Chapter 1 #3
That probably wasn’t a sweet thought either, but I was feeling particularly irritable after my disastrous afternoon.
Maybe I’d gotten too comfortable over the past six months.
Living in Milton meant I didn’t have to wear my serene mask all the time, and it got increasingly difficult to put it back on.
I parked across the street from my building as the sun was setting and trudged up the stairs to my second story walkup, carrying my ruined clothes in a grocery bag. It was just a little one-bedroom apartment, but it was the first place that had ever been mine , and I adored it.
I’d been working for years and Milton’s property prices were so cheap that I’d been able to buy it.
Slowly, I was working on creating the perfect little oasis where I could be myself and pretend I wasn’t some combination of cursed and broken.
It was ideal. Plus, there were only three other apartments in the building, all occupied by regular humans.
Being near their territory, but not actually on it, seemed to be fine with the surrounding daimons.
So long as they had access to corruptible humans, they didn’t care much about what we did or all the ways in which we tried to redeem those same humans.
I unlocked the door and leaned against it with my shoulder to heave it open, the comforting scent of all the wax melts I liked to use hitting me instantly.
My feet practically exhaled with relief as I slid off my too-tight heeled ankle boots, arranging them neatly on the shoe shelf by the door before making a beeline for the laundry to deal with my stained clothes.
After a quick shower to wash off the cake smell, I dressed in a matching loungewear set—my number one indulgence—braided my hair, and gave myself permission to relax for a moment.
Usually, Sundays were reserved for cleaning, organizing and grocery shopping.
I’d run out of time for the latter because of the baby shower, and just knowing my pantry was half empty and my pretty storage jars weren’t topped right up made me panic a little.
Six months later and I hadn’t lost the fear that Mother would barge in unexpectedly and point out all the ways I’d failed my homemaker training.
Those comments were often accompanied by a pointed remark about not having any soul bonds, like there was no question the two facts were related.
The sun was setting, and I flipped on a lamp as I walked into the small living area and pulled the curtains in front of the balcony shut.
The quiet of my apartment was both a relief and a reminder of my almost constant loneliness.
It was nice not to have to fake happiness or perform for anyone, but agathos weren’t meant to be alone.
All the women I’d spent the afternoon with would be going home to their bonded, some of them to their children, while I had returned here all on my lonesome to a grilled chicken breast with steamed vegetables, and to rewatch 10 Things I Hate About You.
I lit the vanilla soy candle at the center of the coffee table and flopped back onto the cushion-laden navy velvet couch with a groan.
My houseplants craved attention, but I needed a minute to sulk first. Verity Mae was the last of my age group to have her first baby.
Even then, she’d met her first soul bond when they were teenagers.
It was only because it had taken so long to find her fourth that Anesidora hadn’t gifted her a pregnancy before now.
I was mostly content with my life, but events like today’s threw my fragile happiness off-balance.
I had been waiting and waiting, demonstrating my patience and piety or so I’d thought, but maybe Verity Mae had the right idea.
Maybe I should pray more. Maybe Anesidora wasn’t convinced that I wanted it enough.
My thoughts drifted to Joy Lyon, who’d done everything right and found the four loves predestined for her, only to be ripped away while her children were young, leaving a hole in all of their lives that could never be filled.
The dark selfish part of me that I tried to ignore was envious that at least she’d experienced that kind of all consuming, life changing love, even if it was only for a short time.
I wanted that. I wanted to be the center of someone’s universe. Anesidora had designed it so that could only happen with my soul bonds.
A prayer couldn’t hurt. Perhaps if I prayed more, I wouldn’t have such selfish thoughts all the time. I straightened on the couch and clasped my hands in my lap, bowing my head respectfully.
“Anesidora, Sender of Gifts, Great Mother, I need your guidance. Perhaps the path you have set for me does not lead to me finding my soul bonds, and I understand that.” I swallowed thickly, a sharp stab of heartache running through my chest at the words.
They were true, but they were agony. “I ask you humbly if you could maybe give me some direction? Show me where you need me, where I can best be of service to you. I am your vessel. Láthe biōsas. ”
I glanced around the room like Anesidora might give me a sign then and there. I’d settle for a howling wind, a flickering light, anything to make me feel less like I was screaming into a void.
Nothing.
If it weren’t for the feel of Anesidora’s magic traveling through me when I helped humans in need, I’d wonder if I was agathos at all.
She was always right there when it came time for me to pay the price for using my gift. I didn’t hear a peep when I prayed, but the bad luck was infinitely reliable.
The flame of the candle in front of me felt like it was calling my name, the warm glow offering me some comfort as the scent of vanilla saturated the room.
I’d often wondered if the relief I derived from fire was normal.
It wasn’t like I could ask—everyone thought I was broken already, and I didn’t want to add to the speculation.
If they knew the kind of dark thoughts I had sometimes—the very much not sweet, not virtuous, not selfless thoughts—I’d probably be restrained in the basement of the temple for corrective behavior training for the rest of my life.
While I was usually good at suppressing it, I could feel the darkness—my inner monster, as I thought of it—rising in me now like a sinful tidal wave.
Where was Anesidora when I needed her? When I’d followed the rules my entire life and fought against all the instincts I wasn’t meant to have in order to please her?
Why was she always, consistently silent ?
The dark had never scared me the way it scared my friends and family. There was something… welcoming about it.
Don’t do it, I told myself internally, resolve weakening by the second.
But I wanted to do it. I wanted to be a little bit reckless.
I wanted to indulge the selfish part of me that demanded answers.
That demanded action . That was tired of drifting through life waiting endlessly for something that I’d already accepted would never come.
“Goddess of Night,” I whispered, a shiver of dangerous excitement running through me at doing something so forbidden. “If you can see something in my future, please…”
Please, what? I served the light. I will only ever serve the light, an alarmed voice in the back of my mind screamed. My voice of reason, perhaps.
“...please share your wisdom with me. I serve Anesidora, but I hope to find my place in the world, my calling.”
That yearning hunger inside me that always demanded more seemed to unfurl and spread the longer I spoke, and I hastily wrapped up my ill-advised prayer before it grew so monstrous I wouldn’t be able to contain it.
“Thank you, Goddess of Night.”
There was a moment of perfect, complete silence, not even the sound of traffic or the noise of my neighbor’s blaring television cut through the strange bubble of quiet I was suddenly engulfed in.
The candle in front of me extinguished suddenly, making me jump at the unexpected darkness, and the background noise rushed back in like someone had suddenly turned up the volume dial.
I clutched my chest as my heart pounded double time in my chest, a tremor of fear running down my spine.
It was probably a coincidence, right? Right. Maybe I was just…tired.
No way would the Goddess of Night, La Nuit herself, respond to the desperate pleas of one tragic little agathos.
That would be…impossible. Wouldn’t it? Improbable at least. I’d prayed to Anesidora thousands of times, and had never received such a response.
My empty apartment suddenly felt oppressively quiet, and I quickly turned on the TV and flicked through the menu until I found 10 Things I Hate About You .
I exhaled with relief as Kat’s stereo blared Bad Reputation and settled into the corner of the sofa, tugging a cream throw over my legs.
It was fine. I’d probably imagined whatever I thought had happened.
I shouldn’t have been talking to the Goddess of Night anyway.
I’d watch the movie, reheat the grilled chicken from last night, undo my healthy dinner with a pint of ice cream and binge romantic comedies until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
Everything would be fine, and I’d pretend I hadn’t temporarily lost my mind and asked for help from the main source of human misery.
I didn’t relight the candle though.