The Loneliest Traid

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  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.

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51. Light of My Life, My Death, My Everything

Daphne had used the last of her water in the spell.  It didn’t matter, her flowers were no longer growing.

    She supported herself on the frame of the bed, pushing forward until she fell against the glass balcony doors.  One leg was far shorter where a bulb had rotten in her bones, one cheek bone collapsed at the seeds turned to mush within her.  She had forgotten how painful it had been converting to a God, but at least she had Eros and Cupid by her side.  Now, she was left with nothing but four eyes and a body that was giving up on the immortale, the pain rippling through her like shrapnel she couldn’t see.

    She pulled and pulled until the door flew back, narrowly missing her face.  She held her robes closed, wincing in the clean air.  She limped onto the balcony, the lanterns already waiting on her stool.  She can considered sending the eyes off with them, but for a perhaps selfish and unexplainable reason, she couldn’t bare to part with them.

    She painted each side of the lanterns in the oil, made of what evergreens were still sprouting from her skin in a final attempt at life and peels of skin and hair that now seeming painless to remove compared to the death of her flowers.  She pulled a match from her nightgown and lit it with shaky hands, keeping the flame covered with another.  One for Eros, one for Cupid.

    They caught in the air, floating off across the night sky to be seen by all those who were to scared of Appalla to even dare honouring their beloved dead.  She watched them go, twinkling like the only stars that listened.  

    When mortals died, they turn to souls, and then can become Gods if created by another, or they are reborn.  When Gods die, they die.  There is no second chance for them.  She would spend her life without them, forever without her friends.

    She couldn’t find the energy to walk away, even after the lights were too far to see, and she watched the eerie darkness of the second realm.  No parties, no love, no celebrations for those who had died.  A fear enriched silence filled the dawn, as if everyone had died too, leaving Daphne completely alone.  The little rotting Goddess, the second realm to herself, just as Appalla always wanted.

    But before she could worry or cry again, the wind turned back on her, nearly knocking her from her chair with the force.  It was rare to feel so much as a falling drop in the second realm, and for a few seconds she had to struggle to keep grounded.  Windchimes screeched, window shades clanging like rattling bones, before the wind disappeared all together, the unnatural silence returning to its rightful place.

    “Jinmi?” she said.  She had forgotten all about him.

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