Morbidly embarrassing, this. She’s sitting there- not on her throne, no, but on the ground, surrounded by bright flowers. And she has a cup of Hope in her hand, but not of her own making. It’s her damn brother’s brew. . . As good as always.

  “So, you brought her to your realm. Intentionally.”

  “Well, no. It’s the typical dream journey everyone who takes a life goes through, I just.... Well, she likely remembers it, unlike most.”

  “You still tried to talk to her, am I right.”

  Life sips on his own cupe of Hope. Where the denizens of Death’s pace and domain at rge drank from Nostalgia freshly extracted from the souls of the dead, a sweet brew that reminded the Gods of how mortals lived, Hope was the byproduct of the cycle starting over again, from the fresh birth of souls human and animal alike. Humans produced better quality Hope though. Tasted like sweet beginnings, potential trysts and eventual victories.

  She liked the taste of Nostalgia better, but she couldn’t deny the appeal of a better tomorrow when she was at her lowest. Low enough that she’d actually come to the vast pins of her brother and his ilk.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a God communicating with their followers. You’ve little and less reason to be mischievous about it, brother. I can see your newest partner from here, brother.” In the distance, even. A man of some forty years, burly as a barrel and as hairy as a bear. Yet another mortal uplifted to the status of a demigod through being bound to Life.

  “But you don’t do things the way I do, sister.”Life has that damn grin on his face, doesn’t he. She doesn’t even have to look to know. She can sense it. Like they have some sort of deeper-than-deep bond that reveals to her one thing and one thing only: the way he’s spreading his lips wide and grinning like a shit-eating monkey.

  “Do you want some tips from your brother dearest on how to court a mortal? It’s surprisingly difficult, all things considered.”

  This was the worst. But she had to speak of the issue to someone on equal standing as her, and her own spawn obviously would not do. Her brother was the only one who could stand on equal ground with her and actually challenge her, no matter how bad or embarrassing it felt.

  “You’re making a convincing case for never sharing events such as this with you ever again, brother. I wanted guidance, not jeers. Help, not mockery.” Her tone seems bitter and genuinely anguished enough that Life actually straightens up a little, mocking grin repced with a more contemptive gaze, eyes set to the wild pins of his domain.

  “I cannot cim to even remember all of my own partners anymore. Many of them accepted immortality, and they’re all puzzle pieces of my life that slot within me perfectly; family who I talk to and cherish every day. But there were some who denied it and returned to their realm, and they’ve passed on from both the world and my memory.”

  This they’d talked about before. Just as she leaned on him, he often did on her; who could understand the pain of death better than she herself? There were tens or even hundreds of partners that’d died that she’d guided her brother through the sorrow of, letting him sip on their Nostalgia of memories with him. It was just her duty as a sibling.

  This ramble felt different, though. Like he was preparing her.

  “But I always remember what it felt like to fall in love. To court, and to chase, and to sometimes give up; some mortals just do not want to worship divinity in such a way. Do not let such get you down, sister. But take my advice on this: being forceful will lead to sorrow. Mortals make for terrible bedfellows in both the literal and metaphorical sense when they’re not willing. Genuine rapport is important.”

  Genuine rapport… She had to admit she knew very little of all this. Dignified and capable as she was, bonds were foreign. Death cut them, yes, when people die their bonds are lost and turned into memories-

  ugh. Maybe thinking about all of this like a god is exactly why she’s in this mess to begin with.

  “I agree with your earlier words, sister: there’s nothing wrong with communicating with your followers. Maybe you’d even have a less dreary reputation if you did so more often than through strange dreams and the rebirth.” His eyes roll, the one moment of snark that he spares himself, but then he continues. “But you must face her honestly, directly, and without scaring the living daylights out of her. And for the love of all that blooms under my feet and flies above my head, take off that damn blessing of yours.”

  Until now Death had listened patiently, but this is where she has to speak up with a tone that’s perhaps a bit harsher than intended.

  “I’ve pced no blessings or curses! Whatever’s happened to her is not by my will!” Which contradicts what she’d told her most humble and loyal follower. “... Haa. I’ve paid too much attention to her. Gazed upon her too long. I must’ve subconsciously lent her some of my divinity. It’s a blessing, yes, an unintentional one but one all the same. Have you ever had anything like this happen, brother?”

  A shake of the head is all she needs to continue.

  “... Accidentally lent power is far harder to take back than intentionally given power. I might hurt her… Bring her undue death before her time has come. I’d have to prepare, see her face to face, physically.”She was worried.Concerned for a mortal.

  It was such a strange feeling. Utterly mortifying and embarrassing; her mortal champions through history were both few and distant to her. Great gravekeepers who tended to the dead of their community with reverence and love, conquerors who dedicated their killing to her- disgusting business, yet in her name all the same- and the occasional seeker of life from within death.

  None like this woman, who merely prayed her days away and spoke of her so sweetly and so tenderly.

  All the while Life strokes his chin, nodding along. At least he’s being considerate. “Then all you can do is wait, no?”Blink, blink.“She’s coming for the ceremony, isn’t she? That’s what this is all about.”

  … She hadn’t told him that. She’d told him a lot, including that she was on a journey, but this was information she hadn’t divulged, and only she and Shadows knew of…

  “Shadows-!”In that very moment, the shadows cast by both gods slowly rises, an amalgamation of two beings merged into one- eugh. She should’ve been a little calmer in tone, maybe he would’ve been more content to just speak from the ground.

  “Apologies, my dy. I thought it’d be important to tell your brother as well, considering you were going to him for help anyway. And I thought that he might be able to offer better advice if he knew everything… Besides, it’s a ceremony shared between you two. It’d be awkward if she did make it and your brother had no idea about any of it.”

  Their retionship as sire and kin rarely flowers into full bloom, but this was one of those rare moments where they probably did look like mother and child, Shadows awkwardly trying to compress their form to be more legible while Death simply gred daggers down at them, hand running against her face in true exasperation.

  “And what other secrets should I expect to hear you sharing with him in the future? Are you perhaps going to tell him about-”

  Life’s loud cackling stops her before she can actually continue, her brother having flopped onto his back on the fresh, still wet grass underneath them, belly heaving in the air with a mirth that was almost infectious. *Almost.* She still only sneers and throws her hands up in the air.

  “I overstepped, I realize, but I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. Her shadow still lingers under my command, and she’s faced no danger steep enough requiring me to step in. You’ll know about her journey’s each and every step…”

  Their calm, yet clearly desperate attempts at pleasing her are silenced by a few bats of her hand in the air, gloomily sinking right back into the shadows cast by the twin gods before silencing utterly. They likely ran away. She’ll have to grab them by the ear and lecture them a little more sternly ter, when there’s a more fitting time for such.

  “My kin ought to respect me more.”She says this while shooting daggers over at her brother, who merely lifts his hands defensively from where he lies.“I hadn’t asked them, you realize? They came to me without any prompting. Have you been talking good of me behind my back, sister? Here I thought you and yours only saw me as a useless seed sowing lout.”

  Of course he hasn’t asked. He’d been too busy cajoling with whoever he was bedding next. Her foul mood slowly subsides and is repced by a more mencholic quiet again, eyes nailed on the ground.

  “But yes, she is coming to the ceremony. In search of me, so that I can give her answers regarding what ails her. Her pallid skin, the death that pops up around her like mushrooms after rain…” All beautiful things to her. Everything must die eventually. But she can’t deny that the death afflicting Maia is truly unnatural. All because of her mind wandering.

  “And what answer am I supposed to give? Am I supposed to be magnanimous, extending my hand to take back what she is offering to me on her knees, even if it is a proof of my affection for her as her deity? Am I to be insulted and scorned, leaving her to suffer with a token that neither of us wanted to give nor receive?”

  That was the core of it; the nature of the blessing (curse?) pced upon Maia and its nature. It was the jewel of their bond as deity and worshipper, as loving as anything else. It’d been unintentional, with no malice, born merely from the connection they’d unknowingly made. And she was to just take it back, or to wave her hand and dispel it?

  Isn’t that the exact same as saying that their bond didn’t matter? That it was something to be done away with? God and man should not connect like so.

  Yet when she spares her brother a gnce, ying there on the grass in a world of his own making poputed by his many children, she feels envy. Why does he get to have all of this? Is the difference of Life and Death merely love and who can attain it? There is so much love to be found in the act of morning, of dying for someone…

  Why can’t she love without it hurting her?

  Gods do not cry. This is not fact, but it is her stern belief: So she does not cry, even if her face scrunches and she makes an expression most unbecoming of her station. Even if her brother rises to sit and wrap an arm around her shoulder, she will not cry, not even when she leans into his hold to wallow in the quiet. What is she to do….

  Besides to suffer for her love.