a shit to be seen," he says, and I can't tell if he's joking, but they all laugh.

Something on the stove starts to simmer, interrupting the laughter with a loud hiss, and Kimiko curses before turning back to her work. Gregory gestures to the kitchen, and I take the sign and set my basket on the countertop in the middle.

Josefina hops off the counter as Emile steps up to the basket.

"Ooh, you brought grapes! I haven't had grapes in a decade!" he says, picking up a whole string and starting to pick them off.

"What did you bring us?" Kimiko quickly examines the basket, picking through the food. "Grapes, cherries-- oh Gregory, you love cherries, don't you?" She glances up at me. "You didn't bring any cheese?"

I shuffle my feet, bare and dirty against their floor. "No."

I’d told Dachaigh I’d be visiting them, but she only provided me with the usual assortment of fruits in the basket. I hadn’t thought to ask for anything extra.

"Well that's okay," she waves me off. "You can bring cheese next time."

"O-okay." Shame is creeping up my spine, I can feel it sinking claws into my skin. I want to make a good impression, I want them to like me. They're my only human connection here.

"Come on Kimi," Gregory says. "She brought us food."

Gregory turns towards me, and rests a hand on my shoulder while offering me an easy smile, the same relaxed smile that eased my fears in the market. "Don't worry about them, they're impossible to please."

Just as I return the smile, the door leading outside opens and in come two more people. A tall, willowy woman with short hair the color of snow, and a tall, dark-skinned man with long dreadlocks. They both have a healthy layer of dirt on their clothes and hands, as if toiling in a garden, and my heart eases its frantic beating. I'm still the filthiest one here, but not the only one.

"Hey!" Kimiko waves to them with her spoon, which is covered in some kind of sauce and splatters the countertop. "We got a new one!"

The willowy woman groans, letting her head fall back. "Another baby? We just finished with Josefina!"

"Fuck off," Josefina fires back, popping an orange slice into her mouth.

"Then what--?" The woman says, her eyes falling on the basket. She looks to Gregory, then past him to me. Her eyes go wide as saucers and she's beside me in a manner of two steps.

"You're new!" she says, her grin wide and excited.

"That's Sveta, that's Francois," Gregory loudly whispers, gesturing to each of them.

Sveta reminds me of a kinder version of the faeries I encountered on the trail. She flits around me, gently tugging my hair, pinching my cheeks and patting my arms.

"How long have you been here? Do you really live with the master? Were you taken like us? Oh what fun!"

Francois steps forward, gently pushing Sveta aside. He's built like the Greek athletes I've seen in picture books, taller than me by at least a head, and I instinctively take a step back, tensing.

But he’s quiet, gentle when he asks, "I see you brought a book. Is it from the lord's library? What is it? What's inside?" His voice is level, but I can hear the curiosity, the excitement behind it.

His voice is soothing, like Aurelius' is in quiet moments, and I relax as I hand the book over. "I…I can't read it. I brought it in case…"

Sveta tilts her head, looking like a bird. "In case of what?"

"I-I'm not sure," I lie. "I didn't know…what to expect."

Josefina says, "Did you think we worked like the fair folk?" and her tone is upset, offended. I feel my heart sink.

"I…"

She rolls her eyes, and I see the orange rinds collapse as she squeezes her hands. "It's not all trades and magic, you know."

"That's not--"

"Hey, be nice," Gregory says, stepping between us. "She hasn't been outside, and living with the master? Perfectly understandable, she'd think we need to barter."

Francois turns to me and smiles gently. "We don't work like The Neighbors do, or even the lord. We're still human, all grouped together."

I nod, looking down at my hands and fighting the burning in my nose that comes before tears. How stupid of me, to assume humans and fae followed the same rules. I'm glad Josefina's not staring at me anymore, her eyes are bright green and piercing. Like she can see into my soul.

Francois steps away, leaning against the wall as he flips through the book. It leaves an opening for Sveta to continue prodding. "So you're the lord's new mate?"

I look into her eyes, which are a pale gray with flecks of green. "I'm…I'm not his mate."

She rolls her eyes. "Horseshit. Do you live in his home?"

"I-- Yes."

"Does he provide for you?"

"It's more the house herself that provides…."

"And you fuck, yes?"

My jaw clenches, and the color in my face is enough of an answer.

Sveta barks a laugh. "See? You're his mate."

"Look at her face," Kimiko exclaims, pointing at me. "She is red as a beet! They definitely fuck."

"What is that even like?" Emile asks.

"Does he rut you like an animal?"

"I'd imagine he's soft and kind."

"He's terrifying! I'd want to face away."

They all laugh, and I look down at my hands. They’re chapped and dry from doing chores this morning.

I think I prefer the company of the fae to these humans. They remind me of the ladies my age that came in from the city. Mean-spirited. It makes me want to take a bath and forget this whole ordeal.

Sveta pulls me into a hug and I try not to shiver. "Don't be so serious, darling! We just tease."

Sveta releases me, and I sway on my feet. I'm not used to so much touching, not even from Aurelius.

Pulling me out of my own anxiety is Gregory, gently holding my hands in his. He's warm, he's stepped close enough that I can smell spices and honey.

I look down at our joined hands. Gregory says something, but his words bounce against my head, unheard. The last human I spoke with, let alone touched, was Andrew nearly half a year past. There's people here. People I can talk to without worrying that they’re going to steal the words from my mouth.

Emotion, overwhelming and all at once, washes over me. The stinging in my nose returns, spilling over into tears. My face scrunches up as the tears flow freely, and I must look so ugly, but I can’t help it.

Gregory makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat. "Hey, no, it's okay."

Svate rests a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, we're sorry, please don't cry."

"I think she's overwhelmed," he says, pulling me into a tight hug.

I didn’t mean to make them feel bad, to have them worry over me. But still, they guide me out into the living area and sit me on the couch. I feel like a newborn sheep, barely able to walk, blinking the tears out of my eyes.

Slowly, I come down from my hysterics, wrung out and tired. I’m offered a handkerchief that I use then rest on my lap, and then Kimiko shoves a plate full of buttered bread in my face.

“It’s fresh. Eat it,” she says curtly, her head turned to the side, her lips pursed.

I take the plate and pick up a slice, and take a tentative bite. It’s sourdough, with a toasted outside and soft inside. I haven’t had sourdough in ages, and I realize I hadn’t eaten breakfast— the basket of fruit is sitting in the kitchen.

Emile leans forward in his seat. "Tell us of the human world. Have they fallen to shit?"

Through my despair, I find the light in me to laugh. "Not quite. In the city there's a lot of steam engines, and a lot of people. There's a machine for everything, even sewing."

All of them 'oh' in unison, fascinated, and I smile as I finish off the first slice of bread. I once found it fascinating too, until I learned how expensive such machines are. But I'll spare them that piece of information.

They ask me about the city, and I tell them what I know, making up only a few details here and there. Kimiko is fascinated by the fashion of whale-boned stays and kirtles, and Emile wants to know if men still wear their hair long. Throughout the conversation I pick up on details, small and fleeting, about my new friends.

Gregory was the first one here, raised by a witch until he was a young man. He learned to hunt, fish, and care for himself on his own. Then came Kimiko and Emile as young children, both stolen away from countries across the sea. Francois was next, replaced as an adult, and he had a difficult time adjusting to this strange, fae world. Finally, Josefina arrived as a baby, and they all worked together to raise her, and she’s been here for at least seven decades.

I want to ask questions, I have so many. Why they age to a certain point then stop, or how they came across this cabin. But I’m content to keep listening, absorbing their stories as they tell them. It’s Kimiko who pulls me out of my listening state.

"You could live with us, you know," she says, propping her chin on her fist.

I set the empty plate down.They all refused my offer to share, leaving me to finish it off. "I could?"

She smiles at me for the first time. "If you ever get tired of the old lord."

"I appreciate that," I say, smiling back.

The six of them continue talking, mostly about what they did that day, and I let it flow around me easily. I've never been a lively girl, or the best at conversation. I'm more of a listener than a speaker. But having six voices bouncing off one another is a certain type of peaceful. It reminds me of the days my parents and brother would share stories around the soup pot. This is familiar, and I want to be there for all of it.

"This book you brought is full of spells," Francois says, wandering in from the kitchen. "Did you know that?"

I grimace, shame souring my belly. "I couldn't read the script."

"They're very advanced," he continues, oblivious to my insecurity, idly flipping pages as he slowly meanders towards the couch and finally plops next to Kimiko. "They're all about conjuring, summoning spirits and such."

"That's amazing," I say, genuinely surprised. You can do that?

"The cost is high, though. Look here, to open a portal between planes you need a mutual agreement on top of a great trade."

"How great?" Emile asks.

"Something of 'great perceived value', whatever that means."

I inhale so sharply I choke on my saliva.

"I think she knows what it means," Kimiko says around a laugh as she pats my back.

***

I feel lighter on the walk back to Aurelius' home. The time with other people was like jumping into a clear pool-- refreshing and bright. Their laughter echoes throughout my head, their easy touches are ghosts on my skin.

I want to tell Aurelius about my day.

He didn't come and fetch me at all, which bodes well for me, as I wasn't interrupted. If he needed anything he knew where I was anyway. But it’s a little disappointing in hindsight, that he didn’t need me, and didn't wonder where I was. The realization slows my steps, makes my arms like lead.

Climbing up the stairs into Dachaigh makes me anxious, as if Aurelius will be waiting for me in the library to reprimand me like a child. But he’s not there, and I breathe a little easier. It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong, or broken some rule, so why do I feel like he’s going to be upset?

I set the empty basket on the low table and head towards my bed. I’m exhausted, all the talking and people certainly sapped my energy. I fall into the cushions lining the massive windowsill, careful to keep my feet off the blankets as I fall backwards and stare at the ceiling. I’m ready for an afternoon nap, and then I’d like to work on my second dress.

“Kyla,” comes Aurelius’ voice from across the room. I sit up, and there he is, appearing out of thin air.

“Aurelius,” I say.

He steps up to me, and takes my hand, pulling me to a standing position. "Come, come."

“What—?” He allows me no time to ask before pulling me across the room towards the stairs. He stretches an arm out and grabs all my notes before shoving them all at me which I barely manage to wrap my arms around it all before we’re flying down the stairs.

He’s dressed very nicely: a crisp white collared-shirt and tan pants and suspenders. His shape is human with those long arms, reminding me of my father, narrow from the legs up until filling out at the shoulders that speaks of endless time chopping wood. Is this his true form? The form underneath the cloak he wears?

"Where are we going?"

He turns back to me, and I catch a glimpse of his head. I’d thought it was his typical corrupted deer because he maintained the branching antlers, but this one is sharp and dangerous, with extra angles and longer, threatening teeth. "I have business to attend to,” he says. “I require your assistance."

I try not to trip over my own feet. "Business?"

"The vendors for the festival are beginning to arrive. Your papers are what gives them their position."

“Oh,” I say, rather stupidly.

Before I have time to think, he pulls me outside, and there's a long line of Fair Folk, winding like a snake to the treeline. There’s animals that I’ve seen, and animals that I could never imagine. There’s half-human half-animal hybrids, beings with shimmering skin in every visible color, and even a few that seem to be made of pure light. I see feathers and scales and rough skin and slime. Bringers of dark and bringers of light, and bringers of something neither good nor bad, all gathered at Aurelius’ home for a festival.

My eyes widen. "They're setting up here?"

I stop dead, and Aurelius nearly yanks me to the floor when he keeps moving. "In the clearing, yes."

I sigh heavily, resigning myself to go along with whatever he wants. He’s not going to explain.

We step the edge of the shadow but not completely out of it, and every single being, creature and fae, bow their heads, in respect or fear I’m not sure, but it’s a humbling sight to watch them all stare resolutely at the ground.

From my notes, I've gathered that Aurelius sits at the north end of the clearing, with the vendors to the south. There's a large empty section for celebration and dancing, and the whole area is lit with magical floating aurora.

The first patron is easy, Aurelius gives them their assigned location and they walk off. And after five, six more groups it’s almost boring, menial. Until we encounter a snag.

A patron of dryads approaches, and I remember their location was one that I’d changed. Quickly flicking through the pages I find their rearrangement and slap it on the table, triumphant. Aurelius looks down at me, and I swear that he’s glaring.

“No, the Aur dryads will go here,” and he points to the map.

“But this’ll put them closer to the woods, and isn’t that what they—“

“It is not how it’s done, my doe.” And he smoothes a hand over my head, making the dryads laugh and my face ignite.

He’s not going to listen to me, much less take me seriously. What did I prepare all these notes for, then? What was the point of it? I want to walk away, I want to go take a bath, but I shouldn’t be giving up so easily. I learned that I need to speak up to earn my place here.

After that, I do my best to follow along, chiming in when I recognize a symbol from the notes or a vendor from the list. But every time, Aurelius denies me. Every time, he tells me things don’t work that way, or these vendors are never together. My favorite was a series of stalls that float in the air above the festival that also need to be arranged a certain way.

The next fae is a kind I've never heard of in books or stories. A giant rabbit, as tall as a man when they sit on their haunches, carrying a small basket and wearing a bonnet. The strangest thing, though. She’s not looking down. She’s actually looking up at Aurelius, with large, shiny black eyes.

Aurelius leans down so the two of them are eye-level. "Hello Eodine."

The rabbit’s nose twitches, and then shakes her head. "Atya, my dear!” I gasp— her mouth barely moves when she speaks.

“How are you?” She asks. “And oh--" those inky black eyes turn to me. "Who is this?"

Aurelius taps one of his branching antlers with his long claw instead of answering, and the large rabbit named Eodine gasps.

"This is the human you've captured!" she remarks, planting her furry paws on her hips. "Haven't seen a new face in near a century. Send her my way for some tea, Atya, I could use more company than just you."

"Of course."

They speak easily, and Aurelius marks a spot close to his seat for her. I’d originally moved her small art station towards the middle so it would see more patrons, but I don’t mind being wrong about this one. She reminds me of a matron, or a grandmother. She’s opinionated and harsh, but well-meaning and kind.

Eodine speaks a little longer with Aurelius, catching up and making plans, and I wish those plans included me.

“You, human,” she says, looking at me. “Visit me anytime before sundown.” And she turns away, stepping with those large paws towards the grass, where she fades into the mist.

In my silence, Aurelius turns back to the line of fae, and continues his placement of stalls. I want to think of Eodine more, but I’m caught up in a slurry of plans, arrangements, and vendors. Every part of me rails against opposing Aurelius, but I still try to assert myself.

"I think the takoyaki stand could go here with the rest of the--"

"That is not how it's done. The kitsune are always placed here," he gestures to another spot that makes no sense.

"A food stand shouldn't be in the middle of two textile patrons. The fabrics will absorb the smell."

"M'lord is correct, human. It is always done this way," the fox says quietly, glancing up at me through their long fox lashes. "Although, I'd hate to ruin the lovely river spirit's textiles." They bring a paw up to their snout, as they look over the layout in thought.

For what feels like the thirtieth time, I want to pull Aurelius aside and ask him why he brought me here. I asked for something to do, but was it a fruitless task just meant to keep me busy?

"Would m'lord perhaps," the fox gestures to the open spot. "Consider moving us here?"

Aurelius goes quiet, considering the map. He heaves a heavy sigh through his snout, and crosses his arms. "You will have to tell the Whiteadder spirit that they're being transferred."

"M'lord is most kind," the fox says with a bow, before literally disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Before the next round of fae comes, I look up at Aurelius, my face drawn into a frown. "Why'd you bring me if you're only going to shoot down all my ideas?"

"I wanted you here, with me," he says, folding his arms over his chest. It’s still strange to see him in human clothing, I’m so used to the tall cloaked form.

“To do what?” I ask helplessly.

“To be by my side.”

One of the fae speaks up, "That's a cursed life if I ever heard one!"

The fae to their right chimes in, "The human is rather silly for agreeing to live with him!"

And another voice asks, "Can you even look him in the eyes when you fuck?"

They all laugh for half a moment, until Aurelius growls low in his throat, and every voice goes silent.

"Certain placements are sacred," he chides me, and I scoff.

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"I'm telling you now."

I want to cry and scream at the same time. I ball my hands into fists to keep from lashing out at Aurelius. I hate it here, I want to leave.

Another fae in line that I can’t see jeers loudly, bringing up a chorus of responding cheers. I don't like having our personal life on display for these creatures. They haven't earned the right to my anger. So I stomp away, ignoring the laughter of the fae behind me.

Maybe that kindly rabbit or the other humans will take me in, I think as I make my way to the center of the tree and up the staircase.

***

Aurelius takes the rest of the evening to sort out the placements, and I can only go to one place: the library. I’d considered exploring the other levels of Dachaigh, but she still doesn’t feel like home. I’m not comfortable rooting around in Aurelius’ personal belongings, especially when he considers me one of them. He’s been kind in the past, but I’ve seen his anger, not the frustration that pushes me to the floor and makes me his, but his true anger. His rage. And I don’t want that turned on me if I stumble upon some secret.

So I watch the sunset from my bed, through the large window that lines it. The colors run together, orange and red and purple, with wispy, bright pink clouds. It’s gorgeous, and speaks of fair weather for tomorrow. I idly wonder what the others are doing, the humans at the cottage.

My visit to the house floats through my mind like a bird on the breeze. They’d all be nice to visit again, but I need to remember to defend myself or I fear I’ll become their new scapegoat, an easy target for harsh words. But I’m more comfortable with them after this initial visit, and I hope I can remain friends with them.

In the corner, Dachaigh shoves a book from the shelf, the same one meaning an affirmative, and I groan to the endless ceiling.

“Dachaigh, I’m too tired for this.”

Another book falls, and I sigh heavily. I’m not in the mood for more games. But yet another book falls, almost insistent in the way it hits the ground, and I roll out of bed.

I put the initial book back in its place, and turn to fix the others, when it falls again. I squint at it on the floor, put it back again, then straighten to stand just as she pushes it off the shelf again. Dachaigh is trying to tell me something.

I pick up the book and open it. It’s softbound with no title and those same, tilted words that I’ve come to know as Aurelius’ handwriting. I couldn’t read it before, but I’ve become familiar with his script after devoting weeks to planning a festival that I’ll have no part in. Quickly flipping through, I see it’s not completely full, about half the pages in the back of the journal are blank. I flip to the last entry, a single line of perfect cursive: The human has left.

Ice shoots down my spine and my mind is thrown into a tornado of thought. No, this must be a falsehood. Aurelius has told me he’s never brought another to his home, and the fair folk won’t lie. But Aurelius is not of the fair folk, he’s a god. Would he lie to me? Why would he, what purpose does it serve?

The book falls out of my hands and clatters on the floor.

Something in my mind snaps, the world slows to a halt, and everything I knew about Aurelius snaps into focus. I clap my hands together.

“I need a bath.”

Like someone with no personality, I walk away from the bookshelves and into the bathing room to take a long, hot bath. Nothing about today is bothering me. I’m completely fine.

Strangely enough, I’m beginning to recognize all the bottles on the bath’s edge, so when one very deep green bottle about as long as my forearm appears amongst them, I’m curious. I can’t see the color of the liquid inside through the green glass, but it’s slick, loose flowing like water, not the thick soaps I’ve become used to.

This one still has its glass stopper, and pulling it out I smell roses, jasmine, and an undercurrent of spice. Sandalwood? Ginger? It’s almost seductive, this combination of smells. I take another deep inhale and I tip some of the liquid into my palm.

I was correct in my assumptions— it’s an oil. For bathing or…some other purpose. The smell is even stronger out of the bottle, washing over the whole room. It’s definitely meant to catch attention, and part of me wants to slather it all over my body and stand in the library, waiting for whatever beast it awakens in this creature I’ve linked my life to.

Instead, I decide on a milder option, and dump it into the water. I dump it until it’s empty, and climb in, immediately dunking my head underneath the water. All sound, all sight, all feeling cuts off from me as I hold my breath. I can’t open my eyes, so I rest my forehead against my knees until my lungs begin to scream.

The human has left.

After a long soak, I dress in Aurelius’ long shirt and pad into the library. I’m not tired enough to fall asleep, and the lights are too dim to read by, so I resume my former position of sulking in the windowsill and watching the stars.

It’s a long time before I hear Aurelius climbing the stairs, making noise so I know he’s coming. I expect he’s going to ignore me and head to his room but instead, I feel his presence over my shoulder.

"You are unhappy."

I scoff. "Yeah, no shit."

"Let me show you something."

"I'd really rather--ah!" He picks me up from the couch and we dissolve away, his strange method of teleportation taking us outside.

The transportation makes me dizzy, and the night air is cold. He's taken us to an empty field, where the grass has grown high and unruly. It’s the dead of night, so I can’t see much, but I can still see Dachaigh in the distance.

“You smell nice,” Aurelius says as he sets me down. He starts off north, at least I think it's north, and we reach a sandy lake.

"Where are we?"

"A practice field. I'm going to show you this," and he produces a book. Bound in black leather, embossed symbols on the front and along the spine. A chill runs up my spine at first— it looks just like the journal— but it’s much thicker, and hardbound like a proper book. I take it— oh, it’s heavy, and inside is runes, the same he used to bring us to this plane. I realize why he brought me out, and I smile.

"You're teaching me magic."

He looks away, shuffling awkwardly. "You requested it."

My face stretches into a wide grin. "You're teaching me magic!"

Unable to contain my joy, I jump in the air and fold my arms over his frame. I’m learning magic!

I open the book, and on the opening page is the setup Aurelius used to bring me to this plane. I run my fingers over it, feeling the raised impressions of the ink, before flipping through the rest of the book. Its language is scattered, runes and symbols blending together to make a stew of words and thoughts. It’s impossible to make anything out, even the margins with scribbled notes are too tightly scripted for me to decipher.

"I…I can't read this," I say, tears welling up behind my eyes.

“Oh,” Aurelius says, stepping forward and starting to fret. He takes the book in one hand and encircles me in the other. “Here, here, let me show you. Here.”

Flipping to a page in the middle, he gently holds my hand in his, the only point of warmth on this cool night, and guides my finger over the sand. He’s gentle, guiding instead of forcing, and I wish I saw this side of him more.

We trace a few circles, some too lopsided, others too shaky, until he finally deems one acceptable. I feel a swell of pride as he nods decisively, and then points to the runes surrounding the circle, telling me which to draw first. There’s six in total, spread around evenly like a clock, and simple enough that I can listen to Aurelius as he speaks and I draw the runes at the same time.

"You're already familiar with the idea, but it bears repeating. All magic comes at an exchange. You’re pulling from nature itself, and nature always takes what it is owed. It is always hungry."

Before I can ask what he means he breaks off a piece of his own antler, and that black ichor wells up and begins to drip on the ground.

"Your head…" I frown as my stomach turns with guilt.

He waves me off with his free hand as he places the piece in the center of the circle. "It will regrow by tomorrow."

And for a moment, it is quiet. And then, the antler begins to glow a soft green. It shakes and spins, stretching and twisting around on itself as it’s pulled into the air. It flashes several colors, red, purple, orange, before settling on green. It’s as high as my chest before it shudders once more, elongating and exploding from one end, and a bouquet of wildflowers takes its place, held together by a simple black ribbon. The flowers are bright and fresh— red poppies, yellow yarrows, purple bergamot, and several other types I don’t recognize all combining in an arrangement as big as my head.

The flowers slowly float towards me, as if carried by some invisible suitor, and I grab them from the air. The moment my hand touches the stalks, the green magic fades, and I’m left holding the flowers, grinning impossibly wide.

These are flowers. Real, cut flowers that I could find at the market. And I made them from a branch and some runes in the sand. I shove my. Face into the bouquet and take a deep inhale through my nose. It smells like summer, like summer and beauty.

"I did that! I really, really just did that!” I say, my voice echoing in the field.

Aurelius chuckles, and rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Well done."

The contact warms me, makes my heart leap inside my chest. I did something right! I’m full of energy now, I want to do another.

I look up to him, eager. "What else?"

Aurelius hums, idly flipping through the book. "Ah."

It’s another circular configuration, an oval, actually, with a large, complex rune in the center.

“This will do, for now.”

This oval is much easier than the circle, now that I know what I’m doing, and the single rune is more complex than the last, but Aurelius traces the strokes with his finger and guides me through.

Despite the chill in the air, I manage to draw the large symbol, easily the size of my torso, into the sand. It’s not perfect, and I push my lips out in a pout, but maybe if we do this again I can ask him how to properly draw things.

Now I just need something to trade.

I look down at myself. I have no branching antlers to snap off, nor any articles of clothing I wish to remove. I look back up at Aurelius, helpless. "What should I…?"

He considers me for a moment, tilting his head this way and that as if trying to get a better look, and hums thoughtfully.

"This is your second lesson. Humans with the potential for magic often have to give up very little of themselves. Try something small."

I pluck a few hairs from my head, and set them in the center, expecting nothing. Then the rune begins to glow blue, peeling off the ground and floating into the air. It ripples and shimmers before shooting back into the ground, flattening and growing into a small pool of water within the oval. The sand absorbs the water before I have a chance to touch it, but the damp sand is enough proof that I need to affirm that yes, I just created water.

My grin returns full force, and I jump to standing. Water! I can make water! But something nags at my mind, and I look up to Aurelius.

"Why so little, when you had to…" I reach up, and my fingers barely brush the antlers branching from his head.

“This was nothing,” he says, tilting his head to allow me access to brush my fingers over the empty space. “As much as you giving up your hair. Humans are also more potent because they are rare, they have to trade much less than, say, an average fae.”

My eyes widen. "How did you know I could do magic?"

"I've known since the first moment I touched you."

"And you kept it to yourself this whole time?"

He straightens, and brings one long hand up to tap at his unmarred antler. "I admit that the thought was in my mind, but it was overshadowed by other things. I was only reminded when Eodine brought it up."

I frown. What would take up space in a god’s head?Then I remember: The human before me. When did he write that? How far back did the entries go? Were they like me?

Instead, I ask flatly, "Overshadowed?"

Aurelius looks towards the house, then back to me. He exhales a long sigh before he leans forward, looming over me, moving as if to gently knock the side of my head with his snout, but stops. It’s like he’s waiting for something, but I couldn’t guess what.

“You left today,” he says.

His head shifts on my shoulder, and he sinks to the ground, sitting so we're level with each other, and holds out his hands for me to take. Against my better judgment, I take his hands, still warm and calloused, and look down at them in the silence.

Aurelius speaks up, “Why did you go?”

“You know where I was.”

“But why?”

“Why do you care?”

He stills and looks away, hands tightening on my fingers, and my stomach drops. I know what he’s going to say.

"Because I love you."

My lips part on a sharp inhale as images rush through my head. Of Aurelius saving me from the forest fae, of him giving me the library, the gifts he brings back. Alongside it are memories of our argument earlier today, of him chasing down Gregory because I dared to wander off, of him removing me from his bed day after day.

The human has left.

Whatever this is between us right now, it’s not love. It’s not the love I want.

"No, you don't," I say, sighing, and pulling my hands away.

He doesn't respond, seeming to shrink back into himself, his empty hands folding in front of him in a way that reminds me of a mouse.

"It's getting cold," I say, rubbing my arm for emphasis. "I'm going inside."

And I turn away from him, the magic we just created together, and towards a home I don’t belong in.

Perhaps I'm wrong. What do I know of love? My own parents weren't unhappy, but they certainly didn't seem to be in love. I loved my brother dearly, but I know it's different from romance.

When I sold crops in town, I'd hear the ladies speak of their courtships with the lords. How they'd be gifted a new trinket each day, each one more exuberant than the last; How their beloved would write them sonnets of their beauty, or commission an artist to capture it in painting. They'd cry out when their suitors arrived on horseback, flinging themselves into his waiting arms and peppering each other with kisses.

After my parents passed, I received a few such pleasantries. A few notes written in cursive that I couldn't read, fresh cut flower bouquets that I'd heard have secret languages. One brave man even visited our home, but Arthur had already contracted his illness by then, and the suitor fled once Arthur began coughing. He was a nice gentleman, and I once imagined myself marrying him and moving to the city, leaving the farm behind. The men of town weren't like the farmers surrounding it. They were soft, romantic and well-educated.

But Aurelius is not human. Perhaps I'm expecting too much of him to align himself with the lowly creatures he watches over. Perhaps all I'll ever be is a trinket to him, a pet to be watched over and cared for. We never set out to build a romance.

And yet, I still crave one.

Deep in my bones, I know that I want everything from him, his affection, his touch, his gifts of books and buttons and safety. I want his anger, his jealousy, his need to possess me in every way possible. I want to learn to read better for him, to share meals and a bed. But he doesn’t love me the way he should.

I’m well underneath Dachaigh when Aurelius appears in front of me, a flicker of shadow and bone.

“Don’t be angry with me,” he says, and I see the stars in his eyes sparkle. “I don’t like when you’re angry with me.”

“Then don’t do things that make me angry,” I say in a rush.

“What am I doing wrong?”

“You shouldn’t need me to tell you!” I shout, and I’m silently stricken. That was a cruel thing to say. I sound like my mother. Angry at a cowering child for doing something without realizing. Aurelius is even still keeping his head lower than mine, so I can look him in the eyes.

The human has left.

I don’t want to talk anymore. I can’t speak with him anymore. I don’t want to crack open my heart when I don’t know what he’s going to do with it. It’s too late, I’m too tired, and it’s too cold for any of this. Aurelius couldn’t have picked a worse time to bring this up.

I push past him, ignoring the hitch of my breaths and the constricting of my throat. I will not cry. Not here.

“Kyla,” he says, his voice far too soft for what he is, and I continue walking, brisque and cold.

Aurelius doesn’t chase after me, doesn’t call my name again, even as I ascend the stairs, and wind through the room, and bury myself into my bed. There, and only there, do I let the tears flow freely.

Chapter 7>>

#sacrifice #My writing #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster romance #this chapter is hefty #That’s why it took me a few extra days #Thanks so much for everyones patience!#Monster writing

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