Chapter Text

Chapter I: On Disasters, Bacon, and Queries (Snippet)

The room was a mess.

Well, mess was a bit of a misnomer. It was a carefully curated bit of chaos.

From the walls sprinkled with painted and sketched and coal-pastel drawings, to the stacks of novels, books and dog eared texts, to the stained coffee mugs and tea bags left in a half sealed Tupperware container, and the neatly stacked closet and the rather messy desk of notes and journals and A4 hardback books, the unmade bed and the old set of weights in the corner beneath a weathered and loved old guitar- to call the room a disaster would be an act of understatement, and misunderstanding.

Because the rather unkempt disaster at its center, with her messy black hair and sweat stained brow, and clinging sweats and stretched muscles and controlled grunts and pained wince lost to the blaring of Sabaton's The Last Battle off the old speakers of an older brick of a computer, was a master of chaos and disorder, and knew approximately where everything was in her haven and ward, even if she required a few curses and tossed sheets to find it.

Stretched as she was into her splits, holding a weight in her hands, Taylor Hebert was the epitome of an anomaly in pale skin and golden brown eyes focused through black round-rimmed glasses. A social outcast, a girl of baggy clothing, a too wide smile, and too few friends and too many thoughts.

She was also, as you can imagine, cursing her own bloody stubbornness and exhaustion for ignoring the doctors orders of bed rest, take it easy for the next few months and their praises for her unusually fit form after having cut off, burnt, and utterly incinerated her usual baggy clothing after digging her out of what must have been a provable biological hazard.

Now, in the midst of February, 2011, two months after her release from the locker and a 2 week stint in a psych ward for observation, she was just glad to have her thoughts back and her ability to actually live her substantially boring, and utterly fulfilled life with the sanctity of her personal thoughts and mind.

Query: Purpose?

Well, mostly personal.

"We've been over this, Queen."

Query: Expand?

"No, I'm not torturing myself. It's called exercise."

Observation: Definition.

Wince.

"Yes, I know what torture is."

Query: Amusement.

Huff.

"Yeah well, fuck you too. Let me suffer in peace."

Assertion: Denied.

'Stupid fucking space whale.'

Motion: Indignation.

Taylor chuckled, then winced again and let the weight drop to the yoga mat, huffing a breath and drawing another, before leaning forward and planting her hands, forcing aching muscles to obey as she let her legs relax their stretch.

"Ow ow ow ow ow."

Stretching again, she let her noodles plop and her back hit in mat, staring at the ceiling in utter exhaustion through lidded eyes and rising chest, quietly cursing her former self for putting the water bottle on the desk so away.

God, she hated leg day.

God, she was starving, and so, with a huff and heave and a crunch, she sat up and attempted to rise -

*Plop.*

...

'Noodle legs. Fuck.'

...

Motion: Amusement.

'Oh fuck you.'

Making her way out the door and down the rickety old stairs on rickety old legs, Taylor made her way past the old photos and yellowing walls, stumbled over a crick in the carpet, and cursed up a storm all the way past the old analog clock that ticked its way barely past 2.

The sun was shining, the blinds and curtains were open from the front window to the empty parking spot, all ignored on her quest for three things: Coffee, broccoli, and bacon thick enough to choke on and then drown on.

Because exercise was miserable enough without your diet waging a war on your tastebuds, and quite frankly, calories were calories, and she needed her some greasy motivation before a well deserved nap.

A good plan, really. Except her legs were ready to launch a subpoena and her stomach an armed revolt, and she could only satisfy one request at the moment, and rest was for the wicked and the weak.

Her legs wobbled, and she gripped the counter and glared at the offending parties. They helpfully refused to glare back.

Bastards.

Demand: Sustenance.

"Oh you stay out of this."

Statement: No. Bacon. Caffeine.

"Ugh. Fine"

Statement: Joy. Bacon. Query: Reading?

Taylor huffed and let her eyes roll, and managed her way to the fridge with a stagger and a slight grin.

"Yeah yeah, after I'm done with this, ya glutton."

Declaration: Data!

She let our a snort, and opened the stocked fridge to find her lunch.

For there was bacon to be made, broccoli to char, eggs to get runny, and several BLE sandwich to savor and devour.

Dante and his Descent could wait.

She had a worm and whale to feed, after all.

Chapter Text

The porcelain was warm, with a chip in its rim and a stain on its base, and steam rising from its abyssal holdings - deep, and drowning. She held it gently, sipping as she let the melody from the old radio play, and the scents of cigarettes and midnight memory lulled the troubles to sleep.

Ebony, drizzled in memory - tinged in midnight gold

The tip burned as she breathed, rushing through paper to her lungs. Tobacco cracked, ashes fell, and on the exhale, she let the poison free.

It danced then, in the windless ward - tiny specks amidst a million more. First a stream, then a cloud, then a million little friends, chasing the light of her headlamp, the shadows of the stickers on her roof, and, in the last comforts blessings breath, she let her shoulders droop and her eyes lid in the quiet.

She'd always promised herself that she'd never smoke- always said that she'd be better than the one's who never cared for themselves and took part in quiet vice.

That was a long time ago now. And experience was a greater teacher than age.

At least the smoke was quiet. At least it was true in its kindness, in its lie.

She breathed again, and let the baptism burn; to chase away the worry, and wash away the day.

It was her vice now, and its bite was its care.

Taylor reached down, fingers to a grasping stem, and with a tug, plucked from the ground a simple flower.

A daisy.

A simple, meaningless daisy.

Yellow in its center, white in its pedals, green in its stem. There was some of the morning dew dripping from its whites, and its form was windswept and ruined from the evening's storm.

There were a hundred like it, in this park - in this little Eden - taller, prouder, brighter.

But this one was special, because it was hers, and she let it rest between her fingers, in all its insignificant glory.

And there, it wept its dew to the winds, its last dreams of fight - and for a moment, she pondered,

Did a daisy dream?

Do they stare to the many giants that trampled its ground, fearful it might be next?

Did this one stare to its father, the sun, and then wonder if it too, could reach it?

Did it resent the wind, for touching its petals but never its roots; tempting it in pleasure, never raping in its vice?

Did it seek to be Icarus, and chase the sunset?

Or was it free of the curse of dreaming?

Taylor smiled regardless- a small, tiny thing to a small, tiny thing - and brought it to her nose, and breathed deep.

Whatever it dreamed, it was beautiful.

She hoped it well, and raised it to her settled crown, threading it through her hair, and let it touch a little piece of heaven.

The wind was cold, this low to the sea, taste tinted with salt and mist. And the moon shown further ahead, where the skies and seas met - a silver sun in a world of endless blues and blacks.

She banked, and let the winds cradle her, let the ashes spark into tiny embers that danced with the waves below her before she arch upwards and bellowed her wings again.

Each push gentler, each flap another goodbye.

And soon, gravity gave way, and she reached high and higher, higher and higher-

Till there was only mist and gray, and her small form was another shadow to the world below.

And then - endless night, casting the world in the watching of starry heaven.

And higher she flew, as mist gave way to crystal, and her own flame rose to cleanse it to the tears that blessed the clouds below.

And she stared to the infinite, to the cold void above.

And she cried.

For they were so beautiful, without the light of the world to banish them - so gentle and kind, watching her fly, passing and climbing on ashen black wings.

She had learnt their names by heart, each one a story and a muse- a lesson learnt from the watchers of the passing ages.

And she reached, gentle and slow, and for a moment; she could hold them, in the palm of her hand.

And when she let her wings stop, as she reached her apex - her embers became her shadow, her own stream of star and stardust.

And cradled in the gales, where there were no souls and shadow - and only Heaven and Sky- she greeted the morning, before gravity tugged, and left her tears to whisper her goodbye.

Taylor watched them as they stepped off the hounds, massive and muscle throbbing, slobbering and growling with teeth like daggers and dripping with drool.

She saw the cat suit, and the renaissance prince, and the leather jacket, and the hound mask. She saw their tension, their hesitant gait, their coiled fingers and tenser spines.

She saw their shadows, hanging over shoulder; specters without faces, places without names, thoughts without reason.

She heard them whisper.

Of a gunshot, and a terrible man, and a laughing girl, and a crunch of bone beneath jaw.

She bore witness to their tragedy, and their glory, and their fear as she graced the smoldering concrete, her wings shrinking to fit the small alley.

They were ugly things, those shades, those names; fit over beautiful frames.

Broken things. Blasphemous, wonderous, terrible things.

It was the Cat that spoke first, whose shadow wept in chaos - heedless of the skull masked apprehension- with a disarming lie of a grin.

"Hey there."

Taylor watched her for a moment longer, before letting her own song reach out, in her own soft echo, to the voice of the one who saw too much. And with a din, and with a ting, and with a crack, she sung -

"Hello."
And there was silence, as the cat's grin faltered, and the shades moaned louder, and the hellish hounds whimpered, and for that moment, she wish she had said nothing at all.

And beneath her cowl, she let her eyes close, and her song retreat, to say no more.

The fox did not grin again, and the Skull let his abyss bloom, let it it crawl down his feet to the fractured street, ready to devour-

She did not move, for their was little his shadow could do.

For what was simple shadow, to the burning of morning's light?

The fox raised her hand then, and in frantic whisper, called- "Grue, calm down!"

"But-"

"It's not gonna hurt us."

Taylor felt her heart clench, but let it go. There was no point to argue, even as the fox turned its eyes again.

"Are you?"

She shook her head slowly. The Fox did not believe her, and Taylor did not expect her to.

The Liar tried anyway, and took a slow step forward before speaking.

"Names Tattletale. You, uh," the liar looked to the chaos behind her - the broken man and men, and the still burning street, and grimacing, tried a third time.

"You really, uh, did us a solid there. I'd make terrible bacon."

I should have let you burn.

She pushed the thought aside, and simply nodded again. Words were meaningless; and her voice, more so.

Her hair was fire, and her eyes a forest; shorter than herself, but haunting and proud. Pale skinned and sun-kissed, in a flowing top of yellow and a jeans torn and black, footed in running shoes that were too clean to be too used, flanked by Shadow, flanked by Maid.

And her smile was cruel and mocking, her soul loud and weeping.

And her words were sharp, and her specter screaming.

And as barbs flew, and insults rained; Taylor wished her heart did not yearn for her laughter, like those days of old.

That, for a moment, she wished she did not remember better times, the beauty of those summer days.

When she was her Willow, and Emma was her Firefly.

Daniel had not greeted her when he arrived.

He tossed his coat on the hanger, and let his sigh shatter her silence. She glanced at him then, reading glasses catching the reflection of Paradiso upon her lap, seated as she was by the couch. And she watched as he made his way to the kitchen, his shadow heavy and long.

She paid the specter as little mind as she could, its claws always digging into his chest, always clutching at his heart and squeezing.

She ignore the cruel whispers, and its roaring rage at the breaking of the Bay, at her silence, at the absence.

She turned to her book, and ignored the screaming, least she hear its loud lament

God knew what made her this way. Hell only knew her punishment for the deed - and the waiting bite in the trap of that icy maw.

Let me out! Please, I'm sorry!

She should have listened, she should have listened.

For the Inferno had no care for sinners, and no care for the greatest sin of all.

She listened again now, to the tap of three, then a missing fourth, its breakage at two, and wished there was silence to this new verse.

Where had those winter days gone now, but beyond that cursed Rubicon?

That the angel held her, as Julius might have Brutus?

What made it then, that the knife might have been the greater kindness?

That silver might have been kinder than care?

That the Redeemer would embrace the thirteenth demon...

There was great kindness in Gahenna.

What a bitter taste now to remember, those days of young love.

When she was Beatrice; and Taylor, her Dante.

There was screaming,
there was silence,
and the patter of ash,
a greeting.

To the sinners,
there was nothing;
and to the world,
a cleansing.

With shadow witness,
with father's despair,
tears bleed forth to fire,
to scream of newborn' cry.

A snippet of Tammi's POV:

The house was a shithole.

Tammi had said as much the first time she had visited. She said so the third time too.

But by the fifth, it had become an observation more than a critique, because for all that it was a shit hole, it was Taylor's shit hole, and she'd tolerate it, because at least it wasn't her pretty shit hole, with its creaking step and old faded walls and frames fitted with too cute photos of too cute a girl, and too beautiful an older woman.

And if there was one thing that Tammi had learnt for certain, in all the time that she had spent with her... friend, it was that she was going to hell.

She knew it, in her bones and metaphorical balls.

Because there she was, leaned against a pillow on the bed, stealing Taylor's stupidly expensive cigarettes, drinking her shit whiskey, and staring at her as she played the guitar with calloused fingers and lowered head, quiet as a mouse, softer than a lamb.

Tammi hated that. That she did everything quietly. Barely spoke, barely fucking breathed - barely did anything, really. Just... fucking floated through the world like a feather on the breeze.

It was maddening. It was infuriating.

It broke her fucking heart, and she'd stab anyone who said that aloud.

Because she was not meant to fucking feel this way. She wasn't. It was wrong. It was ugly. It was a pox.

But then Taylor would look up, and do that shy smile thing, where she refused to look you in the eyes and she'd dip her head with a quirked lip and UGH.

She needed to pray. She needed Jesus. She needed a baseball bat and a rosary.

Stupid pretty girls. Stupid raspy, deep voice.

Stupid Taylor.

God she was going to hell. For a lot of reasons.

But if there was one thing she swore to herself, as Taylor take a moment to grab the shared cigarette and breath in, it was this:

She was going to find the fucker that made Taylor this way.

The one that made her look down when she got a compliment, the one who fucking made her so frail, so weak, that she refused to speak or sing because her voice was ugly, and her throat was raw and jagged and SCARRED -

She was going to find those bastards and have a long, slow, and painful conversation with them.

Taylor might be willing to bear her cross, might be willing to turn the bruised cheek.

But fuck it all if she was.

For the Heavens were filled with the righteous and monstrous.

And the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

Tammi was a good damn paver, too.

She was falling. She knew it. She felt it. Hell was open, and it was warm with burning sands and rains of fire.

That was her damnation, her judgement from pure heaven, before the judgement of men and menfolk.

But what was it that the Bible said of sin? That it was easy? That it was sweet?

That redemption came from the love of God?

Love...

...

Heh. Yeah.

Maybe they were onto something.

Sin was sweet. And love, the sweetest poison of all.

She was already a blasphemer, already a pagan seeking Christ.

Why not choose a bit of blasphemy, in the seeking of Christ?

For the girl with no voice, and no love to call her own, there was only a question, and only an answer:

For what then, would Christ do?

So she breathed again as the answer came, and chased the bitterswell with bitter smoke, and breathed as Taylor's song played on.

The shades still screamed around her.

Some in terror, others in agony, and others still in mourning - the square a painting of rubble, broken men and smoldering ruin.

The Wolf howled from where it was trapped. The Valkyries moaned from where they were imbedded. The Sorceress, her lovely Star, trembled from where she watched.

She ignored them, as she walked towards the Fallen king.

And what a King he was, even now- for even broken in body, even with his steel armor crumbling and his ribs crushed, his specter stared defiant, its eyes light in its own judgement.

She did not hear his words, his dry wit, nor his meaning.

His shade said enough in the weight of his own self-belief.

How bitter it was, how ironic, that the only shade to be whole, to be so defined, would be that of the Kaiser?

Be that of her friend?

Of that of the man she had, for a time, call father?

Still - it spoke enough; of its own greed, its own dreams, and the weeping at a grave, a the weeping of a name.

Of a broken belief, held by a man who saw it as foolish, even when it shaped him, for his soul craved its gifting, craved it's strength.

And as she stared, she could not help but wonder -

How many layers did a soul have?

How many personas, before the curtain call?

She knew the answer, and bitterly wished she did not.

But still, she took a step. Then another, watching and cementing its shadowed shape and its screaming names to her memory; so at least she would remember, at least she would know, should the Justices answer, and the Angels come.

And when she finally reached his feet, she knelt, and with a soft clawed hand- gripped the specter's arms that hugged the chest of the broken man.

And quietly, she offered her respect, and spread her shadowy wings wide as she laid his head to rest, as she burned his wound shut.

And beneath her shaded wings, she let her tears free, even as the man refused to groan, even as he gripped her arm, and stared to her eyes.

The heroes would be there soon, to take away the blasphemous and twisted - to bind them in their circle and call out their cries of justice.

To condemn and thus, save.

And for a quiet moment, as she wept and as she burned, she hoped they failed.

For the world had few honest devils, and far too many painted saints.

Chapter Text

I remember the damp.

The cracks in the stone walls, cold against wrinkled hands. The scent of piss and sweat and decay all around, slithering though metal bars. The bucket, and the convenient rope. The moans.

The stumbling corpses, beyond the locked gate.

I remember confusion. Terror. Screaming.

Begging.

I remember silence, and the thump of monsters.

That was my first death, after 5 days of suffering in that cell, listening to the dripping, licking the moisture off stone walls and eating the moss and bugs and filth. I did not die, until I took the broken sword, and laid it low.

Waking up in bed... I could lay it all away as a nightmare - a terrible, terrible dream, even as the dripping of the rain made me flinch.

Then the next night, another age. Another nightmare. That cell... that accurse cell.

I made it a week, before the blade fell again.

By the fourth night... I feared sleep.

I remember crying. Screaming. Daniel too lost in his drinks to comfort me, Emma too much my hell.

But my body... I remember that night, when the exhaustion came, and when I opened my eyes, there was the accursed walls.

And just as I despaired, he arrived, through the cracked roof - with the dropping of a corpse, and a key.

I still remember the way he nodded to me, face hidden behind his helm, silver armor bright and clean and shining, as he stared to me, and made his way from my sight, leaving me with my key, a corpse, and decision.

I wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like, to stay in that accursed cell. Would it have been better? To slowly rot there, beneath the waters and the crawling ones?

...No. It would have simply been a different death, I imagine. The slow kind, where hope is lost, and the shadows of the abyss beckon with their peace called dissolution, and their whispered blessings of madness.

A thousand deaths, it offered, veiled as one. A thousand deaths in the death of one.

I chose a different path then, against the terror and tenor of a racing heart, and clutched my key tight, and chose the great kind of death, though I knew little of such things then, still too young to know, too hopeful to find the beauty in such a crime.

So it was, then, that when I opened that gate to the fire lit hall, cells to one side and bars to the demon on the other, that I took the steps that would define me.

And the song of the most brilliant death, made of a thousand passings, spirited into none; carved to stone, sung to song, immortalized into the bones of the world, and the musings and nostalgia of memory?

Those were bitter days, then, marred by their tragedy and marked by their losses. But such beautiful days they were too, when solitary struggle gave way to soft fire and comradery, and trinkets told you their stories, beneath the mantle of false sun and soft moon, in the forests of a lost kingdom, and the caverns of a tragic civilization?

So many days then, in that decrepit world. So many days then, growing from girlhood in a fallen world.

What made it so, then, that I craved the nights of sleep and gallantry and struggle marked by striving in a world beset by despair and snarling man and beast, to the days of classrooms and false smiles and jeered comments and false idols of kindness?

Mayhaps it was the honesty, of that dead world, to the mewling lies of my dying one.

Mayhaps I will never know.

But in those terrified nightmares, I grew, and in the daydream, I persevered.

To the dream of lost beauty, and the nightmare of broken days.

Such was the story, then, in the song of the blade, and the crack of the golden thunder, swirling in the mist of blood and soul and dragon fire.

That girlhood would give way to maidenhood, and maidenhood, to knighthood- and the highest calling.

Such foolish days, those bitterswelled days.

I miss them, those days.

Of endless torment, of endless gain - where dreams grew longer, and nightmares shorter.

When struggle grew to bravery.

... Ha.

For what is bravery, without a dash of recklessness?

Lordran ... oh, Lordran.

How I miss ye.

Helicon Days- Chapter ??: Sunny Days (Snippet)

There were few things as wonderful, as sunrise and coffee.

I made my way through the motions as the day's first sigh beat its way through the window, coffee made and damp hair brushed and bag at the ready, with buttered toast and honey jam in hand, an old copy of the Alexiad in the other.

Daniel had left just prior, stumbling his way through his own morning routine, blurry eyed and already cursing, wishing me well in passing and mumbling, face unshaven and hair uncombed and glasses already straining against the promise of stress and bureaucracy.

I hummed my own goodbye, as he reached the door, and pitied him little, for better he than me, and my own day of monotony promised its own trials and whimsy.

Winslow awaited, but that was neither here nor there, and those funhouse walls were of little consequence.

So, reaching again for the coffee, and again to the honey, and propped the cracked leather tome beneath arm, and made my way to the old stoop.

For the day was beautiful, and there was no rush- for the clock said seven, and it was far too early for such little worries.

And so, with a crack of old leather, and a sigh of rest, I sat on our old creaky step, and sipped, and read.

For what rush was there, on such a sunny day?

Winslow, as always, was loud and cramped, filled with the crashing of bodies, days old sweat, questionable staining, and teenage misery, and through its halls lit by florescent lights, scrambled the meek, marched the proud, and swaggered the mighty; from freshmen tiny to senior tall.

I pulled the straps of my bag tighter, and made my way through the waves, mindful of the little ones, watchful of the proud, eyes rolling from the barely lucid to the hawkish and popular, fingers tensing with the bang of doors and the smacking of lockers.

A bad habit, I'd admit, to treat the pigmies with such regard, but instinct was instinct, and the pitiful ant could lay low the mightiest god, should the god be complacent.

And I, for all my faulting, was no complacent ant.

Still, I forced my fingers lose, and soon reached the bleached green rows that held my locker, and passed it without pause.

Emma and Madison barely paid me any mind, as they whispered amongst themselves, their gaggle of followers snickering beneath their breath. Still, I gave Sophia a nod in greeting, and made my way to my first class of the day, .

Sophia merely grunted in response, and paid me little else mind beyond the weary watch of a predator's assessment, leaned against the lockers as she was, before dismissing me, and returning to her threaded communion.

Strange, how once, her shadow terrified me. I smiled, and shifted my bag against my hoodie and let the thought patter its way away.

I had grander challenges awaiting, and algebra was its own special hell.

By the gods, I hated algebra, and nibbling on the orange peel, I stared at the profane thing with an urge for vengeance and an inkling for violence.

Logan would have loved it, I imagine, this piece of... of horror, with its axioms and its principles and rules, smug and smirking in its own self-import.

I could almost hear the old fool, nestled with his tomes and scrolls, both teacher and gadfly-

Remember, my girl, first principles- always.

An excellent suggestion, for sorcery and the arcane.

A terrible thing, when faced with the devil named Peano.

Personally, I wanted to bash it with a brick, because why would one make simple addition so needlessly painful?

Still, I grumbled to the quiet library, and picked up my pen again, and resisted the urge to turn it to my eye.

Math.

Why did it always have to be math?

Chapter Text

The Masks We Wear:

Everyone wears a mask.

A small one, a grand one - of sheep's cloth or lion's clothing, every person has a collection of masks they could draw from. Some assumed the guise of peace, and others flame; some wore humility, and some the clown.

But everyone wore a mask. That's just the way humans were, and the way things always ended up being.

Because to in a world where you had to be your inner self? That was a terrible, terrifying thing.

It was the reason Capes wore masks - why they split their lives on that knife of normalcy and grandiose epics. Why they played their games in the dark, and lived their lives in the light - because to break that pact was to chose, and rarely did a human like to chose.

But what if you could chose more than your mask?

What if you could become it too?

Taylor grunted, shifting the weights to the side as she leaned against the bench, sweat soaked and drained - a vaguely fleshy noodle in a steamy broth of pain, agony, and self loathing.

Her legs refused to co-operate, her arms had mounted a stiff defense, and her heart had signed a subpoena roughly around the time the treadmill had become a mill and her demon's had given up the ghost.

The gym's aircon hadn't helped much, but at least the music was mind-numbing enough to help chase away the ghosts bickering within her skull, harping on and on about proper form, lunch, and the inevitable descent that always came along when someone mentioned pineapple and pizza in the same sentence.
Never mind that they were poor body guests, they were opinionated too - and not for the third time in as many weeks did she desperately wish that powers came with an off switch.

Or maybe they did, and she was just unlucky. Really, even as she felt her sore muscles relax and heal, the tittering laughter of Pixie in her ear, she really just wished things would be less complicated.

Because did other capes had to put up with this?

It would definitely explain how fucking mad they always seemed to be.

'Nah,' Pixie trinkled, bell laughter in her ear as her limbs grumbled back to work. 'You're the lucky one.'

"Lucky," Taylor muttered, staring at the ceiling lights as the world went on around her, the dull clank of metal on metal and foot on treadmill omnipresent. She sighed.

Lucky.

Yeah - of course she was this lucky.

Why couldn't she have gotten something simpler? Like bugs. Or super strength. Or becoming a worm.

No, she just had to get the annoying power, didn't she? The one's with thoughts, voices, and opinions on pizza toppings and her sex life.

Fucking powers. Fucking muscles. Fucking noodle legs.

Fuckin' Personas.

'Up and at it, kid,' muttered another voice that sounded like thunder and stormy seas. Warm, compassionate - like an old man grumbling to his favorite disaster to be less of a disaster.

Taylor groaned, and was fully committed to becoming a puddle. Because did she have to?

'You've got more sets. You can handle it.' Stressed the voice again, and she groaned again as more voices chimed in, all calling for her to get up and continue.

God, they were loud. But he was the loudest, and she could feel his stare even while she dragged herself to a seated position.

"You're all assholes," she grumbled, grabbing her towel and nearly stumbling as she rose to her feet. Pixie giggled again, and Taylor felt the coolness on her legs spread as she steadied herself.

'Rowing next,' said the voice, completely disinterested in her bellyaching, and more interested in her suffering.

"Bastard."

'I heard that.'

'Come on love, you can do it!'

'Just a coupe more sets, babe - then maybe get that cutie's number?'

'Get food - you're starving.'

'Get rowing, girl.'

Ugh.

"You're loud," she winced, tossing her water and towel down as she collapsed into the seat, adjusting the dial from 1 to 13. "One at a damn time."

'Get moving, and maybe we'll shut up, eh?'

'Be nice to her, Susano-o, she's trying!'

'She's a strong girl, she can take it.'

No, she thought, she was going to die.

But she rowed, muscles burning as she pulled the bar and balanced with her legs, slowly and carefully, because god help her if she had to listen to another damn lecture on form.

She heard a sigh, and felt the chorus get pulled away, and felt the warm blanket fall into her tired muscles, and nearly sighed in relief.

"Thanks, Iza."

'No problem, love. Now, focus. Just fifty more sets.'

Fifty?

God that was a lot.

...

Sigh.

She could do fifty.

By the time she dragged her fleshy, sweaty, suffering ass into the fresh, shit smelling, suffering sun, Taylor was three degrees North of done and twelve West of could not be bothered.

Everything hurt, and not even Izanagi's passive healing could overcome her soul bearing need to sleep for a week and kiss the world goodbye.

'Shower first,' said Susanoo.

'Then food!' chimed Pixie.

'Homework,' reminded Valkyrie.

'Coffee?' Mused Ishtar.

Taylor chose to scratch in her back pocket, grab a crumbled box of cigarettes, and light a silent fuck you to them all while grumbling as she dragged herself along the path from Down Town home.

'You really shouldn't be smoking those,' said Izanagi, his voice a soft din. She could feel him frowning at her, wherever he was.

"Let me suffer in peace."

'No.'

"I have super lungs."

'You have a problem.'

"Then let me kill it."

'Your lungs or your life?'

"Yes."

'Oh let her have her fun,' hummed Ishtar, laughing softly to the rest of the chorus. Taylor felt her take over, the cool warmth of healing pattering out as she felt her back straighten and her stride gain a step, Izanagi's disapproving slot filled with the chaotic love Goddess, who floated her way over her head, vaguely translucent, but utterly beautiful and grinning and about ready to give her a complex. 'Ignore the old coot. Now, how's about we get you some coffee?'

Taylor sighed, smoke pouring from her nose and lips as she stopped by the bus stop.

"I just wanna go home."

Ishtar pouted, and had anyone else been able to see her, Taylor imagined there might have been a car crash at the sight.

'But that's so boring!' she whined. 'It's Friday -'

"Tuesday."

'- the night is young-'

"It's nearly five."

'- and you look so lovely -'

"I'm a sweaty disaster."

'A beautiful disaster,' the spirit amended, twirling. 'Live a little! You deserve a night of fun!'

"I'm having fun. I'm going to have fun," Taylor corrected. "I'm going to smoke, I'm going to show, and then I'm going to die."

The goddess waved her hand dismissively.

'Boring~ Dying isn't so much fun, ya know?'

"It be peaceful."

'It be a shame.'

"Let me get cancer in peace."

'Like we'd let you.'

Taylor bit back a sigh, and let out a slow groan instead. God, she's been doing that a lot, hasn't she?

"You're not going to shut up, are you?"

'Nope!'

"Don't you have anyone else to bother?"

'You're my favorite human.'

'Technically,' Thoth voiced, 'She's our only human.'

'Favorite regardless!'

Taylor stared at the street, and pictured herself walking across it, dragging her feet every step home, melting in a hot shower, and then puddling in bed. She imagined a night of doing nothing but potatoing, curled up and drinking a warm cup of milk and reading shitty fanfiction on the PHO about Gallant and Glory Girl's messy love triangle with that one student of Arcadia she's always hanging out with.

She imagined ignoring the voices in her head, blasting Sabaton on full blast, and ordering an olive and mozzarella pizza just to piss off them all off a bit more, chain smoking herself into oblivion.

Then she sighed, turned, and kept walking the path towards the Broadwalk.

She felt the goddess grin even as she kept her eyes on the path ahead, cigarette to her lips.

'There we go,' the spirit cheered, 'Onwards, Fool, to coffee and some chocolate cake - the meal of champions!'

She wasn't going to get cake - she just busted her ass in the gym, why the fuck would she get ca-

'She shouldn't be eating so much sugar,' Susanoo muttered. She felt Thor hum in agreement.

...

On second thought, a black coffee and triple chocolate lava cake sounded really good all of a sudden.

'Oi!'

'That's my girl.'

'Stop corrupting her,' sighed Izanagi.

'I'm not corrupting her. I'm enabling her.'

'It's been three weeks, woman,' Thor grumbled. 'She needs to take care of herself.'

'She is.'

'She's a chain smoking disaster with daddy issues and a non-existent social life.'

"Hey!"

'He meant it loving,' Chimed Loki.

'She is living like a lady should,' Ishtar huffed, pouting and hovering above Taylor, arms wrapping around her neck as Talk walked. 'Ignore the brutes, honey - go get your cake.'

'Yes! Cake!' Chimed Pixie, fading to view and resting herself on Ishtar's horn, while Valkyrie floated down on her Pegasus, face full of a thoughtful frown.

'Dark chocolate,' she demanded softly.

Taylor sighed, and then chuckled, and chucked her cigarette stump into a nearby trash can.

"Dark chocolate and coffee it is."

Susanoo sighed.

'Women.'

'Oi!' /"Oi."

Dom's Brewery was less a brewery and more a hold over from when Jesus walked the earth.

She ignored the Savior's affronted grunt as she made her way to order, running she's tapping on the wooden floors, the scent of coffee and the sound of the few patron's a muttering backdrop to the sound of the espresso machine that growled like a solider that had seen four wars and six administrations.

Dom himself was an imposing bastard - all arm hair and a rough beard, a sun weathered face and scarred knuckles, wearing a kiss the cook apron and a rainbow pin to his chest. He examined her - sweaty hoodie and stretchy pants, school bag flung over one shoulder and gym bag over the other, and grunted as she made her way to the front.

Fading red hair marked the six foot three man a mountain with a history of drinking, and his voice marked him a man of poor decisions and an ancestry of trouble.

"Wha' will it be, lass?"

Immediately, there were a two dozen voices offering their opinions and takes - and she ignored them all in favor of something simple.

"The strongest coffee you have, and whatever cake will piss off a gym coach."

He grunted again.

"Comin' right up. Izzie! Get the lass a seat."

Taylor turned, and saw the woman in question throw a rag over her shoulder. She was a short thing, freckled to hell and with the kind of green eyes that reminded her of summer grass and a grin that lit up like a bonfire. Clad as she was in jeans and a tank top, she looked like she worked a bar more than she did a coffee machine, and her... assets led one to assume that her good jeans and good genes went well enough in hand.

Ishtar woof whistled.

'Damn.'

Down girl, Taylor thought loudly.

'You were looking.'

And you're being a creep!

'I am thou, thou art I~'

"We are not having this conversation," she whispered beneath her breath, dropping her bags and self into the seats offered. Izzie grinned, and offered her a wink.

"Lookin's fair if yar tippin', luv."

... Damn it.

She ignored Ishtar's peels of laughter and Pixie's giggling, and let ignored the heat the flushed to her face. Izzie laughed, and made her way to the kitchen with a Be right back.

'She likes you~'

"She's being polite," Taylor muttered, grabbing the menu and opening it to hide.

'Oh- think she'll give you her number?'

"Shut up."

'Think she'll give you a kiss-'

"Zip. It." Taylor seethed, face flush and red.

The goddess giggled, floating through the chair and back to resting her chin on Taylor's head, eyes observing and smile light.

'You deserve to have some fun love.'

"I want to jump into the bay."

'Skinny dipping is fun too. Ask her to join you.'

Not a fucking chance, she thought, pulling her hoodie's string tighter to hide.

Ishtar frowned, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders again.

'Oh, enough of that,' she admonished. 'You're beautiful, and I'm helping - give it a go. Worst she can do is say no.'

"She could kick me out."

Ishtar sighed a deep, dramatic sigh.

'We'll get you laid eventually.'

By the time Izzie arrived with the coffee and cake, Taylor wondered if killing the goddess would be as easy as just killing herself.

The chorus of a hundred varying nopes told her neither was an option.

So she suffered life and living and made due to with shoving cake, caffeine and sugar into her mouth and hoped to choke.

At least the cake was good.

'You should have asked for her number.'

Taylor grunted, pulling her bag closer as she made her way through the halls. Around her, students shuffled and mingled and laughed, voices echoing and doors to lockers slamming, while Ishtar pouted and floated her way through them like a ghost. Some shivered, some didn't notice, and some she avoided purely out of principle and disgruntled spite.

can you not? Taylor thought with a grumble. we've been over this.

'She's right you know?'

Taylor nearly stumbled at that, and barely caught herself from crashing into a freshman and sending them stumbling.

you cannot be serious.

The voice hummed. It was a soft thing, calm and radiant and cooling in a warm way, like the summer sun kissed by a breeze.

'You deserve a bit of fun now and again. Life is too precious to be so isolated.'

Maria, you can't-

'I agree with her.'

Stay out of this! Taylor nearly screamed, marching slightly faster towards her next class. Aren't you supposed to be the nice one? The pure one?

'He is a good son,' hummed Maria. Ishtar cackled. Taylor wished they'd stop teaming up on her like this. Either way, she threw her bag under her desk with a huff, and stared at the table, face burning

Why are you all so - so stubborn about this!

'You deserve peace.' Answered Maria.

'You could use some fun,' answered Ishtar.

'You need need to get laid,' Answered the Spirit.

*You stay out of this, ya virgin!'

Jesus laughed again, and God she really wanted to stick him with a stick.

'You know,' Pixie mused, buzzing about and floating to the edge of her desk. 'If even the dirt ball is saying that, it's gotta mean something.'

'They do have a point,' Murmured Thor, voice like a landslide and thunder and rain. 'The lass was a beauty, and you have been working hard...'

'Hmmm,' hummed valkryie in agreement. 'A good way, to enter the halls.'

Why are you all so interested in my love life!

'Sex life, love,' Ishtar giggled, twirling and sighing happily in the air. 'Your love life is a work in progress.'

Hey!

'She's not wrong...' Izanagi put in simply.

You're supposed to be on my side, Iza!

'And I am,' he said. 'But you've been working hard. You deserve a few hobbies outside of-'

Casual sex isn't a hobby! she screeched internally, face flushing hotter and hotter as she threw her head into her arms.

'I mean -'

You stay out of this, Apollo!

'But-'

NO! Zip it, nadah, stop!

'Awwww,' Cu cooed, 'She's blushing. The blood of the Isles got you hot and bothered, eh?'

Why are you all like this!?

'Boredom.' Grinned Ishtar.

'Amusement,' answered Thor.

'It's fun!' Sung Pixie.

'You deserve happiness,' said Maria.

'We just want what's best for you,' hummed Izanagi.

'You're fun to tease,' said Loki.

Just kill me.

'Die between the thighs,' ordered Ishtar. 'The quickest way to Valhalla. Or heaven '

*Now you're just making things up!'

'well...' Valkyrie started.

'They're not wrong?' Offered Gabriel.

'The best way to go,' laughed Thor.

You're... you're fucking with me.

'No,' Said Maria, and though she couldn't see her, Taylor could FEEL her amusement. 'That be the red heads job.'

Euek.

'No dying on us now, love' Ishtar admonished, poking her head with a ghostly finger. 'Up we get, class starts in 5 minutes ~'

Just let me die...

'Ooo, is that Emma?' Ishtar cooed, and Taylor tensed, head rising with a snap as the goddess continued. 'My, those jeans are tight.'

It was not Emma. Just... just a random boy.

The hell was that!?

'Made you look~'

You nearly gave me a heart attack!

'You got issues, kid.' Susanno muttered.

You stay out of this.

'She's a work in progress,' said Jesus. 'She's following the spirit of forgiveness.'

'Only if it involves heels and a whip,' quipped Ishtar, and Taylor wished the ground would swallow her and send her to hell.

'We don't want you,' said a voice that stunk of the Pit and a millennia of poor breathing habits.

Please... just stop.

Izanagi sighed, and she felt Ishtar yelp as the ancient god took her spot, slotting in and immediately silencing the chorus.

'Alright, you've had your fun. Let her have some peace.'

Thank you...

'And taylor?.'

Yeah?

'No day dreaming about Emma.'

wha- no I don't!

'You have a thing for red heads.'

NO I DON'T!

'We live in your head.'

... fuck you all.

'That be Emma or Izzies job'

... God damn it.

'Dad's not here.'

Oh shove it, you oversized pin board.

Chapter Text

Masks We Wear: Chapter Two: A Work in Progress

'You should get a job.'

Taylor blinked, then blinked again for good measure, creaking her head up to stare at the floating goddess, who amused herself by swirling the smoke from her cigarette like some deranged cherub.

"Come again?"

'A job,' hummed Ishtar. 'Something outside of the gym you know? Build up some of that independent spirit and financial skills. It be good for you.'

Taylor blinked a third time, dropping her pencil and leaning back into her desk chair, still clad in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

"..."

'What? Stop looking at me like that.'

"Who put you up to this?"

'No one.'

She didn't even try and sound convincing.

"Izanagi?"

'We were just discussing some things-'

Oh good lord no-

'And we thought its about time you earned some freedom to explore yourself. Besides, it be an excellent way to step outside your comfort zone.'

Taylor let that swirl in her brain, down her throat and fall like a lead balloon in her stomach. She looked to Ishtar, who tried for an innocent look, and looked like a sin instead.

"And you're... agreeing with him?"

'Them, love.' Ishtar corrected gently. 'But yes. It'll do you some good.'

"I'm fine as is."

'You eat like a rabid boar.'

"Zip it, Loki."

'I thought we agreed that me and Izanagi would handle this?'

"Please don't?"

She was summarily ignored, and Izanagi sighed and manifested - swirling white cloak and metallic face and large twin sword/spear at his back. Together, they floated like all powerful potatoes in the low light of her room, regal and powerful and divine, catching the light of the window and reflecting it back twice fold.

Izanagi also had to duck his head form phasing through the roof, but that was beside the point.

'Ishtar and myself are just concerned.'

"Please no-"

'And,' he continued, ignoring the dread on her face, 'we just think it's time.'

Time. Time for her to go out and - and be a human being?

'Yes.'

No.

Nope.

Ishtar laughed, floating down to boop her nose.

'It won't be so bad - just... think of it as getting some independence from Daniel. A chance to make friends your own age.'

"I'm fine," she muttered stubbornly, picking up her pencil to fight a better, meaningful war with algebra. At least that didn't make plans.

'I know, love,' Ishtar said, sharing a look with Izanagi, who shrugged uselessly. 'We didn't say you weren't, but we thought we'd tell you anyway before we let the wolves out.'

She did not like that sentence. She very much did not like that implication.

"The rest...?"

'Are in agreement. Except Alice - she thinks that you'd do better with her dolls.'

She was getting Alice ice cream. Alice was her soul sister. Alice was not part of this... whatever this was.

"I don't need friends or a job," she muttered. "I have you guys, and Alice and Jack and Cu and-"

'Love, you know that's not the same.'

"Better than peopling."

'People are nice.'

"I read your myths."

'People can be nice.'

"Ugh. I really don't want to."

'Then don't,' Izanagi said calmly, hovering lower, and patting her shoulder before beginning to fade with a nod to Ishtar. 'We simply advice, Taylor - never command.'

Well, thanks for being calm and understanding about it - now she felt bad and disappointing. Yay.

'You know he didn't mean it like that.'

"I know. Just... I'm sixteen. Who'd even hire me?"

'Dom's is always looking for help, isn't it?'

"You want me to work at a cafe."

'It's a good start.'

"Where there are people."

'Preferably?'

"And orders, and shifts, and I have to actually talk to people and listen to their life stories over coffee."

'And red heads!' Yelled Cu, who immediately yelped in surprise. Ishtar ignored him.

'Well, you do need to talk to more people.'

"That... genuinely sounds like hell."

'Hell can be nice!'

"... No."

'Are you sure?'

"N-yeah. yeah, I'm sure. I... I don't want to."

Ishtar sighed, but smiled regardless, and flickered down, humming as she became corporeal, fingers picking at Taylor's hair.

'Alright. But you need to do something else, then.'

"What?"

'Put away the books, and go make yourself some tea and put on a movie.'

"But you said -"

'And now I'm saying to take a moment. We'll have a girl's and monsters night - the boys can amuse themselves with their... whatever.'

"You just want to watch a stupid romcom."

'Guilty~. Now, what are you doing?'

"...Thoth?"

'Go have some fun, girl. We'll finish this before bed.'
...

Sigh.

"Popcorn?"

'Of course! Any suggestions?'

'Sour cream!' Yelled Pixie, popping up and landing on Taylor's shoulder.

'Salted,' Grunted Valkyrie, shifting and fading into view as she leaned against the wall, a towering woman of blond hair and sharp eyes and a gentle frown.

'Butter could do well,' Maria hummed, bare feet barely gracing the floor as she hovered, flicking Ishtar's hand as it began to twirl Taylor's hair. 'And no twirling her hair - you'll give her split ends.'

Ishtar puffed and pouted.

'Fine. Now, up and at em love - you have popcorn to make. And stop frowning, you're going to give yourself wrinkles.'

"Yeah yeah - I'm going."

'And boys?'

'I'll handle them,' said Izanagi.

'Thank you, dearie.'

Taylor grimaced, and pushed the thought aside as she made her way to her door and the outer hall, socks padding against the wooden boards. Pixie snickered.

'Mom and dad being icky?'

"Don't make me swat you."

'Meanie.'

Chapter Text

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Chapter ? : The Empress and The Fool

Los Angeles buzzed below.

Alexandria watched as she floated in the mid-day sun, staring at the seas and the waters, at the people who made their day in the light - watched as teenagers made fools of themselves, and the elderly debated at the sea side bars. She listened to the wind, that carried the sounds of the city, and breathed as she took in the endless sky above.
It was a beautiful day. A day of celebration and mourning, really, but a beautiful day nonetheless.

"You look distracted."

She didn't turn, staring to the world below her booted feet, and watched as a loud cheer erupted from a local bar in the distance. She felt it though - the way the winds shifted as the figure floated beside her, one leg raised in that childish way that never quite made sense, but that all flyers did when they flew, her white cloak bellowing in the breeze, her black turtleneck high, her silver face mask shining, her booted feet drifting, her braid hair dangling, her waves of curls drifting in the invisible breeze so high above the world.

And she greeted the woman, the warrior, with a soft sigh.

"Nin-Dingir."

"Alexandria."

"Does Legend need anything?"

The woman hummed, and considered the words.

"He's busy organizing relief efforts for Australia, but no - everything's alright for the moment. I just... thought I'd go for a flight. Never been outside of the Bay - thought I'd take in the sights."

"You'll have plenty of time to explore now. The world wishes to know it's Savior."

The girl snorted, and Alexandria wished she could read the girl - but she knew that it be pointless; her body language shifted on a dim, and it made cold reading a frustrating confusion.

"That what they're calling me?"

"Hmm. The world is watching you now."

"I didn't do much."

"You'd find many who'd disagree."

"It is a good thing I do not argue with the many, then."

They floated in silence for a moment, letting the world move below them.

Then, the cape sighed.

"Are you okay?"

Alexandria didn't respond for a moment, content to let the silence hang. Truly, there was much on her mind, and not all of it good. But amidst the storm of meetings, thoughts, emotions - there was a small thing. Warm, beside her breast, fanned by the simple thought and whisper of it was worth it.

How long had she felt that little flame, that it's warmth was so unfamiliar? That the comfort it brought, small as it was in the blizzard of doubt and necessity, that it swelled her blood and made her shoulders droop?

How long had it been, since hope tasted so sweet?

How long had it been, since she allowed herself it's taste?

The cape beside her did not speak, content to let the world pass and take the silence with it. But despite their recent meeting - there was a strength to the girl - the woman - that carried despite her youth. And though she rarely spoke her mind, it was perhaps the silence and contentment and the taste of hope that brought the honesty to her chest, and then to her breath, and then through her lips.

She tasted it slowly, and exhaled.

"We never thought this day would come."

"Hmm?"

"Myself, Legend, Eidolon - We never thought the day would come. Where we won. Where we... we killed one."

"An Endbringer."

"Yes. The fact that just five days ago... we saw one die... Words cannot describe it."

"I can't imagine it myself."

"You were the one who killed it."

"I had help."

"The point reminds the same," Alexandria continued, "For decades... we've fought them. Year after year, month after month - we've thrown ourselves at them. We fought, and fought, and fought - and every victory came with its price."

She let her tongue press against her teeth, and considered where the honesty came from. She was not one to speak her mind so... honestly, and yet found the ease of it all so freeing. A master effect? Possibly. But she could not... could not find it in herself to care. The cape beside her said nothing, content to let her find her thoughts.

"And... and now the price seems worth it."

Nin-Dingir did not respond beyond a hum.

"Was it worth it?"

Alexandria considered. Considered the question, for what it meant to the woman. And considered it again, for what it meant to herself.

Yes, She considered first.

No, she considered second.

"I don't know," she answered finally.

The girl hummed, and then finally turned her head to face her.

"Can I offer you some advice, Alexandria?"

"Of course."

"Do not consider the price worth it."

Alexandria paused, and turned to the woman - vizor meeting mask, where only their lower faces were clear. Hers, she felt, were a line. The woman's, a soft smile.

"I cannot imagine the weight of it all. I'm... I'm only sixteen myself. I barely wanted to become a cape to begin with. But... when I was a girl, I always wished to be like you."

That was not too surprising - many wanted to be like the Alexandria they saw in the news, in the interviews, in the dream.

How many would say the same, if they knew the truth?

But there was something in her tone - a soft wistfulness that kept her tongue silent, and her ears peaked.

"Me and my best friend... we would always argue about it. She loved Legend, always wanted to be like him - saw him as an icon, a role model, the hot one with the pretty smile and good heart. Me... I always saw you standing beside him, cool and calm and so... so strong - so fierce. I used to beg my mom for posters, for lunchboxes - even your socks."

The woman laughed, and it was a free thing, that chimed to the winds. Then she smiled again, and reached a hand out to place it softly on her shoulder. Alexandria let her, staring now beneath the vizor.

"I do not know your burdens, Alexandria. I do not know how you feel - I can't. Out of us all, you and your team have protected this world from the worst it had to offer. You have fought, you have lost, you have bleed - but still... you fought."

"You say that you do not know if it was worth it - good."

She gripped firmly, and though there was no give to her muscles, though the warmth was distant beneath the glove and the fabric of suit, and the unfeeling nature of her skin, there was something there that felt... comforting.

"Do not let doubt cloud you. Do not let regret chain you. Do not let necessity blind you."

"Be free to choose, Alexandria. In the moment, in the past, in the future - be free to choose, as your heart desires for you to. Because you were a hero once, to a girl with nothing but a dream - and you are a hero to her now, so many years later."

"Remember why you fight - and fight on. Remember why you doubt - and choose regardless. Remember why you wept - and weep proudly. And remember, above all else, that you have done enough."

"There will be more challenges. More fights. More decisions that must be made. More loss to be felt. But... I hope that you do not let them guide you. I hope, that when the time comes, you choose as the woman, not the hero or symbol, what is right. That you choose to believe in what you believe, not what must be deemed best or true."

"Because you are a hero, Alexandria. A symbol. But beneath all that, you are a good soul."

...

She heard the words, but could not parse them. Heard the message, but could not find it.

She heard the wind, and let it carry the message away.

And felt in her chest, where that little candle burned, flutter a little bright.

And she took a breath, and carried the wind to her lungs, and held it, and stared below to where water met sand, and sun met sea, and the children played and the elderly drank and the in between danced.

And she let it lose, and felt her shoulder's sag.

"You would not say that," she murmured, "if you knew what I have done."

The cape chuckled.

"Satan was an Angel, and God was a deceiver - what does it matter what I know and don't know? It is all perspective in the end. What is it you believe - that is what matters."

...

"Are you sure you're sixteen?"

The cape snorted, and then let out another chuckle, withdrawing her arm and hovering beside her as she crossed them.

"Honesty? I wonder myself. But then again, age is just a number."

Alexandria looked at her, and felt a smile form - small - and felt surprised as her chest rumbled, and a chuckle left all too honest lips.

"Yes. I suppose it is."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter ?: Mother, Mother, Mother; Oh, Madonna​

'Damn it Izanagi - let me talk to her! Taylor! TAYLOR! LISTEN TO ME YOUNG LADY!'

Izanagi let his eyes close and a deep breath escape him. Maria chuckled alongside him, floating and beautiful as he observed the world beyond their world - mind cast away as he heard Taylor laugh and Taylor tease and Taylor talk, and tasted on the mien of her spirit and her joy.

'She's quite riled up.'

'Taylor or Ishtar?'

'Both,' Maria mused, brown hair and warm skinned, smiling to the chaos beyond and behind her. 'Our girl is growing.'

'She is. In the best and worst of ways.'

'Fitting, for our child.'

'She is not our child, Great Mother.'

'They are all our children, O-Kami; That child most of all.'

He said nothing in response, cloak silent and bellowing in a single measure.

'You worry for her,' Maria said after a moment.

'I do.'

'She will be ready, when the time comes.'

'I wish no such time arrives.'

'Wishful thinking, for a wise god.'

'Were I a god, I would not need a wish.'

'You are wise regardless.'

'I am a fool.'

'And it is wise to know one's self the Fool.'

The god did not answer, but Maria felt his contentment, and floated to his side.

'You do well with her - you bring her peace.'

'I fear it will never be enough.'

'Spoken like a true father.'

'I am no father.'

'Then I am no mother.'

'Your son walks beside us.'

'And your children sit behind us.'

'And yet you call me wise.'

'I am but a simple woman.'

'And yet you birthed a god.'

'I birthed a boy - they merely named him God.'

'Was he God or was he boy when you birthed him?'

'He was Yeshua, and he cried as any boy did.'

'Did you cry?'

'I cried when I was blessed with him, and cried when I carried him.'

'And at your meeting?'

'Happily.'

'Why, Great Mother?'

'He was my greatest gift, and my worst sin.'

'They call him a blessing now, and you - the mother of a miracle.'

'And they called me daughter and harlot and whore.'

'That is not how they remember it.'

'Then they forget how it was.'

'Was it so?'

'So it was.'

'Did you resent him?'

'I did - for a time.'

'When did you forgive him?'

'When I heard his cry.'

'Was it simple?'

'As my tired breath.'

...

'How I wish that I had met you, before the burning and descent. Mayhaps then I would have been less a Fool.'

'Were that I had met you, you'd have not become the World.'

'I am no World.'

'Then an eternal Fool, you will be.'

'If I were so lucky.'

...

'A question, O-Kami?'

'Of course.'

'Would you have saved me, had you known me?'

'By wisdom and force, if needs be.'

'So simply?'

'...'

'What would you have given me?'

'Paradise and eternity.'

'I was promised both.'

'What would you ask for then?'

'A house in the desert sun, water in my well, and bread for my home.'

'A simple wish.'

'And so unrealized.'

'So it was.'

...

'Would have blessed me?'

'Till your well overflowed, and your fields grew wild and your hearth were the sun.'

'Would you have saved my sons, my daughters?'

'All and one, to that I might have broken bread with them, and shared in your grown wheats and wines and cares.'

'...'

'...'

'Even in the face of Heaven's Host?'

'Even then.'

'Why?'

'What is Heaven's Host to a raped woman's cry?'

'...'

She smiled.

'γένοιτό.'

'So it is said.'

'By Luke, and by Matthew.'

'But so too was he your God.

'So he was.'

'And so too, were you the faithful.'

'And so too was I blessed.'

'And so too were you scorned.'

'And so too was I forgiven.'

'By the death of a son, and the blood of your lord.'

...

...

'I was but a Foolish woman, my lord.'

'And so too were you the wise Crone, my friend.'

'Such was my devotion.'

'So say the wise men.'

'And what fools doth know themselves wise?'

'A grand many - so too called wise and righteous.'

'And in the blood of my son, do they piss and rot.'

'Anger does not suit you.'

'Anger birthed the Redeemed.'

'Were you redeemed, Madonna?'

'I wish I were not.'

'Why so?'

'What mother hopes her child's death?'

...

...

'Were you sinless?'

'As my mothers.'

'Who were your mothers?'

'I have but three mothers - She who birthed, she who sinned, and she who was punished. Hannah, Eve, Lilith.

'The Saint, The Sin, The Sinner.'

'Mother, mother, mother.'

'Most would call that blasphemy.'

'Blasphemy... Named so by the pastor, the believer, the church. What say you, wise fool?'

'That you were mother to mothers and mother to faithful sons, and that your mothers, too, were wise.'

'So says the man - what says the god?'

'That no God is worthy of a mother such as you.'

'That, too, is a foolish notion.'

'Then a Fool I am.'

'And forever a fool, I hope you be.'

'So it bares repeating; once, twice, thrice.'

'Is that your blessing, or your curse?'

'To you, one in the same.'

...

'May she have your wisdom, Maria.'

'And may she have your heart, Izanagi.'

....

'Do you pray, Maria?'

She laughed. It was a warm thing.

'No, my friend-

I do not.'