My Kind of Sin (Valleywood Season Four)

Prologue

Valleywood was many things. A glittering city, rich in culture and wealth; a northern hub of drama and entertainment, known for its movie and stage productions; a magical haven for the supernatural, shifters and gods alike.

And it was also the perfect location for a goddess of deceit to bathe in the sins of humanity.

If one were unfortunate enough to wander through a certain nondescript door in a random alley in downtown Valleywood, they would find not the inside of a restaurant kitchen as expected, but instead, descend rough-hewn stone steps into a dank cave, the vaulted ceiling decorated with dripping stalactites.

Burning torches cut through the pitch-black and painted the walls with flickering light, the damp air tainted with smoke and the acrid stench of sulfur, as though tucked beneath the city streets was a tiny piece of Hell itself.

In fact, this space did not exist in Valleywood at all; it was a pocket dimension, hidden in plain sight, somehow beyond the awareness of the very gods that ran the city.

It was here, in this dimension, where the goddess Apate sat upon her stone throne.

Rumored to have been unleashed from Pandora’s Box, she was sin made flesh.

Her skin was so dark that it seemed to swallow all light.

Dressed in a black dress, black gloves, and her face draped with a black lace veil, it was impossible to guess her age or what she looked like.

That was probably for the best, as merely being in her presence induced such a visceral reaction of creeping terror.

But that didn’t stop desperate souls from visiting her, in the hopes that she could provide them with their heart’s deepest desires.

For Apate was known to offer bargains to those willing to pay.

The price? Well… it was always prudent to read the fine print on any contract…

An elderly man with a stooped back, clothes hanging loose on his bony frame, stood before her throne, his limbs trembling in fear.

Sweat dripped from his jaw, his shirt soaked through.

His body knew he should not be here, but he stubbornly fought his instincts.

He thought he was being brave, but the smirk on Apate’s mouth, hidden beneath her veil, said she knew too well that so-called bravery often led men to make the most foolish mistakes.

“Tea?” she offered the man, her otherworldly voice echoing strangely through the cave.

The delicate hand-painted tea service was out of place in the hellscape around them.

He debated the right answer to her question, before he finally shook his head.

Smart man. She leaned forward in her throne to pour herself a cup, the tea a deep scarlet, thick as blood.

She brought the dainty china cup beneath her veil and took a deep drink, her pleasure rippling across her skin like a stone dropped in an oil slick.

At last, she lowered her cup to the saucer in her lap. “What is it you want, Samuel Lear?”

The man’s chin wobbled. “My name… How did you…?” His breath caught in his throat, eyes widening, as if he was just now beginning to realize his mistake in coming here.

But instead of retreating, he closed his jaw with a click of his teeth and averted his eyes to the floor, bowing his head.

“Mistress Apate, my family has fallen on hard times. My son lost his job, and when my granddaughter got sick, they spent every dime they had to—”

“Spare me the sob story,” Apate sneered with a wave of her hand. “I don’t care why you’re here, only what you want. So, it’s wealth you seek?” She tapped her fingers idly on the throne’s stone armrest, bored with the mundane request. “So unoriginal.”

The man nodded, his lank gray hair falling across his forehead. “Y-yes, mistress. Enough to support my family, now and into the future, long after I’m gone.”

“The cost of such a bargain is steep. You are willing to pay it?”

“Yes, anything! I’ve lived a full and happy life. I’ll pay any price, so long as my family are—”

“Deal,” she interrupted loudly, her voice rebounding off the cave walls like rolling thunder. “For a lifetime of wealth, the price is one day of your life.”

Samuel sputtered a relieved laugh, as if to say, “that’s it?

” For someone who was nearing the end of his mortal lifespan—as he moved slower, slept more, as his organs rebelled and his joints ached—the cost of one measly day must have seemed like a steal.

What did it matter if he died one day sooner, right?

But he was a fool to believe any deal with a trickster goddess could be so simple.

“Come closer,” she said, beckoning for him to approach her throne.

As he shuffled forward on the uneven cave floor, she peeled the glove from her right hand.

Her fingers seemed unnaturally long, with curving nails that more closely resembled claws.

When Samuel paused a few feet away, eyeing her nails warily, she hissed, “Closer!” and he stumbled forward as though tugged sharply on a leash, forcing him to catch himself on the edge of her throne.

He was close enough to feel her breath on his face, the sulfur stench growing stronger.

From within the folds of her skirt, she withdrew a sewing needle, glinting in the firelight, and without warning, she stabbed it deep into her index finger, drawing a bead of thick, putrid blood to the surface.

Through the veil, Samuel caught the flash of sharp canines as she grinned manically.

“Don’t move. This might sting a little.”

She reached out, and the moment her finger touched his forehead, the man’s jaw hinged open, and he shrieked.

His eyes rolled back, and his back arched as he let out the most tortured sound, keening to the heavens.

He did not pull free, though he scrambled, trying to escape.

But it was as if he were glued to Apate’s fingertip, where she drew an ancient rune in blood upon his skin.

“Your payment begins now,” she drawled as she completed the rune, before her body fell limply back into her throne, her head lolling onto her chest. And just like that, the man fell utterly silent. Even the torches seemed to gutter in the sudden stillness.

Samuel Lear straightened slowly to his full height, a feat he hadn’t been able to achieve in well over a decade, his spine creaking in complaint.

He held his hands out in front of him, examining them front and back, before letting out a scoff.

“Pathetic,” he muttered derisively, before he turned and strolled back up the uneven steps, no sign of the arthritis he claimed to suffer.

He left the cave through the unmarked door he’d entered through not even an hour ago, a mischievous smile on his lips. Just one day, such a paltry sum to pay…