CHAPTER 6
When devotion failed to quiet desire, the God of Lust, Asmodeus Hedone, descended, and want was given a name we could no longer ignore. He was sent not to corrupt, but to reveal what restraint had failed to erase in our souls.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran
Lyra stared at the ceiling, processing the events of last night.
She had only been in the Hall of Ascendance for maybe a few minutes before Asmodeus said they needed to leave before anyone caught her there.
As they touched down on Earth, he winked at her, a playful glint in his eye.
“Our secret,” he whispered before turning and disappearing, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and a flutter in her chest.
Could I really be destined to be a goddess? It just seems so absurd. I am a nobody, nothing in the eyes of people. Even my own parents are disappointed in my existence. So why would whatever fates were out there decide I was to be something more? I can’t even hold down a job.
Rolling out of bed, she threw on sweatpants and a tank top.
Too tired to care what she looked like. Her fingers ghosted over her hair, a gentle attempt to smooth it.
In the mirror, dark smudges bloomed beneath her eyes, like faint bruises against the pale skin.
They were a stark, smudged reminder of last night’s makeup, a greasy film she had forgotten to remove.
She rubbed at it with her fingertips, only deepening the shadowy smear.
She took a deep breath before opening her door.
She knew her mom would start the ‘dress for the life you want to lead’ speech, but she didn’t care.
The floor felt cool beneath her bare feet as she padded down the hallway towards the kitchen.
A rich, savory scent of frying bacon tickled her nose, her stomach growled, a reminder of her lack of dinner the night before.
Her ears perked up hearing a soft tune. The closer she got, the clearer the sound became: her mother’s gentle, cheerful humming, a warm melody filling the air.
Lyra froze in the hallway, the smell of bacon and coffee wafting from the kitchen like an irresistible siren song.
She desperately hoped the silence meant there were no guests, but the sheer quantity of food she could glimpse through the doorway suggested otherwise.
A loud, embarrassing growl from her stomach betrayed her presence and her gnawing hunger.
The thought of last night’s nonexistent dinner quickly overruled any shame over her sweatpants and tank top.
A full stomach, she decided, was worth a lecture on sloppiness.
A sudden chill prickled her skin as she entered the room, and she froze. A low groan rumbled in her throat, echoing slightly in the room, as her eyes swept over the room. The table held heaps of food, a chaotic, colorful feast.
“Who’s coming over for breakfast, and do I have to get dressed up?” Lyra sighed as her shoulders slumped.
I just wanted to relax and eat breakfast. Now it looks like we are going to have an army over here to eat.
“Oh, you,” Diane walked over and smoothed down Lyra’s hair. Her hands came down to cup Lyra’s cheeks gently. “You have always been my pretty little pebble. I just wish you took better care of yourself.”
“Okay.” Lyra rolled her eyes. “I now know for sure this is gonna be bad. Have you sold me off to some rich old man, and this is my farewell breakfast?”
“It’s just brunch since you slept in late,” Diane laughed. “If we were going to sell you, we would have done it years ago. Though I am not sure who we would sell you to.”
“Just sit down and make a plate,” Pollo grumbled.
She glanced at her father. His gaze met hers, and a slow, warm smile bloomed across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
With a gentle nudge of his worn leather shoe, he scooted the wooden chair beside him.
She sank onto it, a sense of bewildered warmth settling in as she tried to decipher the infectious cheer that filled the air.
“Did I miss the memo on something?” Lyra asked, piling food onto her plate.
She shot a sideways glance at her dad, her eyes catching the faint glow of the tablet screen. His gaze drifted from the illuminated surface to her mom, a dopey grin stretching across his face.
“Did Orin’s wife finally get pregnant?” she asked. She knew they had been trying for over a year now. She shoved a bite of bacon and pancake, dripping with syrup, into her mouth. “Or did Cadence get a promotion?”
“Lyra!” Diane scolded. “You don’t need to pretend to be modest.”
“Modest?” Lyra gasped, almost choking on the bite.
“We saw the news this morning,” Pollo laughed. “It was all over Pantheia this morning, and we couldn’t be prouder.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed as she looked between her parents.
She shoveled more food into her mouth, hoping they would continue to explain whatever it was they thought was going on.
But her mother continued to hum as she washed the dishes.
Her dad picked his tablet back up, his grin growing the more he read.
Her mother filled a cup of coffee and placed it in front of her.
She grabbed it and took a long swig. Her brain buzzed with possibilities, then it crashed.
People had their phones out last night. How could I not have realized I’d end up on social media being seen with a god?
Someone posted a picture of Asmodeus and me on Pantheia.
That has to be it. They probably think I am going to be one of the concubines Asmodeus probably has stashed away somewhere.
Lovely. She continued to eat quietly and quickly, hoping to avoid any awkward conversations about her non-existent sex life.
“I don’t know why you didn’t tell us,” Diane sighed, the sound was a drawn-out whoosh of air that seemed to hang heavy in the room.
“It’s not whatever it looked like,” Lyra groaned, breaking her silence.
“I know I’ve said it a thousand times,” Diane sighed. Lyra could tell by the tone that she was about to get lectured. “Wearing sweatpants isn’t the image you want to present."
“I’m at home, Mom,” Lyra grunted. “Who am I going to impress at home? You and dad? I’m pretty sure at this stage in my life neither of you would be impressed by anything I do.”
“You need to dress better,” Diane said, walking back over.
Diane grabbed Lyra’s chin and gently lifted it.
In her hand was a damp paper towel; she used it to cleanse the smeared makeup under her eyes.
A small smile was on her face. “A goddess would never be caught in sweatpants, and you have always impressed me. Just not in the ways you wanted.”
Lyra's mouth fell open, a gasp escaping her lips as her eyes widened in disbelief.
“I just got up. Can you wait until after coffee kicks in to harp on me?” Her mind reeled, a silent storm of confusion.
Was this truly happening, or a cruel prank?
The air felt charged, electric, yet she was utterly still, her senses struggling to grasp the unreality of it all.
Laugher echoed from her father. “Honey, do you really believe a goddess is a twenty-eight-year-old still living with her parents? This all has to be a lie.”
“She was hanging out with a god last night,” Diane growled. “We all saw the video and heard what he said.”
Lyra, stunned by her father’s laughter and her mother’s words, pushed her plate back with a scraping noise. Her appetite had completely vanished, leaving a cold, hard knot in her stomach. Without a word, she shoved her chair back and turned, walking stiffly out of the kitchen.
"Lyra, don’t you walk away from me!” Diane’s voice sharpened, the cheer disappearing instantly. “And for the love of the gods, put on something nice before you leave the house! We are Nymphaea’s; we have standards!"
Lyra didn’t answer. She just continued down the hall, the sounds of her mother’s frustrated sigh and her father’s low, laughing voice fading behind her. She slammed her bedroom door shut; the wood rattled against the frame.
She didn’t change out of her sweats. Instead, she collapsed onto her bed and snatched up her laptop. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened Pantheia up.
Her social media feed was a sickening collage of her face and Asmodeus’s.
Headline after headline, video after blurry video.
Her profile picture, the one she’d taken a year ago, was plastered next to Asmodeus’s classically handsome face.
The comments were already in the tens of thousands.
A gasp hitched in her throat; the air thick and still.
The letters on the page swam before her eyes, a dizzying dance.
"UNALIGNED LYRA NYMPHAEA CLAIMS GODDESS STATUS AFTER NIGHT WITH ASMODEUS."
"GOD OF LUST DECLARES WOMAN A NEW IMMORTAL: SEE THE SHOCKING FOOTAGE!"
"DENIED BY ALL FIFTEEN: THE GODDESS NO ONE WANTS."
She clicked the first video link, her heart hammering against her ribs. The grainy footage, clearly taken by someone across the bar, showed her booth at The Crucible. The sound was muffled but clear enough to make out some words.
She swiped to the next video, taken closer up. It was a clip of Asmodeus leaning in, his voice a purr even through all the background noise: “A goddess never dates beneath her."
And then, the part that had clearly set her life on fire: “You’re being denied…
because when you die, you will be a goddess.
You will be one of us.” The video was surveillance footage from the temple that had spliced the conversation with the conversation in the bar, making it look like one seamless, divine pronouncement.
The clip ended with the blinding flash of white light as Asmodeus transported them out into the street.
“How?” she muttered.
Lyra dropped the laptop on the comforter, her breath hitching.
They knew. The entire world knew her secret—or what the gods wanted the world to think was her secret.
Her fleeting moment of defiant, secret conversations had been captured and weaponized.
Conversations she didn’t know if they were real or a divine joke.
Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand where she had left it with notifications–messages, tags, friend requests.
She picked it up, scrolling through; one name stood out: Adrian.
Her ex-boyfriend, the one who publicly humiliated her in that cold high school hallway years ago.
The one who had turned her into an outcast. That was the last time she had felt normal; that was the day that started every rejection, every sneer, and at that moment she felt he was the epicenter of it all.
What could he possibly want after all these years?