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ramaduwaji is the artist. this story is about Reem Ahmed, 25 year old Palestinian architect and artist living in Gaza, trapped for 12 hours under the rubble after her home was bombed by Israel.
My legs were pinned down, blood was running down my face, and there was barely enough oxygen to breathe.
Chapter 5: i will follow you into the dark (ao3 link)
Rating: Teen
Word count: 4.8k
Pairing: Aisha/Sein
Story Summary: They dance just out of each other’s reach, but each time brings them closer together.
OR
Aisha and Sein navigate through the dark fairy tale of their own making, one encounter at a time.
Chapter Summary: The Goddess of Rot descends to Hell.
[Continuation of Cloud Castles Chapter 3 - Hades and Persephone's Twin]
Just as she predicted, Anya flies into a fit of rage. Aida cries.
But even when faced with their distress, Aisha doesn’t change her mind.
Not long after Sein left, promising to return by the next full moon to personally escort her to the underworld, the stately garden and its colorful flowers and sweet fragrances lose their appeal. The rotten core inside her becomes harder to hold back by the day, yearning to be unleashed in its full glory, and her anticipation for the next full moon continues to climb.
It’s like the God of Death has cast an invisible enchantment over her heart, mind, and spirit. Anya argues as such, accusations spilling out in a wild frenzy as she fluctuates between spitting wrathful curses on Sein’s name and beseeching Aisha to not fall for this evil God’s tricks.
Perhaps her mother has a point, but does it really matter now? Once she makes a promise with one of the Big Three, it’s nigh impossible to take back her words. Her own home stifles her powers and expression, so a change in environment may prove beneficial for her wellbeing.
Sein did promise that she can return to Earth if she wants to. He offered her a choice.
Eventually, Anya’s anger gives out. She takes Aida with her, leaving Aisha alone in the gardens, presumably to give her space, presumably hoping that her younger daughter will indeed reconsider.
Aisha does no such thing. Instead, she muses on how her mother’s first instinct is to take Aida, not Aisha away. How it’s always Aida who should be protected and not herself. How as soon as she sees that Aida is crying inconsolably, she decides that the best course of action is to comfort Aida.
How even though Aisha was the one propositioned by another God—one of the Big Three at that—Aida is always the first priority.
Rather than suspecting that Sein enchanted her through illicit means, Aisha prefers to believe that their encounter has helped open her eyes just a little more, increasing her awareness of certain things that she never questioned since young.
Anya and Aida don’t return by the next full moon. Aisha doesn’t try to find them.
Sein appears on time. He doesn’t need to break through the five layers of rot to enter the garden; since Aida isn’t around, Aisha feels no need to set up her defenses.
“Good evening, Aisha.” He greets her with a smile.
She stares at the smile, waiting for the alarm bells in her head to sound. Nothing.
Sein raises an eyebrow at her silence. He maintains his distance, but he leans forward slightly, gaze intent and probing on her face.
“Do you still recall our agreement?” He asks lightly.
Aisha nods.
“Good. I must admit that I expected your mother to come after me,” seemingly satisfied that no one else is in the garden except them, Sein straightens. “I wonder how you managed to convince her to agree.”
“I couldn’t convince her.” Aisha looks down, her stomach churning—but not because of Sein. Mostly because she’s realizing that she won’t get to say goodbye to Aida before she goes with Sein. Anya didn’t give the twins a chance to talk to each other. “She’s with Aida at the temple, I think.”
“I see.” His whisper precedes a soft swishing sound, likely from his robes as he moves.
She doesn't hear his approach until she feels cold fingers slip under her chin, tilting her face upwards. The contact is startling, and she shivers.
Never allow other Gods to touch you, especially the powerful ones, the ones you don’t know, the ones who can set you on fire with a single glance. Break away now before it’s too late.
But it’s already too late. Her mother and sister have forsaken her. And what Sein says next, using that same soft voice like he’s coaxing a dying animal to cross over the other side, only throws her thoughts into further chaos.
“You don’t have to hold back now.”
The fingers on her chin spread out, and his thumb rests atop her hammering pulse. He can easily snap her neck in this position and have her soul in his grasp. He’s a primordial God, while she’s the decaying earth under his feet, a lesser God invisible and unknown to many.
But his eyes are fixed on hers, and his touch is gentle despite its possessiveness. He seems to see through her.
“Let it go. Let the rot fester.”
It’s permission; and even if it isn’t his to give, it induces the same end result.
The tight coil in her body, which contains years and years and years worth of pent up tension, of selfless consideration for her sister, of every flower she’s seen bloom in Aida’s hand and every subsequent urge to make it rot, shatters.
A shaky sigh leaves her. Along with it, the heady smell of carrion, dried blood, and dead leaves begins to permeate the clearing. The grass beneath them goes brown before shriveling into nothing. Waves of energy ripple outwards, reducing the flora and fauna down into black soil in seconds.
It happens so quickly, too quickly, that by the time she returns to her senses, the garden around them is barren.
What has she done?
Sein, for his part, looks extremely satisfied.
A lone cloud blots out the moon, temporarily sealing away what little illumination there is. But the hungry gleam in those eyes is visible and tangible all the same.
“Where we’re headed, you’ll never need to hide yourself.”
He holds her hand as the ruined garden melts away around them. There’s a strong chance that Anya will think it’s Sein’s doing, not Aisha’s. No one has ever seen the full extent of Aisha’s powers, except for the God of Death.
She lacks the energy to care about that.
The world reforms, and then they’re standing on wet but solid rock. Sein is still holding her hand.
“Probably best to not separate, otherwise you’ll get lost.”
“I can walk on my own.” Aisha retorts, tugging her hand away. Just because she agreed to follow him to the underworld didn’t mean that he owned her, and could touch her at will.
Why he chose her remains a mystery, but if the legends about male gods taught her anything useful, it was their endless appetite—for wealth, power, and women.
Sein sighs and says nothing else as he walks on. She trails a few steps behind, senses on high alert for strange things that might leap out from the dark. Based on the bare and rocky landscape, they’re likely walking to the gates of the underworld, which are said to be the final bastion between the world of the living and the dead.
It’s strange that he doesn’t take her straight to his lair. Perhaps he thinks he’s doing her a favor by taking the more scenic route. Perhaps he’s testing her.
Perhaps he’s plotting to kill her. The chances are slim, but possible nonetheless. He’d have killed her way before this if he wanted to.
“My offer still stands,” Sein says without preamble, slowing down to match his strides with Aisha. “You’re not a prisoner of the underworld, but coming in and out of it… is tricky.”
“How so?” She asks warily.
“The earth and the underworld are two separate entities. One shouldn’t cross into the other; or rather, the living should never interfere with the dead and vice versa. Obviously, I’m the exception to the rule. But the underworld was never meant to accommodate the living.”
Aisha pauses, staring at the uneven terrain uneasily. “I’m not dead.” She says, unsure whether it’s a reminder for herself or Sein. Both, probably.
“You’re not,” Sein agrees smoothly. “which is why I will allow you a single chance to choose. You chose to descend this time, but you’ll have another chance to decide whether to stay or leave. Just one.”
“Am I the only living god that’s descended?” Surely Carlo and Nemo have descended to see Sein before. She can’t imagine Sein turning them away without good reason. The gods of Olympus have lived in peace for millennia. She can’t recall the last time the Big Three have declared war upon one another.
“You are,” the firm conviction in his tone erases all doubts from her mind. “I don’t permit anyone to set foot inside my territory. If my presence at Olympus is required, I will ascend.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“Indeed. I can hardly believe it myself.”
They reach a black gate. As Sein reaches out, his skin looking inordinately pale under the watery lighting, she hears movement and heavy breathing from the shadows. Something that sounds bigger than her and Sein.
The subsequent rumbling growl echoes off the walls, turning her blood into ice. Sein faces the source.
“Arthur.”
The growling recedes in volume. Unperturbed, Sein clicks his tongue.
“Behave. I’d like you to meet a guest of mine.”
She knows what ‘Arthur’ is, having read and heard about the massive three-headed dog that guards the gates to the underworld. But her prior knowledge proves woefully inadequate in preparing her for the real thing.
‘Arthur’ stands at an impressive height, towering over her and Sein. When it steps forward, the ground seems to tremble beneath the weight of paws that are the size of dinner plates. All three heads bear identical snarls, three sets of teeth bared, drool frothing at the corners. From the size of its maw, she thinks that each head can devour her in one bite. With three sets of eyes on her, she doesn’t quite know where to look.
“Anyone who seeks to enter the underworld must pass through Arthur first.”
She watches in amazement as the three-headed dog bends down, sniffing around Sein’s hand. There’s a small, barely-there smile on the God of Death’s face, the most genuine smile out of any that she’s seen so far. And then it hits her.
The origin of all creatures of the underworld can be traced back to the God of Death; including this deadly amalgamation of dog and beast.
If its master has already approved of her… there’s no reason why Arthur wouldn’t. Not unless Sein suddenly changes his mind and decides that he wants her dead after all. But why would he? In the past few moons, he’s had plenty of opportunities to kill her, none of which he’s acted on.
So Aisha ignores the warning bells in her head, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin high instead. She refuses to be afraid, even when faced with the tiniest possibility of death—and death is smiling next to her.
She approaches the gate. The growling escalates again as she reaches out, mirroring Sein’s earlier action. But she isn’t trying to touch the gate.
She reaches for Arthur’s closest head, hand hovering midair and waiting. She knows better than to touch an unfamiliar creature without warning. Perhaps Arthur can be reasoned with. Past the hackled fur and snarling visage, it must possess a degree of intelligence.
A pause. She hears nothing except for her quickened heartbeat. The telltale muted rumbling sound in Arthur’s throats. Seconds pass, and Arthur makes no attempt to attack. All three heads lower, noses twitching furiously. Aisha doesn’t move. She feels damp breath stirring her hair, and the softest brush of a wet nose against her head.
Then Arthur suddenly stands rigid. With a loud huff, it slinks back into its hiding place, melding seamlessly into the shadows and silence once more.
Aisha blinks the faint wetness away from her eyes. Her outstretched hand is trembling. Her knees are weak, and the only thing that keeps her standing is pure, unadulterated fear.
But that fear seems laughably insignificant compared to the proximity of death. For a moment, she saw her life flicker out like a snuffed candle flame when she reached out to Arthur.
Sein steps forward, wordlessly folding her trembling hand in his. Despite the strangely cold and clammy quality of his skin, akin to a corpse’s, Aisha doesn’t protest this time as she wills the shivers away.
He sounds almost kind. “I think you’ll fit right in.”
They slip past the gates without further fanfare. After Arthur, they don’t encounter anything else. All she hears are their footsteps echoing against the uneven ground, which eventually transitions into a cobblestone path.
Hell is dark and dreary, just as how she’s always imagined it. Under a ruby sky, the God of Death’s castle is a jagged, spiky structure that doesn’t look at all homely and welcoming. Black imposing gates surround the castle. Snarls of thorny vines are wrapped around the top of the gates, undoubtedly an added deterrent against intruders.
Is it really necessary?
Then again, it’s just how she’s always imagined.
After showing her to her quarters, and upon her prompting, the collection of dead libraries—fortunately, the libraries are located a few floors directly below her, which is great for accessibility—Sein doesn’t linger.
“I have some urgent matters to attend to. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Dinner is the last thing on Aisha’s mind the moment she sees the size of the libraries. Sein must have read her mind, because he gives her a knowing look.
“See you at dinner.” He repeats firmly.
“...see you.” She reluctantly concedes.
“Good,” Sein tilts his head to the side. “And remember what I said before?”
Aisha looks at him in confusion.
“You don’t need to hold yourself back here.”
That’s easier said than done. There’s a worn and rusted lock to the door that contains her power, and despite Sein’s express permission—no, encouragement, it’s hard to open that door.
To her, it still doesn’t seem real. It’s too good to be true. She might hurt someone or something. The image of the ruined garden resurfaces, followed by Aida’s face. Her heart twists.
“...thank you.”
Contrary to popular belief, plants do grow in Hell.
She doesn’t recognize any of them, except for the pomegranate trees. They’re small and perpetually bent over due to the amount of pomegranate fruits hanging from the branches.
On days when she wants to read outdoors, she goes to the Serpent’s Garden. The garden is filled with rows of pomegranate trees.
Pomegranates must be Sein’s favorite fruit, though she hasn’t seen him eat one yet. Eating pomegranates is normally a messy and wet affair, what with all the seeds. They stain your lips scarlet, just a few shades darker than human blood.
She knows what pomegranates signify in Hell. Once consumed—skin, flesh, seed, any part of a pomegranate really—you’re stuck here forever. An unbreakable tether forms between you and Hell, because you’ve consumed its forbidden fruit, and now you belong to the God of Death.
Sein doesn’t tell her any of this. Either he assumes that she already knew, or he intends for her to slip up and eat one. Aisha strongly suspects the latter.
Fortunately, she’s never liked pomegranates. All she’s interested in are the dead libraries, which have been a wonderful source of knowledge and entertainment so far. Other than attending dinner with Sein, she spends her waking hours poring over dead books.
Most of the dead books are in poor condition; singed pages, faded script, and missing covers across the board. But they can never be restored, because they no longer exist in reality. It’s a miracle that she even gets to access them now.
So why hasn’t Sein shown his true colors yet? There’s no conceivable reason for him to share his dead belongings without motive. He’d told her once that he wanted her to rule by his side, which presumably meant he wanted her as a wife or consort. The first out of many, Aisha imagines. And yet, except for the countless resident apparitions, his castle seems almost deserted. No other gods or goddesses roam the halls; at least, none that she’s encountered during her stay.
The notion of a celibate god is ridiculous. He must be skilled at keeping his secrets hidden.
No matter. She’s here for the books and only the books. It’s impossible to comb through all the libraries during her trial stay here, but keeping her options open seems the wiser decision. The last thing she wants is to be trapped here forever.
On Earth, Aida must be beside herself with worry. Despite the circumstances, she still misses her twin dearly.
However, the lack of floral scents is a refreshing change. Ever since Sein gave her permission to stop holding back, she lets the stench of rot and decay permeate through her personal space. The release gratifies her, though she can’t help but wonder how things would change when she returns to Earth. She won’t be able to exercise the same freedom there as she does in Hell.
Rot comes on the heels of death. Nobody ever wants to acknowledge it. The only person who acknowledges her power is Aida, and now Sein.
It’s why she relies on books. Reading books taught her that despite her unsavory image and how she would never be truly accepted among her peers, her power is still a necessary part of life. She sequesters herself away in Anya’s garden, hiding herself among the flowers and grass that barely conceals her scent.
A life spent hiding yourself away isn’t much of a life at all—she understands this better than anyone else.
Sein isn’t bothered by her rot. If anything, he seems to find pleasure in seeing her let go, little by little. Sometimes he even asks questions about the extent of her powers, seeming genuinely interested.
“I thought that the God of Death had other pastimes than spending time with me?” She says to him once, puzzled.
“You’re a guest. I’d be a terrible host if I neglected my guest, wouldn’t I?” Sein responds without missing a beat.
“Well, as you can already tell, I’m not lacking for entertainment,” Aisha gestures to the neverending shelves before returning to the current task of putting her book back. Sein can be terribly distracting sometimes (all the time).
“I promise you that I don’t feel neglected. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
She hears him sigh.
“Alright. Then what if I’m the one who feels neglected?”
“What do you mean?”
There’s the empty spot. As she nudges the books on either side farther apart to make room, Sein’s eyes appear between the gap, looking directly at her. She frowns, a little discomfited by the intent expression.
“I have no qualms with your reading. But I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a bit of your time,” He also reaches out, widening the gap between the books on his end. “Because I’d like us to get to know each other better.”
“We have dinner together every night.” She says, slotting the book in place. The shadows of the books shift. A dark, ink-like substance seeps through the base of the bookshelf, expanding upwards before reforming into his figure. He faces her, leaning a shoulder against the shelf, arms crossed.
“You read during dinner as well.” He reminds her.
This gives her pause, swiftly followed by guilt.
He’s right. It didn’t occur to her how inconsiderate she comes across, outright ignoring him in the only hour they’re in each other’s company. As Sein already made clear: he’s the host, and she’s his guest. He visits the libraries to check on her periodically, but she doesn’t reciprocate.
Even though she’s constantly wary and on guard, he hasn’t yet given her a compelling reason to question him. The rumors still live in the back of her mind, of course; but shutting him out may lead to more harm than good, and who knows how he’ll react when angered.
“I apologize,” she says as she turns to him, contrite. “I didn’t realize that it bothered you so.”
Sein waves a flippant hand. “I’m not bothered. Maybe a tad disappointed. Books are surely interesting, but not everyone gets to experience life in the underworld firsthand. I can say for certain that this—” he sweeps an arm around them. “—isn’t written down anywhere.”
He taps the spine of a book, those long, dark nails stark against the slate gray surface.
“I merely suggest splitting your time between different things; my libraries aren’t going anywhere, so get your nose out of books for a bit and live a little more. You have the entire underworld at your disposal; why not make the most out of it?”
She lifts her gaze to meet his. It took a few days before she discovered that his eyes aren’t black, as she was led to believe during their first meetings in the dark; instead, the color lands in between hazel and olive green—reminiscent of Earth’s gardens shaped by Anya and Aida’s hands.
“So I can ask about anything?”
He smirks, hearing the challenge in her tone.
“By all means.”
The next night, Aisha arrives at the dining room empty-handed. If ‘getting to know each other’ is what he wants, then it’s what he’ll get.
Except not in the way he may have expected. She intends to test his boundaries.
“I’ve been curious about something for a while.”
Sein looks pleased with her initiative. He folds both hands under his chin and leans forward in rapt attention. In that moment, she can almost believe that she holds more power than he does.
“Most gods keep regular company to warm their beds,” that’s a nicer way of saying most gods are lecherous bastards with zero self-control. “Where do you keep yours?”
The question doesn’t faze him. Instead, a smile breaks across his face. The silence drags on until she fidgets in her seat and looks away, a strange warmth flooding her cheeks.
Then, calmly, “In the library.”
(Suffice to say that her first attempt backfires. Sein eventually tells her that he doesn’t have anyone to warm his bed.)
“Why is this place called the Serpent’s Garden?” Aisha wonders aloud. They’re strolling through the garden, an activity that Sein suggested after dinner.
“Do you know about the story of Adam and Eve?”
“Yes.”
As most stories go, the story of the first humans ends on a bittersweet note. But Aisha always thought that although Eve was tempted to sin, the price she paid was worth the knowledge she and Adam gained in the end. Heaven, or Olympus, is ill-suited for humanity. They thrive well enough without the gods’ interference.
“This garden is the Serpent’s final resting place. He was sentenced to Hell, so he came to me.”
Most of the dead don’t get a garden named after them in Sein’s castle. They cross over to the underworld and are sent to the river of souls immediately, where they stay for eternity.
“He was a minor god. He didn’t immediately die from his wounds, even though they were very severe.” Sein’s lips twist, as though living through an unpleasant memory. “When he finally passed on, pomegranates grew from his grave. I didn’t have the heart to remove them, and this space eventually became a garden.”
Sensing that she shouldn’t continue this line of questioning—Sein isn’t enthused about the topic—Aisha touches a low-hanging pomegranate. Its skin is waxy and smooth to the touch, glistening jewel red.
“How do the pomegranates taste?”
In answer, Sein plucks the pomegranate. He makes quick work slicing the pomegranate apart with his nails, revealing the wet and juicy flesh interior. His fingers are stained crimson.
He doesn’t offer her the fruit.
“I imagine they taste like sin, but what do I know?”
She learns that Sein enjoys reading nearly as much as she does. But unlike her, he’s had lifetimes to read through his extensive collection.
He reads faster than her; each time he’s at the library, he puts down his book in a quarter of the time it takes for Aisha to finish hers. Upon finding out her favorite genres, he occasionally gives recommendations, stating that they would suit her taste.
(He hasn’t proved her wrong yet.)
“I wish I had my own library.”
“Does Anya not have one?”
“No.”
Neither Anya nor Aida enjoy reading. Some days they even try to dissuade her from reading, claiming that she should take a break from reading because what can you find in books that you can’t find in real life, Aisha?
Everything, Aisha thinks. Fiction provides escape into the fantastical lives of characters with different joys and woes. Some of them she loves and relates to, while some of them she despises with a fiery passion, but they all make her feel. Conversely, non-fiction educates her about life on Earth, humanity’s scientific principles, philosophies, and various belief systems. She learns how to discern facts based on data and research, a concept foreign to deities. If there’s one thing humans are good at, it’s picking things apart to understand them fully.
“No, my mother prefers Aida and I to focus on… on beautifying nature.” Not that she’s remotely capable of doing that.
Sein hums. “How dull.”
“Aida is wonderful at what she does. But since I couldn’t do that, I turned to books to pass time. Haven’t stopped reading since. My mother still doesn’t approve.”
“Your mother is a fool.”
The insult takes her by surprise, and she snorts. “She has her ways.”
Sein isn’t amused, though. He clicks his tongue and puts the book down. Like her, he’s fond of fairy tales.
(The tales without happy endings.)
“I knew I had my eye on the right goddess.”
“You know, you’ve never mentioned how you got to know me.”
“I didn’t? Must have slipped my mind,” his eyes drift upwards, losing focus. “It might have been a few years ago. Springtime.”
She sets her book down to listen.
“I’ve heard plenty about Aida. My brothers are obsessed with her, as they are with any young woman, goddess or not. I usually don’t engage in their games, least of all when women are involved. I barely tolerate their company, let alone their childish fights. It drains me.
“Then out of nowhere, Carlo mentions Aida’s twin. My older brother isn’t picky with women, so I expected him to say something along the lines of choosing you if Aida weren’t an option. Imagine my surprise when he spoke of you with disgust, complaining that you reeked of rot and decay, and that he couldn’t get close to Aisha without you standing in his way. Nemo wasn’t as vocal as Carlo, but I could tell he was wary of you as well.”
He stretches out, draping an arm over the back of the armchair, fingers scant inches away from her hair. She stays put.
“Naturally, my curiosity was piqued. So I went looking for you.”
Surprisingly, Carlo’s negative comments don’t bother her. Others have said worse, and their words wear out overtime. She understands why people hate her, even if it’s for something beyond her control.
“And?” She prompts.
“And what?”
“Has your opinion of me changed in any way since?”
Then she feels it: a gentle tug on her hair.
“It’s definitely changed for the better.”
The dead body in front of her looks nothing like the picture on the coffin.
“Have you seen this before?” Sein asks kindly.
“No.”
She has a vague idea of why he brought her to a mortuary. Every part of her body is buzzing, restless for action. What kind of action, she doesn’t know.
“What happens after a soul leaves its body?”
She squints at him, wondering if he’s fooling around.
“Please bear with me.” He says.
“The soul goes to the underworld, and the body rots.”
“What is your power?”
“I…” Realization dawns on her. “I create rot.”
“Yes. Do you remember what you did to your mother’s garden?”
(She consciously tries not to remember.)
“You can use your powers here, on this corpse and its coffin. You’re allowed to.”
She looks at her hands in disbelief, then back at him. Sein nods.
This, Aisha thinks as she touches the coffin, which instantly blackens and crumbles, a pungent smell wafting outwards—
This is what freedom feels like.
During dinner that night, she bites into a pomegranate in front of him.
He disappears from his seat, dark shadows streaking across the dining table to where she is, and reappears next to her. Cold and clammy hands cradle her face—like that full moon night from so long ago—and then he kisses her fiercely. The pomegranate seeds are drops of acidic nectar, sliding down her throat, some spilling past her parted lips, no doubt leaving a bloody trail in their wake, and she thinks,
Story summary:
They dance just out of each other’s reach, but each time brings them closer together.
OR
Aisha and Sein navigate through the dark fairy tale of their own making, one encounter at a time.
Chapter summary:
Aisha attends her first ball for her birthday.
Ever since their disastrous 14th birthday party, Sylvia has given up on the twins’ birthday celebrations entirely in the following years. Whatever part of her that wanted to keep up false pretenses was gone the moment she raised her hand on Aisha, and whatever imaginary bridge between her and the twins had burned down since then.
Aisha has no birthday expectations anymore. She and Aida won’t consume desserts that come from Sylvia directly. And Sylvia can’t be bothered to purchase gifts for them.
The closest thing to a gift that she receives on her birthday is a handwritten note from her fairytale friend. She’s been receiving these notes in the past three years. They’re just words on paper, messily written and simple in nature, but they hold more thought and effort than anyone cared to show towards her since Sylvia entered her life.
So on the morning of October 25th, she goes to the library as she usually does. The servants she passes on the way there don’t spare her a second glance—they probably don’t know, and don’t care that it’s her birthday today. Which is fine with Aisha; birthdays stopped feeling special to her since her father died.
But the prospect of reading the birthday note from her fairytale friend does make this day slightly more bearable. When she wished Aida ‘happy birthday’ earlier, her older twin didn’t respond. She only turned in her bed, facing the wall.
Aida always misses their father most on their birthday. Aisha makes a mental note to smuggle some pastries out of the kitchen before dinner time. Hopefully it will help cheer Aida up.
How sad that she must resort to such measures just to survive. It’s all because of Sylvia. Hopefully the next few birthdays will come sooner, so that she and Aida can collect their inheritance and escape out of Sylvia’s thumb.
She finds a new slip of paper in the fairytale book. It doesn’t take long for her to skim through its entirety:
Happy birthday. Time flies by so quickly, and now you’ve reached adulthood.
One day, I will find the opportunity to celebrate this special day with you.
Until that day comes, I hope you have a wonderful day.
If I’m lucky enough to see you today, I’ll be sure to wish you in person as well.
She rereads the note a few times, briefly puzzling over the writer—but never able to reach a conclusive answer—before folding it into a small square. She’ll keep this note with the others.
A few hours later, a maid’s voice draws Aisha out of her book.
“Lady Aisha, I beg your pardon for the interruption, but Madam Sylvia has asked me to relay a message to you.”
At the mention of her stepmother, Aisha’s lips curl downwards in reflex. “What is it?”
The maid bows her head. “Madam Sylvia would like to inform you that she’s hosting a ball at the manor tonight, in honor of you and Lady Aida’s 18th birthday. According to the madam, both of your attendance is required.”
Before Aisha can speak, the maid rushes in to add, “And Madam Sylvia says that if you don’t attend, then she will cut your allowance.”
That conniving bitch.
Thankfully, her voice comes out neutral, betraying none of the rage and hatred swelling to astronomical heights inside her. “Thank you for letting me know. Please tell Madam Sylvia that Aida and I… shall attend.”
The maid bows again and hurries off.
Aisha sets the book down and rubs her temples. Aida is highly amenable and loves socializing, so she won’t have issues convincing her older sister to attend.
But the nerve of Sylvia. How dare she plan for this ball without consulting her and Aida first? Who else is invited to attend? How much money is Sylvia throwing away for this unnecessary expense? There’s undoubtedly going to be multiple-course meals, dessert, drinks, and not to mention musicians. The list of expenses are endless whenever Sylvia is concerned. Budgeting is a foreign concept to her.
Threatening to cut off their allowance if they don’t attend—that angers Aisha most. She may be turning 18, but she’s not of age to claim her inheritance yet. As her legal guardian, Sylvia can still intervene in her financial matters. And Aisha can do nothing about it until she’s of age.
So she’s left with no choice but to attend this ball. As much as she detests mingling with strangers, both she and Aida need to make an appearance, especially since it’s being held for their birthday—regardless whether they consented to it.
Aisha’s wallflower strategy for the ball is simple; if she doesn’t stand out, then she’ll be ignored.
However, Aida is adamant on dressing her to get noticed; not the kind of dress that warranted a subtle, second glance, but the kind that invited a lingering gaze.
“Absolutely not.”
Aisha flings the dress that Aida threw at her onto the bed. Even though they’ve stopped sharing clothes for years, she’s well acquainted with her sister’s preference for bold and revealing dresses. Whatever Aida finds in her messy wardrobe won’t suit Aisha.
“Come on, Aisha. It’s our birthday. Girls should wear beautiful dresses on their birthdays.” Aida says beseechingly, head still buried halfway into her wardrobe as she pulls dress after dress onto her bed. “Don’t you want to impress the guests? Show them how pretty you are?”
“But that just proves to Sylvia that we’re willingly abiding by her plan. I’m not happy to attend a last-minute ball, and I certainly don’t want to give any indication that I’m enjoying it, because I know I won’t.”
“Oh, sister. I’m older than you by a few minutes, and yet you sounded more bitter and jaded than our stepmother just now. Must you be so glum? Why don’t you let those feelings go for tonight, and see where the evening takes you? Perhaps you’ll find a nice gentleman to dance with. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Aida pulls another dress out and poses before the mirror.
Aisha watches Aida fit the dress over her body. It’s a dusky pink gown with a scooping heart-shaped bodice. The hem and sleeves of the dress are excessively frilled, to the point of seeming girlish rather than womanly. Aida removes her current dress to try it on.
Never mind. Despite the frills and pastel color, she exudes an air of maturity—the fabric hugs her curves like a second skin. If anyone had reservations about her age, the gown eliminates all doubt.
“That looks good on you.” Aisha says, because Aida always deserves compliments—and not the kind from Carlo, who’s too boisterous and impulsive for his compliments to hold genuine weight.
Aida hums agreeably, spinning around to see the gown from all angles. The skirt flares as she spins, the tiny jewels at the hem catching the afternoon sun. If Cinderella exists, then Aida is her real-life equivalent.
After a few moments, the older twin beams. “Alright, I like this one too. I’ll wear this to the ball then! Oh, maybe I’ll catch Sein’s attention this time! But now,” her eyes meet Aisha’s through the mirror, smug and knowing. “We need to pick a dress for you.”
Aisha holds up a hand. “No need. I don’t want to look good.”
“Aisha!” Aida exclaims in disapproval. “Don’t say things like that. Do you want to end up a spinster?”
She shrugs. The life of a spinster sounds more appealing than having men gaze upon her with lust. “We’re not attending the ball to meet people. It’s Sylvia’s way to assert power over us. Do you really think she’d invite people who will readily befriend us?”
“Well, I believe the best way to handle this is through grace, not by… refusing to dress properly and scowling for the entire time,” Aida sits beside Aisha, folding their hands together. “We’ll prove to Sylvia that we can enjoy ourselves, in spite of the circumstances. She can’t deprive us happiness unless we let her.”
Aisha purses her lips as Aida’s words sink in. It’s rare that her vivacious sister displays such insight, even if she knows that Aida is far from stupid. And Aida does make a compelling argument, when she listens to her mind over her heart.
Except…
“I don’t like people, nor do I like dancing. I won’t enjoy myself at this ball anyway.” Aisha complains.
A bright peal of laughter escapes Aida.
“No wallowing allowed—that’s my job. Remember that it’s our birthday, and smile. Now come, let’s find a gown for you.”
Neither of them leave their room until it’s almost time for the ball. Finding a gown for Aisha that they both agreed on ends up taking a few hours: an exhausting back-and-forth process where Aida gives Aisha a gown, only for Aisha to reject each one. Their taste in dress styles and colors are total opposites, so they never seem to reach a consensus.
Finally, they settle on a compromise. Aisha would wear a white gown—one of the few whites that Aida owns—but cover her exposed shoulders and cleavage with her own shawl. When Aida suggests accessories, Aisha reluctantly accepts a pair of sapphire earrings since she doesn’t own jewelry herself.
“You’re like a fairy godmother.” She comments offhandedly, putting the earrings on.
“What’s a fairy godmother?”
Earrings in place, Aisha moves on to choose a set of gloves. “Someone who uses magic to make girls pretty for balls. Although, you’re definitely doing this against my will.”
“Do fairy godmothers get to dress up and attend balls?”
“Not usually.”
“Oh. How boring. They should enjoy themselves too.” Aida muses, patting rouge onto her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be the most beautiful fairy godmother at the ball.”
Ultimately, Carlo is the one who comes to their door. The door knob rattles as he tries to open it, but luckily Aisha had locked their door while they were changing.
Soon after, they hear three loud thumps against the door, followed by an insistent, “Aida? Are you in there? The ball is about to start, let’s go!”
Aisha catches Aida’s eye and shakes her head. Aida only smiles, unfazed by—or perhaps accustomed to—Carlo’s pushy demeanor. She checks the mirror one last time, and then she joins Aisha by the door. The scent of roses wafts into Aisha’s senses, thick and intense at this proximity.
Aida had found a rose-scented perfume bottle which once belonged to their mother. She may have applied too much at once, but it’s not like Aisha can tell her to remove it now.
Overpowering floral scents make Aisha dizzy, so she opted for an aromatic scent. She’d washed with regular soap and water, and applied drops of clove-scented perfume. It was pleasant and understated; but most importantly, least likely to attract attention.
Aida slides her bare arm through Aisha’s gloved one. “Shall we?”
She resembles a lush rose, with the pink rouge staining her cheeks, the blood red rouge on her lips, and the gown. Standing beside Aida, Aisha felt plain and young. No one could possibly tell that they were identical twins tonight.
Her sister can take the spotlight. Aisha is perfectly content to remain a wallflower.
“Aida!” Carlo cries out gleefully the moment the door opens, lurching towards them.
Aisha gives him a scathing look as he places an arm around Aida’s exposed shoulder. But of course, with Aida around, Carlo is blind to everything else. He doesn’t acknowledge Aisha, already tugging Aida to walk with him, filling the air with enthusiastic chatter.
George Duncan receives them at the ballroom entrance. Beyond the entryway, voices and laughter float in the air, increasing in volume and intensity as they approach the entryway.
“Good evening to you all. Lady Aisha and Lady Aida, I wish you both a happy birthday.” George says with a shallow bow.
“Thank you kindly, George.” Aida greets back warmly. “We’re not late, are we?”
“Not to worry. You’re right on time. Madam Sylvia is expecting you inside.”
After giving each twin an ivory dance card, he motions them forward.
Carlo frowns as Aida slips the dance card around her wrist. “You should only dance with me.”
“I’m expected to mingle with other guests too, Carlo. But I’ll pencil you in for a quadrille. How does that sound? If you can keep up, I might be persuaded to dance with you for longer.”
The halfhearted promise successfully pacifies Carlo, his face lighting up with hope and determination. “I’ll be your best dance partner of the night. Watch me.”
“Whatever you say.” Aida has lost interest in Carlo; she cranes her neck to look into the ballroom.
Behind them, Aisha is faintly aware that this is the last chance to change her mind. As Aida and Carlo descend the stairs together, she hears applause in their wake—probably Sylvia’s doing. But Aisha is alone, lacking a companion to hold onto. She hesitates at the top of the stairs, high enough to see people mingling together in various groups. Entering the fray herself, under the watchful eyes of strangers, suddenly seems daunting.
Perhaps she should go back to their bedroom. This isn’t something she can handle, especially for her first ever ball. She feels like a fish out of water. Her dance card hangs heavy in her hand.
“Lady Aisha, are you alright?” George’s voice interrupts her scattered thoughts.
Aisha looks up, hoping that her rising distress isn’t obvious. She fumbles for an escape. “Actually, I don’t think I feel too well—”
“Good evening.” A third voice joins them.
Both she and George turn around, equally taken aback by Sein’s appearance.
He always appears with uncanny timing, neatly thwarting her attempt to escape.
George clears his throat, nodding at Sein without speaking. Later, Aisha will wonder about the butler’s uncharacteristically cold attitude towards Sein, not even sparing Sylvia’s second son a greeting like he did earlier. Sein, too, barely acknowledges George’s presence.
The dreadful prospect of walking into a room filled with strangers is her biggest distraction.
“Hello, Aisha.”
Sein’s eyes rake over her from head to toe. Aida might have taken offense, but Aisha is pleased that his eyes don’t linger anywhere. Thank goodness she kept the shawl on.
“You look wonderful. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. You too.”
Sein wears an indigo tailcoat, which is parted to reveal a cream-colored vest and a pleated, white linen shirt underneath, the high collar secured by a brown cravat. A silver, star-shaped brooch is pinned on the lapel of his tailcoat, simple but elegant in design. The black trousers are perfectly tailored to his lower body, emphasizing his narrow hips and the muscle definition in his legs.
Compared to his evening wear, Sein doesn’t seem to have spent much effort taming his hair. Those unruly curls are styled the usual way, having grown long enough to almost conceal one eye.
He looks very good. No doubt he’ll draw eyes from all the eligible women in the ball.
Her desire to escape evaporates when he stands next to her and extends his elbow, a wordless request. She has no choice but to accept it, because the notion of running away in front of Sein deals more damage to her pride than the alternative.
“Is this your first ball?” Sein asks as they descend the stairs. If he’s bothered by her tightening grip on his bicep with each step, he doesn’t complain.
“Yes.” Aisha answers stonily, focusing on a distant point in the ballroom lest she makes eye contact with someone in the room.
“Do you know what to expect?”
“Of course I do. I’ve read about it.” After the maid informed her about Sylvia’s plan, she’d temporarily set aside Hamlet. Instead, she pored over books on ballroom etiquette, though she retained little, based on her anxious state of mind.
Sein laughs, soft enough for her to hear. “Right, I should have known.”
“If you have recommendations or suggestions on how to navigate through a ball without risk of ruining your reputation, I’d like to hear them.”
“It sounds like you already know more than me, to be honest. What more can I contribute to the subject?”
“There’s always more to learn.” Aisha insists, letting go of his arm once they reach the ground floor. Sein folds both hands behind his back, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.
“I suppose that’s true. Let’s see… Are you good at dancing?”
“I can dance, though I don’t necessarily enjoy it.”
“Alright. If you’d like to avoid socializing, then dancing is the best way to occupy yourself. Fill your dance card with names—which won’t be difficult for a lady of your standing—and dance the night away.”
Aisha bites her lip, anxiety swelling as she imagined numerous men approaching her to ask for a dance. Between exhausting herself mentally through socializing, and physically through dancing, she isn’t sure which is the lesser evil. Sein seems to believe in the latter.
However, dancing comes with conversations too; maybe not during jaunty and fast-paced dances like the quadrilles and polkas, but waltzing?
“This is new, seeing you so nervous.”
Sein’s astute observation wounds her ego. But how can she refute him when he’s right?
“I have your mother to thank for that. If her goal is to push my buttons, she’s been quite successful.” Aisha admits. If her real mother were still around, she wouldn’t face this predicament feeling woefully unprepared. Times like these remind her that Aida is the older sister, and with her gone, Aisha is stranded alone.
“I’d apologize on my mother’s behalf, but I sense that I’ll never stop once I start,” Sein says wryly, glancing around the room. “When in doubt, you can also follow Aida’s lead. She’s talking to a few gentlemen. She looks quite happy.”
“Aida is a special case. I’m more wary of strangers.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that.”
She fights against the urge to glare at him. In such a public setting, she has to control her expressions. “Please don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’d like to make some new lady friends.”
Sein doesn’t respond immediately. He stares at the dancing card clenched in her fists for a few moments. Then, as though arriving at a decision, he straightens his posture.
“Are you tired of my company yet?”
“If you have something else to share, just say so.” Half-expecting him to comment on her ballroom etiquette and inadvertently wear on her nerves further, Aisha’s nowhere near ready for what he says next.
“May I put my name on your card for the first dance?”
“What?”
Sein repeats the request, but its meaning is still lost on her. “Family members are allowed to dance with each other,” he adds. “Aida probably has Carlo’s name on her card as well.”
Aisha fumes at his choice of words. “We’re not family.”
Because perceiving him as an older sibling is sickening. It would imply acceptance of him and his family, something that will never happen as long as Sylvia was alive, slowly but surely eating away at the Dimoche family’s wealth and reputation, a living parasite.
Her anger only deepens his amusement. “Then dancing with me shouldn’t be an issue. Just the first dance, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
Oh, how she yearns for the chance to throttle him. Or split his head open so that she can finally study his thoughts.
No one but Sein produces this infuriating effect of simultaneously aggravating and bewildering her. He seems so keen on dancing with her, but why? An errant glance around the room reveals that a number of young women are looking in their direction, though of course they’re interested in Sein, not her. They want his name on their dance cards. He doesn’t lack for choice, and yet he wants to dance with Aisha first.
All these years living under the same roof, and yet she’s learned little about Sein’s true character. She only knows that he doesn’t regret cutting her palm open, and that he won’t hesitate to do it again if she crosses the line again.
After all these years, Aisha knows better.
“Are you going to be violent if my answer doesn’t please you?”
Something flickers across Sein’s face, too fast to be identified. Once he catches onto the hidden question, he brandishes both hands. “What do you take me for? Do I seem so wretched to you?” There’s a bitterness to his light tone.
She takes a few more moments to decide. It takes less time to write down Sein’s name for the first dance.
By the time she realizes that the first dance is a waltz, it’s too late to erase Sein’s name from her dance card. The dance doesn’t start for another while, so Sein leaves her, looking far too pleased with himself. Just as Aisha predicted, he’s quickly swarmed by a group of women, their colorful finery clustering around his tall and dark figure.
Staying near the center of the room makes her uncomfortable, so Aisha takes refuge in the corner of the ballroom. It provides the best vantage point and hiding spot, where she can bide her time until it’s time to dance.
Finding Aida proves easy. Her silver hair is lustrous under the chandeliers, eye-catching from a distance. While Aisha has braided her hair into a high bun, Aida wears her hair loose so that it catches the light with each movement. Deliberate or not, her older sister possesses the innate talent to catch attention.
Carlo hovers around Aida, as usual. But the gentlemen surrounding Aida seem equally intent on putting their names onto Aida’s dance card. They’re unfazed by Carlo’s intimidating size and stature, too struck by Aida’s beauty to pay him much heed.
Aisha has to admire Carlo’s steadfast determination—his eyes don’t stray from Aida once. He may be annoying and intrusive, to the point of disrespecting Aida’s privacy, but he’s also loyal. Like a puppy. Aida’s own puppy.
It’s quite pathetic.
“Hello Miss Aisha.”
Nemo appears beside her. He looks ill at ease, which she surmises is due to his timid nature.
“Good evening, Nemo.” Aisha says politely. Nemo is probably the least annoying person now, compared to his older brothers. He hasn’t done anything to aggravate her in recent years, so there’s no reason for her to be hostile towards him.
Nemo doesn’t immediately answer as he follows Aisha’s line of sight.
“Miss Aida looks like she’s thoroughly enjoying herself.” He says in the hesitant tone that he’s never quite outgrown since boyhood.
Aisha watches how Aida throws her head back with laughter at something someone said. “She is, yes.”
“Can I ask why you’re not mingling?”
“Conversation topics among women my age are strictly limited to fashion and marriage prospects, neither of which pique my interest. On the other hand, conversing with men doesn’t allow me the freedom to express myself plainly, because they always expect women to be simpler creatures than we really are.”
Moreover, most of the men she knows are downright unpleasant company, and her experience gives her little faith in men outside of her small social circle. Aisha folds her gloved hands together.
“You may think I'm jaded, but I’d just rather not waste my time and energy on short-lived relationships.”
Nemo is silent for so long that Aisha wonders if she’s scared him off for good. To her surprise, he speaks up.
“So if you had to choose, you’d still prefer the company of women over men?”
“If I were forced to socialize, yes. But I’m also content to observe. I want to save my energy for dancing later.”
“Oh. Do you have dance partners already?”
“Just one. Sein insisted that I reserve the first dance with him.”
Nemo shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He suddenly seems nervous; well, more nervous than usual.
“I’d like to share a dance with you as well, if you’d have me.”
And isn’t that a surprising offer, especially coming from Nemo of all people. “I thought you’d like to dance with Aida?”
“I believe that Miss Aida is already spoken for. Carlo would also cause a scene if I were to approach her anyway. Mother says I should dance with at least ten women tonight… I think if I could dance with you first, then I’d build up the courage to ask other women later.”
So his ultimate goal is to please Sylvia. Her immediate response is to turn him down, but Aisha mulls over the offer.
Dancing with one Durant son is already ridiculous. Dancing with two of them feels excessive, a direct giveaway that Aisha lacks for dance partners beyond those in her circle—which, to be fair, she is lacking. Whatever will come next, Carlo to bluster into her corner and make an offer himself? If that’s the case, Aisha won’t hesitate to say no.
But this is Nemo, the quietest and often forgotten son. And yet, he still acts out of blind obedience towards Sylvia, as though his unkind mother will finally notice him if he can dance with ten women. Aisha doubts that Sylvia will notice, let alone be happy to see her own sons mingling with her stepdaughters.
She can understand why Sein offered; he finds great pleasure in aggravating her. However, Nemo still retains his innocence, despite surpassing Aisha in height and stature long ago. He hasn’t done wrong to her, but he hasn’t done her any right, either.
“Fine. I can dance with you,” Aisha allows, skimming over the dance card. “The first quadrille.” Because God forbid she waltzes with another man.
Nemo nods eagerly, his shoulders slumping as though a massive weight has been lifted.
“Yes, of course, that would be perfect. Thank you, Miss Aisha.”
Aisha sighs, carefully penciling in Nemo’s name onto her card. “I should thank you as well.”
“Actually… if you’d like, I can introduce a few of my acquaintances to you. I’m sure they would love to dance with you as well.”
That’s another surprise. She’s always assumed that he spends the majority of his days locked in the drawing room.
He probably senses her surprise. “I met them at art exhibits in town. They’re nice people. Passionate about art. Some of them have commissioned me for pieces before.”
The mental image of Nemo engaging with strangers gives Aisha pause. It appears that her perception of him has been outdated for quite some time. Her cheeks grow warm, and she lowers her head so that Nemo wouldn’t see the extent of her guilt and embarrassment.
Not for the first time since she set foot into the ballroom, the urge to escape fills her anew. But she can’t escape now. She needs to play along to Sylvia’s game until the end, and Nemo presents an undeserving chance for her to pass time quickly.
So, her pride sufficiently battered, Aisha accepts his suggestion.
As Nemo promised, his acquaintances are nice and sociable. With something to occupy her restless mind, Aisha relaxes. Some men are already married, or betrothed to another, so she doesn’t need to worry about putting on airs before them. Although the conversations are centered around the arts, she’s still able to contribute her opinions, based on art history books that she’s read.
As the dance program draws near, Aisha’s dance card is filled to a respectable degree. The dread of socializing and dancing has lulled. If she pretends that Nemo isn’t there, that Sylvia’s shrill laughter doesn’t echo in her ears every so often, that the flashes of Aida’s pink gown in her periphery are illusions, then she would enjoy herself fully.
But Nemo is there. Sylvia is making rounds to curry favor with all the attending nobles. And her sister is a constant reminder that she can’t let down her guard.
The orchestral music transitions into a slow, mellow waltz, signifying the start of the dance program. Aisha joins the women standing on one side, heart sinking as she sees Sein take his place opposite of her.
His eyes meet hers, and he inclines his head to her in silent acknowledgement. He seems unaffected by the crowd. Aisha loosens her grip on her gown, hoping that her expression is neutral.
They step forward in time with the music. It’s a lighthearted waltz that she learned a while ago.
It just involves a fair bit of physical contact. Practicing with Aida as her partner is easy, sometimes even fun. Aida always took the chance to tease, tickling her ribs, poking her waist, hugging her close instead of holding her at arm’s length as required. The instructor scolded them numerous times, but Aida couldn’t be stopped. Aisha didn’t take the dance lessons too seriously either, so Aida’s antics never bothered her.
Sylvia loves to keep up with appearances, therefore it’s a given that she also enrolled her sons in dance lessons. Whether they know how to dance properly is a separate matter entirely. Her stepmother’s reputation would suffer if none of her sons, as aristocrats, could dance well.
So far Sein hasn’t stepped on her foot, which is promising. Aisha stifles a flinch when he places his hand against her waist, barely remembering that she has to put her hand on his shoulder.
She straightens her spine, fixes her gaze on his nose, her lips a neutral line. From a distance and to an untrained eye, they’ll look friendly with each other. Siblings who enjoy each other’s company.
“Enjoying the ball?” Sein asks, displaying no discomfort at their physical contact and proximity.
“It’s tolerable.”
“Met any prospective husbands yet?” His tone drops slightly.
She rolls her eyes. “I could ask you the same.”
“The answer would be no.”
“Your mother hasn’t matched you with other noble women yet? I find that hard to believe.”
His grip on her hand tightens until it almost hurts. “My mother doesn’t intervene in my affairs. I choose whom I’ll marry.”
If it were her, and if Sylvia really tried to marry either her or Aida off, Aisha doubts that she gets a choice. He’s a man, so he can be stubborn without consequences. How fortunate. How unfair. He can find work as a piano teacher, even venture out of the estate on his own, explore Smod Street without a chaperone, and goodness knows what else he’s done.
All she has is her books, but books only describe experiences to a limited extent. For instance, the romance books don’t delve into how loud these balls can be. How hot and stifling the air is, with the amount of people breathing and talking and laughing all at once. They don’t mention how close you are to your dance partner, how you feel the heat of his hand and are torn between two urges: to push him away and run off, or to clench your jaw and pretend that you don't feel anything at all.
It’s only the first waltz, and she’s already exhausted.
“No woman has piqued your interest?” She asks, mostly to distract herself until the waltz is over.
“One has, though not because of this ball.”
“You’ve met her before?”
“Yes, I have.”
She waits for him to divulge more, but he merely smiles down at her.
“So you’re acquaintances?” Aisha pushes.
“It’s complicated.” Sein guides her into a spin. For a moment, the chandeliers and shiny faces around them blur away. Then all too soon, his hand returns to her waist, and she finds small relief that he can dance and lead well.
“She doesn’t reciprocate?”
Sein doesn’t immediately respond. His eyes linger, like they’re searching for answers on her face.
“I don’t know. I hope she does. She may not be aware of my affections yet.”
“Isn’t it more fitting to dance with her first, then?” Aisha makes a point of glancing at the other couples. “You didn’t have to dance with me. Is she here?”
“She is.”
“Have you asked her to dance yet?”
“Of course. She accepted.”
“Good for you.”
“Enough about me. What about your other dance partners? I assume your card is full.”
Aisha shakes her head. “Unfortunately I’m not as popular as you might think. But yes, I have secured a few other dance partners. Most of them are Nemo’s friends, including Nemo.”
“How nice of him.” Though Sein doesn’t sound complimentary in the slightest, mouth twisting into a sneer.
“He’s been quite kind to me this evening. I do feel a bit remorseful for treating him poorly when we were younger.”
Sein hums. “Only a bit?”
“He is still related to Sylvia.”
“Ah. So an outsider, even though we’re family by marriage.”
“I’ve never considered any of you as my real brothers,” Aisha reminds him. “I’m sure you don’t see me and Aida as your real sisters, either.”
“Fair enough. And I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Sein leans forward, closer than needed, breath tickling her face. “You’re no sister to me.”
His admission chases a shiver up her back. It sounds like a finality, like she’d confirmed something he’s waited for.
The waltz ends sooner than expected. Sein doesn’t let go of her hand until they’re about to leave the dance floor. Right before she can slip away, he turns her palm up to press his lips on the center. Through the glove, above the scar.
The tremors in her hand persist, long after he pulls away.
Story Summary:
They dance just out of each other’s reach, but each time brings them closer together.
OR
Aisha and Sein navigate through the dark fairy tale of their own making, one encounter at a time.
Chapter Summary:
Aida, the Goddess of Spring is loved by many gods; except one.
Her twin Aisha, the Goddess of Rot, is unloved by many; except one.
<< previous: chapter 2 <<
While Aida laughs and frolics among the flowers, Aisha watches from the shadows.
Aisha doesn’t like the sun—it’s too bright, leaving her exposed to invisible eyes. In the world of gods and goddesses, there’s no place where you can really hide from the divinity. High above and down below, the gods and goddesses are always watching.
And Aida, her sweet and naive twin, the young Goddess of Spring, inexplicably attracts attention everywhere she goes. Aisha is never far from Aida, but she’s grateful to remain in her sister’s shadow. While Aida devotes hours to making flowers bloom, singing with the birds, and stealing sips of nectar and honey when she thinks no one is paying attention, not even the bees, Aisha is content to read under a tree, letting stories and fairy tales take her thoughts to a place beyond the blooming garden around her.
It’s no wonder that Aisha escapes notice. Mortals avoid her, while the gods seem to forget about her existence entirely. Not many voluntarily associate with the Goddess of Spring’s twin, the Goddess of Rot.
Just as the smell of flowers makes Aisha’s stomach churn, her own smell of rot and decay has a powerful effect on both mortal and immortal senses. But the twins’ love for each other is stronger than their opposing natures; throughout years of exposure, Aida has become the only one who can touch Aisha without instantly recoiling.
“You smell like the earth,” she’d reassure Aisha even though her younger sister didn’t need such sentiments. “It’s a good smell. Nature needs the earth to thrive, just like I need you!”
But what if, Aisha sometimes thinks, what if you don’t need me anymore? Sooner or later, a god will want to take you for his wife, and you’ll no longer be by my side. No god will allow me to stay with you. He won’t tolerate my smell. None of them do.
She’s all but given up hope that someone will want her. It’s an empty dream. Appearance-wise she’s identical to Aida, but their similarities end there.
Aida already has a long list of admirers and potential suitors vying for her hand. Anya, their mother, has her plate full shielding Aida from the brunt of love letters, perfumes, flowers—this always made Aisha laugh; what fool would present flowers as a gift to the Goddess of Spring?—and jewelry sent to Anya’s temple, all addressed to her daughter. Aida likes and appreciates the gifts well enough, but it’s impossible for her to make use of them all.
Reading the love letters is one of Aisha’s guilty pleasures. For perishable gifts, like parchment letters and flowers, she’s tasked by her mother to decompose them. It’s a fair trade: entertaining herself with the written contents before crumbling them into ash and soil. These letters and flowers have greater use for nourishing the earth than their original purpose, in Aisha’s opinion.
The interests of other gods, however, are harder to fend off. Once Aida becomes of age, wars may be waged for her hand in marriage. Gods and goddesses are petty and selfish like that, unable to let go of an obsession until they possess it.
Their mother is constantly on guard for unannounced visits from another god, especially any one of the Big Three. Perhaps among the Big Three, Nemo is the most ideal candidate. Relative to his older brothers, he seems the tamest and most reasonable. But when possible, Anya would rather keep Aida to herself.
Why wouldn’t she? Aida is a perennial blossom. People are only ever drawn by her beauty, but her mother and sister perceived her as something to be nurtured and protected.
For that reason, Aisha always makes sure that the boundary of rot surrounding the garden is intact. She crafted the boundary herself, through a clever and intricate use of her abilities as the Goddess of Rot. When outsiders come close, they’re instantly assaulted by a strong, pungent smell reminiscent of rotting corpses. If the smell doesn’t deter them, then the hallucinations do: images of dead creatures, dried blood, and white bone.
Each step across the boundary sets off a sensory trigger; starting from smell, to taste acting as the last defense. Whoever manages to withstand all five excruciating sensory triggers is either a spirit, or one of the Big Three.
The Big Three have yet to enter Anya’s garden. All mortals revere Anya as the Goddess of Harvest, so they know not to incur her wrath by trespassing into her garden without permission.
Aisha thought this balance of power among them, delicate as it is, would hold forever. But for immortals, forever is not a long time.
They expected Carlo, the God of Sky, to act first. He was proud and entitled, infamous for his numerous sexual conquests since long before Aida and Aisha were born. For him, Aisha would be nothing more than a trophy. He felt the compulsion to voice his thoughts at every turn, unsolicited or otherwise, seemingly in love with the sound of his own voice from how often he talked over others.
Then there’s Nemo, the God of the Sea, who rarely spoke unless prompted by Carlo. What he made up for in silence was the strength of his storms at sea, where he willfully sunk ships at a whim. He made his home in the deepest trench, and whatever he did there was anyone’s best guess. Even though he was quieter than Carlo, he too was easily swayed by beautiful women; he was just more discreet about it.
Finally, the God of Death, Sein, was the most elusive one. He occupied a separate dimension entirely, ruling an underworld overridden by ghosts and spirits doomed to eternal damnation. He never showed up to Olympus unless war was on the horizon. He was the only god among the Big Three that hasn’t already taken a wife—or rather, multiple wives, yet.
While Carlo and Nemo are venerated by mortals, tens of thousands of their statues hewn in their likenesses scattered across the continent, Sein has no such devout followers. As a result, no one apart from the primordial gods knows what he looks like. Aisha tried to find pictures of him in books before, but the illustrations only depict a large and dark silhouette, faceless, shapeless, sometimes with sharp teeth.
She will do her utmost to prevent Aida from falling into Sein’s hands. Carlo or Nemo she can deal with, but Sein is a complete mystery.
People that go to the underworld don't return.
There is a presence at her boundary, stealing her focus away from the book in her hands.
For a while, it hovers at the edge of the boundary. It is an unfamiliar but ticklish presence, like cold fingers teasing around the boundary, as though sizing up Aisha’s powers.
But after a few seconds, the boundary suddenly collapses, and the presence passes through all five levels of her rot.
The book falls out of Aisha’s hands. She stands up, shaky in the knees, and without thinking she runs to the center of the garden, where Aida is. Sweet and naive Aida, unaware of the powerful god that’s about to appear before them. Their mother is not around to protect them.
“Aida,” she says, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “Please hold my hand.”
Aida readily acquiesces. She probably thinks they’re about to start dancing as her eyes light up with joy. Aisha isn’t sure whether to laugh or scream.
“Whatever happens next, don’t let go, alright?”
“Oh! Okay then. Are we playing a new game?”
Aida isn’t foolish. Unlike goddesses of her age and status, she’s simply been given too little room to grow. She grew up sheltered from the outside world, so her demeanor is child-like compared to Aisha. Aisha can’t even tell her to run, because where can Aida run?
“Yes, we are.” Aisha says through gritted teeth. A game that they didn’t consent to.
“Are we?” A third voice joins them, so deep and chilling that shivers race down Aisha’s spine. It sounds like the voice of Death.
She turns her head, and Death stands there, smiling at them.
His dark robes are stark against the colorful backdrop of flowers and greenery, so out of place that at first, she wonders if he’s an illusion. But no illusion of her making, or any immortal’s, can possibly recreate that face and smile. His black hair is long and wavy, half of it swept across his face, almost concealing his left eye. The rest is tied in a half ponytail, the ends curling up at the nape of his neck. From a distance, he doesn’t look as big and foreboding as Carlo, though his long and slender frame makes him seem taller.
But the energy in the garden has changed. Instead of the light, sweet fragrance they’re accustomed to, the air suddenly feels restrictive and abnormally heavy. The flowers near his feet are drooping. If nature can also sense and respond to his aura, then this is no illusion.
Aisha has to force the words out of her mouth. “You’re not welcome here, God of Death.”
“How rude of me. Please allow me to introduce myself,” The God of Death dips his head, the smile still fixed in place. Contrary to his tone, he doesn’t look apologetic at all. “The title ‘God of Death’ is terribly dreary, so please call me Sein. May I know who I’m speaking to?”
Aisha tightens her grip on Aida’s hand. “You already know who we are. Why do you come here without my mother’s permission?”
“Anya isn’t the most cooperative chaperone for her daughters, I hope you understand. And don’t worry, I won’t stay for long. The flowers…” he surveys the garden critically. “Their smell makes me dizzy. I’d prefer not to destroy any part of Anya’s garden either, so it would be in everyone’s best interests to listen to my proposal.”
He leans to the side, peering behind Aisha. “Don’t you agree, Goddess of Spring?”
Aisha steps into his line of vision, heart stuttering when his attention refocuses on her. It’s jarring to be looked at directly, especially when it’s the God of Death.
Aida tugs on her hand. “Aisha, let’s just listen to him.”
“He can’t be trusted.” Aisha whispers fiercely.
“He doesn’t look dangerous.”
“Are we looking at the same god? His very presence is slowly killing the garden!”
“Goddess of Spring,” Sein interrupts them. “I appreciate your faith in me. But dear Aisha has a point. Sometimes, fear is the only intelligent response.”
Aisha bites her lip so hard that she draws ichor. Fear and dread and rust—that’s what her own ichor tastes like right now.
“Sister, please let me handle this. I will protect you.” She doesn’t need to look behind to know that Aida is pouting. But Aisha can’t take her eyes off Sein. She fears that he’ll disappear right before her eyes and seconds later, Aida will be gone forever.
“You’re not the first god to come with a proposal, nor will you be the last. If you want Aida’s hand in marriage, you must get in line.”
Sein throws his head back and laughs.
“I’m well aware of the Goddess of Spring’s popularity. But I’m not here for her.”
Her thoughts run cold. What is he talking about, who else is in this garden with them—
The God of Death isn’t looking at Aida. Even though Aisha blocks his view of Aida, he doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. He makes no attempt to approach Aida, unlike the handful of lesser gods who managed to sneak past Aisha’s defenses in the past.
He steps forward until he’s at arm’s length from her, a trail of wilted flowers in his wake. She hears Aida’s pained cry behind her, but for Aisha, wilted flowers aren’t of consequence. Her sister can always make flowers bloom. There are too many flowers in this garden, and none of them ever die. Aida would never allow a flower to die under her watch.
“I’m here for you, Goddess of Rot.” Sein murmurs, the words intimate and soft, as though they’re only meant for Aisha to hear.
“Is it my time to die already?” She asks, lifting her chin indignantly.
“Die? Oh, no. You misunderstand me,” he places one hand on his chest and bows slightly. “I’m not here to kill you.”
In another setting, in another universe where they weren’t immortals, the scene and gesture would have seemed romantic. The God of Death bowing—a hand over his heart—before her, a goddess overlooked by both mortals and immortals alike. She realizes that despite the difference in social status and power, they’re quite similar to one another. Both forgotten immortals: one dwells in the underworld, while the other is hidden behind her sister’s blinding effervescence.
But somehow, he sees her.
“I’d like you to join the underworld and rule by my side, Aisha.”
Sein leaves after telling them that he’ll visit again in the next full moon, and that he hopes Aisha will have made up her mind by then.
Aida is understandably distraught.
“Aisha, you’re not seriously considering his proposal, are you? You can’t go! If I’m not getting married, you can’t either!” She shakes her head wildly.
Aisha consoles Aida, but her mind is still reeling from the earlier encounter, from Sein’s shocking proposal—not meant for Aida, but her.
Aisha can’t wrap her head around that: an immortal who isn’t after Aida. Nobody is immune to Aida’s charms. It’s strange and borderline terrifying, not knowing what the God of Death is thinking. Why would he choose her?
She needs answers, none of which Aida or Anya can give her. The next step is to gather more information about Sein. He must have another motive. None of the Big Three can be trusted, and Aisha would be a fool to let Sein’s ambiguous proposal sway her.
It may also be a misdirection tactic. He could be trying to reach Aida through her. Ultimately, Aida is her biggest weakness.
The moment Aisha realizes this, she finally regains her composure. Yes, of course that’s his goal. Sein is a god, and all gods dream of claiming goddesses like Aida. He’s simply using a different approach than the others, by targeting and eliminating Aisha first before pursuing Aida.
She has to admit that it’s a clever method that almost fooled her, and she blames herself for not seeing through him sooner.
“Don’t fret, Aida,” Aisha says, brushing a wayward blond hair out of her sister’s face. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll keep you safe.”
“You won’t marry him?” Aida demands.
“No. His proposal wasn’t really meant for me anyway.”
Aida wraps both arms around Aisha’s waist, burrowing her head into Aisha’s neck. The scent of flowers intensifies as though they’re sprouting in her lungs, choking her, but Aisha hugs her back.
Aida never complains about her scent of rot, but out of a mutual consideration, they break apart after a few minutes.
“He’s…” Aida trails off hesitantly. Aisha nudges her to continue. “He’s not what I expected.”
“Me neither. He unsettles me.”
“Really? I thought you’d like him.”
“What makes you say that?”
Aida giggles. “He doesn’t like flowers. He hid it pretty well, but I could tell the smell bothered him. He reminded me of you a little bit.”
Aisha cracks a smile. “I don’t mind flowers. It’s just that I gravitate towards—”
“Dirt, rot, and decomposing matter. I know very well, Aisha. It seems like you’re fond of dead things too, huh?”
When Anya returns, the twins waste no time telling her about the God of Death’s visit. Anya immediately flies into a fit of rage, cursing Sein’s name in colorful variations of the ancient tongue. Aisha and Aida placate her with ample reassurances that they were unharmed.
“Did he touch you anywhere? Did he feed you fruits from the underworld?” Anya grips Aida’s hand firmly.
“He didn’t! Aisha stood between us the whole time. My reliable protector.”
“That’s good. What about you, Aisha? Are you alright?”
“I’m perfectly fine, mother.”
The Goddess of Harvest sighs in relief. “Good. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you both.”
“None of us knew he would come. Please don’t apologize for something beyond your control,” Aisha pats her mother’s hand. “But on the next full moon, please make sure that Aida is with you at all times.”
Anya looks at her sharply. “What? That brat is coming back again?”
“He says he is. It would be safer for Aida to be gone then, in case he plans to take her.”
“You should come with us too, Aisha! Let’s all hide away for a while.” Aida suggests with shining eyes. “Oh, we can go someplace you've never been! The beach, or the mountains, or the forest…”
As appealing as a vacation sounds, Aisha shakes her head. “He’d be able to find us easily. Mother’s temple is the safest haven for you, sister.”
Aida slumps in disappointment. Meanwhile, Anya watches her younger daughter intently.
“What do you plan to do on that day, Aisha?”
Aisha squares her shoulders before sharing the thoughts that have simmered within her since Sein’s departure. “I’ll be a diversion. When he finds out that Aida isn’t here, he’ll give up. I’ll create an excuse for her absence, and I’ll also try to find out when he’ll visit next. Perhaps then you can engage with him in another location, mother.”
Anya frowns. “I don’t like this idea. It puts you at so much risk. What if he harms you? I think you should come along with us. Or better yet, I will be here to receive him while you two stay in my temple.”
“That won’t be necessary, mother. I have a strong feeling you’ll end up fighting, and… I believe in your strength, but we don’t want you to get hurt. The garden could be destroyed if you clash with him. Aida spent so many years perfecting every part of the garden. It would be such a shame if her efforts went to waste.”
Aisha takes a deep breath. There are flowers everywhere; in her lungs, mouth, and head. The flowers are always happier whenever Aida and Anya are around. Petals unfurl, and their sweet fragrances thicken in the air.
She curls her bare feet into the earth, pretending that she can feel the nonexistent dead, rotting things buried deep underneath.
“Please trust me on this. I will deal with Sein.”
The night of the full moon is serene. The sky is clear, and the moon’s pale light illuminates the garden, as though Selene herself is watching the events unfold from high above.
It won’t be entertaining, Aisha muses as the minutes tick by. Because Aida is long gone.
“What a lovely view.”
She turns around at the familiar voice. At first, she doesn’t see him in the darkness, but he voluntarily steps into the moonlight, casting a shadow that seems to stretch on forever. He was more discreet this time; she hadn’t even noticed that he crossed her rot boundary.
Most would panic or freeze up when faced with the God of Death, but Aisha only feels calmness. Perhaps because this isn’t her first time meeting him, and the knowledge that her sister is out of harm’s way helps alleviate her biggest concerns. Their mother is more than capable of protecting Aida.
“Yes, the garden looks quite lovely at night. Unfortunately, it’s too chilly yet for fireflies to show.”
She can’t hear Sein’s footsteps, but she sees his shadow moving towards her until it engulfs her own. She imagines the flowers withering in his wake.
Somehow he materializes behind her, close enough that she feels the coldness of his breath, skating across the nape of her neck as he speaks. She suppresses a shiver.
“I wasn’t referring to the garden.”
“Well then, I hope I gave you a compelling reason to admire the garden in its night time glory.” Aisha parries the compliment smoothly, though her heart rate quickens.
That compliment isn’t meant for you, she reminds herself.
She pivots, and there he stands: clad in the same dark robes, enigmatic smile, and unfathomable stare.
“The garden itself is adequate,” Sein says without looking away. “The darkness mutes the bright colors, so I find it easier on the eyes. I can almost ignore the smell of the flowers as well, if I concentrate hard enough.”
He steps forward. “But I don’t need to inhibit my senses to admire you. You’re lovelier than the garden.”
Aisha scoffs. “Shouldn’t you save such praise for the right goddess?”
“I’m speaking to her right now,” Sein pauses to look around. “How convenient that the Goddess of Spring is gone. I’m actually quite relieved.”
“Why?” Something isn’t right. He seems unfazed by Aida’s absence. She wonders how long he’ll keep this act up. Sooner or later, he’ll break. Although the chances of Sein actually hurting her are slim, she can’t rule out the possibility. Hopefully she won’t get hurt too badly.
“I told you. I’m only here for you.”
Aisha crosses her arms. “It would be easier if you’re honest about your intentions. Trust me when I say I’ve heard every excuse on this earth.”
“Oh?” He brushes his tousled bangs out of his eyes. “I’ve been nothing but honest since I first came here. Why do you think I’m lying?”
Is he playing dumb on purpose?
“Because…”
If he’s not willing to admit it, she’ll force him to.
She lets her control slip, and a putrid stench begins to fill the air. Suppressing the rot inside her consumes a lot of headspace, but she’s used to it. She’s spent her whole life perfecting control, winding that knot of power in and around itself to prevent seepage, to avoid inadvertently distressing her family and their precious garden. Some days, the pressure of holding back splits her head open, and she’s on the verge of splintering apart; but then Aida is there, and though she’s unable to help much except to sing softly as a distraction, her voice is enough to pull Aisha out of the downward spiral.
Letting go now feels forbidden. However, Anya and Aisha aren’t around tonight.
By now, most gods or goddesses retreat with a hand covering their nose, expressions twisted in disgust. Aisha expects Sein to react similarly; he’d last no more than a few seconds before escaping the garden, cursing her name to hell and back.
But the God of Death does none of those things. If anything, he looks pleased, something akin to approval in his gaze.
“Because?” He prompts, standing in place and speaking normally as though he isn’t in direct range of Aisha’s rot. The grass beneath their feet is turning yellow, brown, and then disappears entirely to be replaced by bare soil. If she isn’t careful, the whole garden may turn into a barren wasteland.
For a moment, the most selfish, shameful thought occurs to her. Aida has had this garden all to herself for centuries, but Aisha doesn’t. Even here, in their childhood home, she has to exercise caution. While Aida can make as many blooms as she likes without consequence, Aisha’s rot continues to fester inside as the years pass.
It’s unfair, and she only realizes that now.
“Because everyone wants Aida,” she says, feeling disconnected from the garden, from this conversation, from her own body that’s rotted through, undesirable and unlovable. “You’re using me to get to her. I know.”
Sein chuckles. “Wrong. Care to try again?”
Losing patience, Aisha throws her hands into the air. “I’m not in the mood for games. What do you want?”
“I’ve said it already but you refuse to believe me. I want you, not your sister.”
“Stop it,” Aisha says roughly. She hates how tempted she is by that admission. It’s a lie. “I won’t be made a fool again. It’s Aida you want—”
“Are you convincing me or yourself? You wound my pride, Aisha,” the amusement in Sein’s voice vanishes. “There are only so many times I can bear to repeat myself.”
“No.”
Sein’s eyes are sharp and cold in the moonlight. “Is that your answer?”
“What? No, I meant…” She looks away. The ground beneath her is no longer green grass, just dirt. “How are you still here? Most would run off because of the smell.”
“I don’t mind the smell of rot. Did you forget that I rule the underworld? I think you’d enjoy it there. It can give you far more than what this garden offers, which isn’t much to begin with.”
Sein takes one step closer, and Aisha steps back, mind blank and panic surging through her veins. It’s crazy to believe anything he says, but so far his actions align with his words—as ludicrous as they sound to her.
Fending off attention on her sister’s behalf is second nature to Aisha. But this…
This is unmapped territory, and she has no reinforcements. Her two companions in the world are sequestered in the Goddess of Harvest’s temple, where they’re twining flower crowns or discussing ways to beautify their garden. They won’t return until sunrise. She’s utterly alone with a god who will overpower her.
“Would you like to experience the underworld?” Sein offers brightly. He seems almost excited at the prospect, the tension in his face relaxing as a smile dawns. “Consider it a trial stay. You can leave whenever you like. I won’t force you to stay.”
“What use would I be there?” Aisha demands, instantly assuming that there must be a functional purpose to his offer. No one asks anything of her, except to act as a deterrent against unsavory gods.
“I don’t expect anything from a guest during their stay. Unlike my brothers, I do have manners,” his lips curl into a sneer at the mention of Carlo and Nemo. “But should you decide that you like the underworld, and that you’d rather stay… Well, I’m sure we can come to a mutual agreement that will satisfy both of us then.”
Is she imagining the sudden heat in his eyes? Aisha doesn’t allow herself to dwell on that. She has a strong sense that the mutual agreement would benefit him far more than herself. “What do you mean by mutual agreement?”
“Let’s leave that discussion for the future.” Sein deflects the question with a flippant wave of his hand. “Do you accept my offer?”
“What happens if I say no?”
“Then I’ll leave. You won’t get this opportunity again, even if you regret it sometime later. And no one can enter the underworld without my permission.” Sein says easily.
Knowing that he won’t punish her for saying no is a relief. Aisha lets her shoulders drop.
“Where do the souls of gods go after they die?” She asks curiously. “Are we all not destined to end up in the underworld?”
Sein laughs. “Excellent question. I don’t expect anything less from a brilliant mind like yours. Unfortunately, if you’d like to know, you’ll have to come with me.”
She shakes her head. “Even if you don’t tell me, I can find the answer myself. Through books.”
“Ah, yes, books. Have I mentioned that I have collections from the dead libraries?”
Oh.
Oh no.
“Y-you do? In the underworld?” Aisha asks, awestruck. “How is that possible?”
Dead libraries were wealthy institutions of knowledge that have been purged or destroyed eons ago, mostly because of stupid humans, or occasionally, a god’s greed to keep the knowledge for themselves. As such, the resources contained in dead libraries were lost forever to dust and time, out of her reach.
At least, until Sein claimed otherwise. “Of course I do. The Library of Alexandria, of Antioch, of Serapeum, just to name a few. All dead things belong to me.”
She shivers at the finality in his tone. It’s true then, that his influence encompasses more than departed mortal souls. He sounds awfully confident, looking proud that he managed to surprise her yet again. The dead libraries that he mentioned are a substantial part of her wildest dreams, and she’s accepted the impossible yearning of never being able to access them in reality.
But the picture he’s describing depicts a world bigger than herself, than the tiny garden she was raised in. He dangles knowledge and books above her as bait, ensnaring her within his trap. Whether or not he’s speaking the truth, Aisha’s mind and heart have already decided.
She knows scant little about him, but she already thinks that they understand each other quite well. She isn’t afraid of dead things, and he isn’t repulsed by her presence. Perhaps they can even get along.
“Alright, Sein. I accept your offer.”
She reminds herself that she has a way out. That he isn’t scheming to kidnap her for good. Aida and Anya’s faces come to mind, but when she thinks of them, she anticipates their worry, confusion, and rage. Those feelings don’t belong to her.
Amidst her turmoil, Aisha finally dares to look at Sein directly. Then she wishes she didn’t, because the moonlight bathes him in silver and white, emphasizing the fine-boned features that all primordial gods, including her own mother, possess. In that moment, she thinks that if he were widely known and had marble statues hewn in his likeness, he could rival Aphrodite’s popularity among mortals.
His dark hair and darker eyes are unique from the flaxen-haired gods and goddesses she knows. But somehow, the darkness of his aura has steadily abated since their first meeting. He seems friendly, which confuses her to no end.
As Anya once told her, “You could never resist trying to learn and understand new things, can you?”
Her mother meant it as a compliment then. But deep down, Aisha had known for some time that the thirst for knowledge would culminate in her own ruin and downfall. True knowledge seekers burn bright, but they don’t burn for long. She sees herself burning already, set aflame by the god from hell standing before her.
As though sensing her thoughts, the God of Death smiles, white teeth flashing in the dark.
