Fantasy broken vows and fallen crowns ( Syntra & starboob )

[Syntra]

The twin suns of Hypathia were hanging high in the sky, bathing in the carmine light brought by the eastern winds. (A lucky omen, many Hypathians would say. A messenger of good fortune, bathed in the blood of fearsome beasts. But, how could that be? Not only was the greatest one of them still alive and kicking, but she was about to wear a crown. The beast called Sidra, that was.)

It had all happened quickly-- far too quickly for anyone to be able to consider the resistance to be dignified. Actually, it may have been a stretch to call it 'resistance' at all. Hypathia, a tiny planet in a corner of the galaxy far too unimportant for most great powers to know, let alone care about, had had a single line of defence. The nature of the defense? Indeed, that very irrelevance! It had served them well, really, until it didn't. (To be fair, nothing would have saved them from Sidra. Some claimed the woman was a demon in a human skin, feasting on the entrails of their enemies-- some, struck by a different kind of inspiration, thought that she was destruction personified. The reality, though? The reality was worse. Sidra was Sidra. The word that could accurately describe her wickedness hadn't been invented yet, they said. It hadn't and probably wouldn't, because the empress would have it erased from the records, along with the poor bastards foolish enough to craft such an expression.)

And so Hypathia had bent the knee, in a staggering display of unheard of unity. The nobles had agreed, after their initial reservations had been melted in blood; the commonfolk had agreed, mostly indifferent to which noble asshole would sit on the throne; the priestesses had agreed, with great reluctance. 'For the good of the realm,' they whispered. 'Yes, yes! No point to ruling over ashes-- ashes and scorched earth and, ah, rotting corpses. So, so many corpses.' It was a wonder that their heads hadn't fallen off from all the nodding, honestly. And Calytrix... Calytrix would agree, too. Right? Right?! It wasn't like the young goddess realistically had any choice.

Of course, the problem was to get her to appear. The problem of her future self, Sah'ra had said to herself, back when it had been established that they'd, ehm, give the empress her hand in marriage. You know, for the peace! The issue with that kind of thinking? Why, that the initially very, very distant future kicked you in the ass faster than you could say 'I'm so screwed.' (For the record: she was. Very much so. Judging by Sidra's track record, Sah'ra would be vaporized in, like, three minutes from now. And that was the optimistic prognosis, too.)

The high priestess knew not the thoughts that were to be found in the empress's head, but she thought that she could make an educated guess. The silks they'd wrapped her in, for one, couldn't have been pleasant to wear-- it was hot, as it always was on Hypathia, and Sah'ra was aware firsthand just how quickly those got slick with sweat. ('It's a tradition, oh great bringer of peace,' they'd told her. Of course it was! The ceremony was sacred, and, as such, unchangeable. Now, they might have chosen this particular brand of silk to introduce their new overlord to a little bit of suffering, but she didn't need to know that! ...or rather, Sah'ra hoped she didn't. Because, if she did? The high priestess's chances of being vaporized her just risen by about 500%.) The music, far too loud for anyone to be able to hear their own voice, could only be described as needlessly aggressive-- the drums were pounding against the poor listeners' abused ears, bam bam bam, in a rhythm that was both annoying and relentless. The audience... well, they were there. That much, at least, could be said about them. A bunch of uncomfortable looking aristocrats had gathered before the Skywind Temple, and were currently in the process of trying their hardest to pretend that they were somewhere else. And, judging by the mild dread in most of those people's eyes? Sah'ra would say that they were failing. (Blasphemy charges were a serious thing, after all! It wasn't like Calytrix would push them, but... well, let's just say that those things ran deep. The impulse to be afraid of that very thing often meant the difference between life and death, here on the planet of Hypathia.)

Ehm. Speaking of life and death, though? Please, please, let Calytrix appear! She hadn't for weeks now, and if the goddess wouldn't do it now... shit, Sah'ra was in no way interested to find out what, exactly, her organs looked like.

The empress was to come alone, surrounded only by the most faithful of servants. The ones that had been chosen for her were helping her with her garb-- a clumsy thing that it was, it required at least three pairs of hands unless you wanted to drag it over the ground. Which, spoiler alert, you very much didn't! Especially not near the Skywind temple, where the boundary between 'dirt' and 'mud' was very, very, very thin. (The birthplace of the world, it was called. And, just like all the places where births occurred? It was warm and wet, oozing with strange fluids. Often, Sah'ra thought it was... uh, an interesting metaphor that weddings were to be held there. Interesting, even if a little unimpressive visually. Eh, at least the temple itself was striking? A large, cracked shell reaching the skies, faded out with age. Never before had the priestess seen such a brilliant white, and probably never again would.)

Finally, the empress was brought before the sacred pond. (Not a hint of wind blew, yet somehow, it waters were moving, shimmering, dancing. And, when Sidra's reflection fell on it? The music stopped abruptly, as if the players had been waiting for that very cue.)

"Welcome, blessed one," Sah'ra said, fighting her gag reflex as those words spilled from her lips. "Oh, great Destroyer of the Worlds, it is time for you to call your bride." Please, please, don't get angry. And you, Calytrix, cooperate for once. "See, the goddess is... ah, a romantic soul. You ought to sing her a love song if she is to appear, as the tradition demands." Or rather as Caly demanded, but, again, Sidra didn't need to know everything. Too much knowledge hurt one's head, after all! "You should, ah, make her feel that you ache with your want for her."

 

[starboob]

It is said that the gold in the empress's gaze mirrors the gold that flows through her veins. Supposedly, when the empress defeated the god of her home planet, she feasted on his innards and was blessed with a fraction of his divinity. This action is what has blessed her eternal reign. This action has made her undying. It was her first miracle as The Empress.

That is probably one of Sidra's favorite mythos surrounding her origins. It is completely and utterly false, but it certainly has the right idea and so she has allowed it to circulate throughout the galaxy. Rumors all have their place in her empire and if they are not soldiers for her, then those whose tongues dared to light fires against her are turned to ashes themselves. She wonders if this such rumor has reached this abysmal rock and she wonders what her bride thinks of it, if anything at all.

Her bride’s people, proving by some astounding feat that they do not all share a single brain cell, had requested that Sidra come alone and Sidra, who possesses many brain cells that she enjoys using, did not come at all. Not entirely anyway. (As flattering as all of the assassination attempts are, they are also a fucking nuisance. She would think that it would not be that hard for people to realize that she is unkillable. That is literally one of her titles––probably the two hundred and thirty-first title she came up with––Sidra the Unkillable Princess of the Universe. Really, it's no wonder that conquering the galaxy has been such a droll task when all of its citizens are fucking morons. She's honestly shocked no one else has accomplished what she has––taming the galaxy has taken about as much effort as getting a popcorn kernel out her gums. That it has taken her so long is only a testament to how vast their galaxy is and not at all a reflection of her efficiency. It just unfortunate that the last piece to her eternal empire is this scorching rock of a planet. In all honesty, she would sooner vaporize it and call it a day were it not harboring an ancient power source at its core. Power that will not only be able to secure her reign over this silly little spiral in the universe, but also give her the power to move onto the next galaxy to continue spreading peace and prosperity. (Why stop at one galaxy when there is a universe as full of them as there are stars in the sky? That had been approximately the same question she’d asked herself when she successfully invaded the neighboring countries on her home planet to kick off her grand vision for unification. Why stop? It's the ever pressing question that would have split lesser skulls in two, but Sidra has been brave enough to answer it's call each and every time. Those not worthy enough to answer the question have been or will be lost to the annals of history and Sidra does not intend to join them. Her empire may fall, as any great empire does, nothing can escape decay, but her legacy is what shall be eternal. No part of this galaxy and, someday, this universe will be untouched by her perfectly manicured hand.))

Anyway, in the empress's mind it makes little difference whether the goddess, Calytrix, marries her while she wears the body of prime or whether she's in one of her lesser forms. It is still her essence who occupies it. Mostly. The lesser bodies cannot contain all the information that Sidra has amassed over her nearly five millennia rule and so she's had to pare down her knowledge to the essentials. (That is still typically more than the average individual, and jarring nonetheless for a woman who is used to being more or less omniscient. No matter, she can always swap out her knowledge stores for more relevant ones should she require it.) Her prime body is secured somewhere in the galaxy's many pockets and folds, in a hibernating state while she has to work with this insufferable lesser form. (It's perfect, technically speaking, but she misses not having to breathe because this planet fucking reeks.) Should the citizens of Hypathia make an attempt on her life, she will wake up in prime and this dust speck will not even enjoy the pleasure of rejoicing before her armies arrive. Admittedly, part of Sidra is rooting for that outcome. Sure, it will briefly hurt and be briefly jarring, but ugh she hates weddings.

Weddings are all testaments to fucking suffering and this garb might as well be proof of that. Bleh. (The second her files on this planet’s wedding traditions finish uploading, will be the second the high priestess is slaughtered. If not for preserving this awful tradition, but to confirm these ants are toying with their Empress Eternal. After almost five millennia of conquest, dissent is not hard to spot. She misses back in her two hundreds when no one took her seriously and they were much louder about their resistance. Ah, her terrible two hundreds had been a time to be remembered. Perhaps in her six thousands she will reprise that era? The galaxy will need to be kept on its toes after all.) Perhaps wedding would be less annoying if Sidra ever married someone she loves. As it is, she only makes a habit of marrying her enemies as everyone knows marriage is only a fancy shackle meant to make brides feel better about being sold out by their kin. As far as this wedding goes, the most impressive thing about this one is how fucking obnoxious it is. Obnoxious and loud and hideous. She is convinced that this has to be a joke and she may or may not be sending signals to her ship to boot up the cannons.

On the outside, however, Sidra appears as impassive as ever. Her golden gaze is half lidded with permanent boredom, like the next sentence might be the one to put her to sleep. Her cheekbones sit high and sharp on her face and her pale porcelain skin seems to be rival the twin suns for brilliance. (Although, perhaps that is not hard under this harsh crimson light.) She stands tall, with perfect posture, and nothing about her seems out of place. Her platinum hair has a slight curl at the ends and sits perfectly down her back. Someone unfamiliar with the empress might dare to describe her as angelic.

When the high priestess, Sah'ra, greets her, Sidra makes a half nod in acknowledgment. Somehow the gesture says, 'I wonder what you would look like turned inside out.' Eventually her gaze falls on the pond, but she sees nothing particularly interesting there. (Is it odd that her reflection no longer looks familiar to her? It appears blurred, fuzzy, warped in the mirror yet she knows nothing is wrong with her bodies. Her image can still be captured by photographs. She can still see her other bodies, but the one she occupies? She has not been able to make it out for centuries.)

With a pleasant smile that seems to have the same impact as a guillotine falling onto someone's head, she nods at the request. Of course, she isn't pleased and her fingers smooth over the simple and innocuous bracelet around her wrist. Just one tap and she can signal for this planet's destruction. (It's difficult for the empress to remember that this dump harbors a great source of power. When she does remember, she concedes that she should at least attempt to acquire it the difficult way––even if she likely could harvest the cores of a hundred other planets to meet her goals. However, she recognizes that she cannot madly destroy one hundred planets without some push back, and that would certainly be a headache and a half to deal with. Then she might end up becoming an empress over nothing and that just won't do.) Mustering together the last threads of her patience, she agrees, "A goddess who plays with the lives of her people certainly is a goddess after my own heart. Unfortunately, having never met the goddess, I cannot say I will be able to compose anything that convinces her of my love for her," because there is none and she doesn't for a second believe that this goddess is a romantic. But if the tradition demands it, then she will entertain the rites of her people. (And if her intel indicates that this is, indeed, a made up trial she will make sure Sah'ra and all the other priestesses suffer. Perhaps she will rip their nervous systems from their bodies? She has been wanting to test that device out. It's unfortunate that all her test subjects thus far have only had their heads exploded, but she's fairly certain her latest upgrades will have it doing exactly as she intends.) "I shall stretch my imagination just for my Calytrix."

The empress, deciding that it cannot harm her to give a full show of her love or devotion or whatever to this living battery and key to her immortal success, dares to ruin these awful silks by sitting in the disgusting muck. Ugh, what she does for her empire. With a sharp breath, she begins to craft a lullaby for the first poem that she can recall, because there is no way she will ever use her magnificent brain to conjure a poem for someone who is mere empire fodder. Besides, she didn't say it had to be original.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

 

[Syntra]

Calytrix was, and Calytrix wasn't.

Mostly, she was. At least she thought so? After all, non-existence sounded like too much work-- you'd have to suppress all those thoughts and feelings, and that was too much work for a single goddess. Too much work for anyone, indeed! (Sah'ra had always called her lazy, and perhaps she was right. The mantle of the high priestess had belonged to her for longer than she'd even been Calytrix, so who was she to argue? Who, huh? But, but, but, the joke was on her, because Caly didn't actually think laziness was a sin. Checkmate, Sah'ra! Considering that the whole religious system of Hypathia was founded on her - ever-changing - views, she was pretty sure that her opinion counted a liiiittle more! Heh.)

But, philosophy aside, Calytrix... was pretty sure she was supposed to be somewhere, actually. Somewhere else than in her own mind, where she usually preferred to be. (Argument #1: The real world didn't have clouds made of cotton candy. Argument #2: Come on, did you even need any? Yeah, yeah, she did have a 'duty to her planet,' but wasting away in a cotton candy-less wasteland wasn't an official requirement. Caly would know! She'd read the... uh, manual? Could you call it that way? Although it would probably be more accurate to say that they'd poured it into her skull after splitting it open. You know, back when she'd had a skull.) Hmm, Calytrix thought, stroking her formless chin. I really think I might be forgetting something here. Alright, alright, alright! What was she meant to do in these cases? The Manual said, in no uncertain words, that she should visualize her inner Sah'ra. Ugh, what a bummer. Sah'ra had these giant eyebrows, and Caly didn't want them anywhere near her mind, and, and, and!!! For the realm, the goddess reminded herself. For the realm, you must. The first sacrifice was just the beginning. Determined to try her best, she called the image of the high priestess forth, and even managed not to recoil immediately. Hah! The real Sah'ra would have been proud-- then again, the real Sah'ra probably would have smacked her in the head for some made-up offense, so maybe she shouldn't let herself be influenced by her opinions too much. Just saying. (For the millionth time, she was sorry. Was it really such a crime to turn all the water in existence in beer? It was hardly Calytrix's fault that water was the most boring liquid on the planet, and the people, at least, had loved it. In her book, she'd goddess-ed well that day!)

So, the inner Sah'ra? Check. The mildly murderous expression on her face, only ever softened by the copious use of opium? Check. The way her lips were opened in a tiny 'o', as if she meant to curse her holy name? Yep, the perfect mental image! One could even say that this Sah'ra was more real than the actual Sah'ra, at least if the hypothetical person didn't mind being wrong. But!!! The purpose of this mental exercise was to stir the memories that surely were lurking somewhere in the lower registers of her mind, just like worms were burrowing their way through the soil. Not that Caly's thoughts were worms, or even remotely similar to worms, or, um, worm-adjacent? Nope, nuh uh! The metaphor did seem good enough, though, and since you shouldn't waste a good metaphor, the goddess had gone with it. (Uh oh. Was she getting side-tracked again? Sah'ra had always said that was her problem, and that she was bound to miss her own wedding for it, and-- oh. Oh. The wedding!)

In Caly's defense, it was hard to remember which day was which, or even why mortals insisted on categorizing them based on sunsets of all things. Couldn't they have invented, like, a butterfly quota for any given day? Kind of not the point, though, because now that she actually knew the Big Day had come, Calytrix was dying to meet her bride. (Goddesses didn't wed, they said. They were married to the earth, to the rivers, and to the skies, but neither of those had ever kissed her and that honestly felt like such a scam. Would her wife do that? As far as Caly knew, that was kind of wives' job, and... ah, the idea alone made her touch her ghostly lips. Sidra, she repeated the name of her betrothed in her mind, working it like a puzzle box. Sidra, Sidra, Sidra. Was she gentle? Conquerors generally weren't, from what Caly knew about the concept, but she would hate to cling to baseless prejudices. Ah, indeed, her heart swelled in her chest! To think that she would be the only one to... the only one to...)

And then the voice reached her ears. The sweet, sweet voice that she wanted to drown in, to inhale, and do all the things that you definitely couldn't do with a voice, according to the silly mechanisms in place. The laws of physics, they called them? (Caly didn't care for those. The only rules to ever rule should be the ones devised by her, thank you very much!)

Wow. Does she mean all of that? They hadn't even met yet, and Sah'ra would have said that that was a red flag, but it had already been established that the high priestess's viewpoint was less than objective. Hers, on the other hand? Pure, crystal clear truth! The privilege of being a goddess, Calytrix supposed.

In that case, I have no choice. Time to be, then.

***

The water in the pond swirled, as if a great storm moved it. How could it be, though, when the skies of Hypathia remained calm? (If Sidra cared enough to hear, she might have noticed Sah'ra releasing a gasp of relief, but if she didn't... well, she probably found it more important to focus on the figure stepping out of the pond. A woman, young and in full bloom, with rainbow-colored hair falling down to her knees-- a woman who, by the way, happened to be naked. Who needed clothes when you were a goddess, eh? At least that seemed to be the idea here, for she wasn't at all bothered.)

"Hi!" the creature beamed, looking at Sidra with her cyan eyes. "I'm, ah, Caly. Are you my wife? You must be, since you're so pretty. I figured that my wife would be pretty, and-- oopsie!" Yes, that was the moment the goddess of Hypathia stumbled, crashing straight into Sidra. (In the background, Sah'ra groaned, in that 'I knew this shit would happen' way. Everyone else pretended even harder than they weren't there, which was honestly a feat.) "Sorry, sorry. I'm not used to having legs. Do you always have legs?" And, no, Caly wasn't moving away, for... uh, reasons. Warmth-related reasons, mostly.

 

[starboob]

At some point, Sidra recalls that her hair had not always been this ghostly white color. She even remembers that the suns of her planet had bathed her skin in a pleasant kissed color. Her eyes, even, were not always golden. What Sidra does not remember is when this all changed. She does not know whether it happened a few clone cycles ago when she had been toying with activating different traits within her own genome or whether these changes started to occur when she stopped recognizing herself in the mirror. She supposes that this knowledge must be in her prime body so she does not concern herself with it. Besides, she is at a wedding, droll as it is, and she should probably focus less on looks and more on the pond that is starting to swirl before her. And Sidra would be lying if she said she weren’t curious––that’s reflected in the way her gaze opens some and how she rises from her position in the muck. (So what if she dirtied their silks? She doubts these are their finest fabrics as she has been on lesser planets with more luxury than this. For this offense, she makes a note to make a spectacle of the massacre to follow just in case anyone might think she’ll let them get away with defiance.)

Unfortunately, Sidra’s interest in this affair takes a sharp nosedive the second the goddess introduces herself. ‘Caly.’ She purses her lips together and only barely holds back her disgust. As if a name like that will inspire fear in the hearts of her enemies. It’s an insult, really, to herself and Sidra finds herself shocked that a goddess would sully her own reputation by turning her respectable name, Calytrix, into something of a joke. Needless to say, no one will ever hear Sidra utter that insult.

Of all the enemies she has married and made her supplicant, she would have thought a goddess would be the most impressive. In fact, part of why Sidra came at all––even if not in prime––had been the mild curiosity over what the goddess, Calytrix, would be like in the flesh. Despite her life's long tenure, she has never married a goddess before. Slept with them? Certainly. Slaughtered them? Obviously! But never has she ever found herself married to one and while she doesn't usually make a huge effort with these business transactions, she might have thought debating a goddess might be fun. After all, goddesses should have a wealth of knowledge far beyond Sidra's own. She may call herself omniscient, but she does know she is not without her limits. A goddess, on the other hand? Divine creators themselves? She would have thought they'd be interesting.

All this to say, Calytrix is a disappointment. From her unrealistically colored hair to her obnoxiously bright eyes, Sidra has assessed that she is, in no uncertain terms, a bimbo. And that realization nearly causes Sidra to lose what little grip she has. She almost, almost orders her fleet to invade this planet because what the fuck is Hypathia!? No wonder she avoided it for five thousand fucking years––she always has been aware of its existence and she has honestly always dreaded the day she’d have to come here to complete the first part of her quest, because most intel has told her that it’s really not worth the trouble. It was always going to be an easy win and it only became more complicated when she ran her last scan that indicated there is power nested in the planet’s core, connected to its goddess.

When the naked goddess falls into her arm, Sidra just rolls her eyes, not even surprised. This is not even the first time a naked woman has thrust herself at the empress and it’s somehow even more annoying when it’s a naked goddess. ‘She should know how to compose herself better. Is this another joke?’ Her golden gaze cuts over to Sah’ra for any clue or hint that this might not be the actual Calytrix, but the relief on the woman’s face does unfortunately suggest this may very well be her bride. ‘Note to self: Never ever fucking marry someone you’ve never met.’

Alright, so this is the goddess. Fine, whatever. So long as she can be used for her mission, then this is fine. Now, the real question is, is when can she make Sah’ra's head explode? Her files on the wedding rituals are still uploading (she makes another note to boost this planet’s reception when the crown is officially hers) and so she doesn’t know whether or not it is of the utmost importance that Sah’ra be the one to wed them or if someone else can stand in. Since she does not know this, and since she wants this wedding to be as binding to the people as possible, she stands down, but the target has already been place on Sah’ra head. (As well as several other members of the audience. Again, she wants to make a spectacle of this massacre. It will be her first of many gifts to her bride––goddesses like living sacrifices, no?)

Anyway, after several tense moments of silence, with all eyes on the Empress Eternal, Sidra offers a practiced smile. Nothing too sharp or too warm, perfectly plain and composed. “Calytrix,” she corrects, greeting her bride. She wraps an arm around the goddess’s slender (and naked) waist to support her, resulting in their bodies being pressed flushed together and she notes, ‘I suppose consummating the marriage won’t be so bad at least.’ “Your flattery is quite charming,” that’s one word for it, at least, “and, yes, you are to be my wife. Lucky you, as I have turned down several proposals in this lifetime, perhaps knowing my heart was meant for someone of note.” She figures it might be curious to see if the goddess truly is a romantic, so she doesn’t mind lathering it on thick. Whatever will make her pliable, right? For the empire. She sets the goddess straight so that she can stand on her own and then does as much a bow as she will allow herself as the Revered Defender of the Realm. She punctuates the gesture by brushing her lips across Calytrix’s knuckles. “As you may have heard, I am Sidra the great champion of the galaxy, soon to be your wife and empress.”

“As a goddess, I expected you to be beautiful and yet you may be the fairest maiden I have ever cast my gaze upon.” Someone had said something similar to this to Sidra at one point… Was it Cyril? Or Anaïs? Eh, it does not matter. At least those empty words are providing her with a useful script to follow now. “And, yes, I always have my legs––I have not found a reason to rid myself of them yet,” she smiles and pushes back some of that disgusting colored hair out of Calytrix’s face. Then she turns back to face the high priestess, dropping the entire act at once to let the the ugly woman know her time is fucking ticking. Still, her voice sounds pleasant enough when she suggests, “Shall we get on with it, Sah’ra? I cannot stand not being married to my bride for much longer.” Translation: ‘I want my fucking crown now get on with it, wench.’

 

[Syntra]

Oh. Oh.

Oh, indeed.

Calytrix's brain flipped through her inner thesaurus rapidly, looking for the word that might describe her bride-to-be in a satisfactory fashion, but that little 'oh' sound was all she could come up with, somehow. She was gorgeous! Gorgeous and striking and so, so soft, and Caly's knees went weak the moment she imagined... uh, all those things she'd do to her. You know, marital things. Hehe. ('Keep your mind pure' this, 'no weird fantasies' that, blah blah blah. Yeah, yeah, Caly got it, but as for why Sah'ra had insisted on that? Nope, she had never quite grasped the rule! Considering that the high priestess also freaked out whenever she did anything even remotely fun with her powers, she should be content knowing that her biggest adventures took place in the safety of her own mind, instead of them leaking out into the outside world. Not anymore, though! 'Sucks to be you, Sah'ra,' she thought, loud enough for the woman to hear her. 'Now I get a beautiful wife, and will be living out my inappropriate fantasies every single day! Wanna watch?'

The way Sah'ra flinched told Caly more eloquently than words ever could that, yes, her message had indeed reached its recipient. The signature murderous look she gave her? That, too! 'Yes, it does suck to be me,' the high priestess admitted. 'Mostly because no other woman of my status needs to deal with a brat goddess like you. Get a grip, will you? No, I don't want to watch! This is the empress Sidra, and she is--'

'Beautiful,' Calytrix supplied. 'And mine.'

'You're a lost fucking case. And, besides, I'd say you're hers more than she is yours. A big difference, as I'm sure you'll come to realize! I'd advise you to tread carefully, but I fucking know that that will only inspire you to jump straight into the abyss. Well, do go on! I won't stop you.'

'...didn't you beg me to marry her? Something about the good of the realm?'

The answer to that question was silence, as uncomfortable as a pair of new boots, and Caly knew in that moment that she had scored one of the rare rhetorical victories against Sah'ra. My! Who would have thought that being a woman wed would automatically grant a boost to her wisdom? Ah, the best part of being Calytrix was learning more and more about Calytrix every single day! (...and about all the other girls that had been Calytrix in the past, she supposed. Sometimes, Caly thought about those as well-- about that, and about the birth name she'd forgotten. Oh well! Couldn't have been much nicer than Caly, anyway. Being Calytrix was an honor, and being herself... wasn't. Let's leave it at that.)

Parallel with the conversation happening in her head, Calytrix, of course, managed to keep up with Sidra quite easily. How not? The cognitive capabilities of a goddess exceeded those of the most astute mortal-- had she been so desperately boring, she could also be playing chess at the same time and nobody would have noticed the difference. Still! Chess was the game of the terminally creatively bankrupt, and Calytrix refused to subject herself to such a torture. "Truly?" the goddess's eyes widened, a faint blush gracing her cheeks. "That, ah, would have been most unfortunate. I mean, I can tell that we are fated to be together. The ancient whisperings confirm it." Source: Caly's own ass, because she'd just pulled it from there. Even so! She was a goddess, and the strength of her 'always being right' privileges was undeniable. This Sidra, despite being a conqueror, frankly seemed very nice-- nice enough for her to just know that their love would flourish. Maybe all the planets she had wiped out had been a mere coincidence? Caly herself understood the trouble of being too powerful for her own good, after all!

And the empress kept paying her more and more compliments, causing butterflies to swarm in her belly. Barely did she notice the handmaidens shrouding her in yellow silks-- so focused was she on Sidra, that beautiful, elegant creature, and the words that kept falling from her lips. (...hmm, lips. Lips that touched her hand!!! Alright, had Caly still had a beating heart, it totally would have leapt out of her chest at that point. Also, also, was it too bad that her mind immediately gave her previews of the other things that could be done with her lips? The goddess had studied her literature, you see, and with the cuddling embargo now being lifted, she just... couldn't wait. For any of it.)

Fervently, Caly nodded. "Yes, yes! I have heard. I've been looking forward to it, too. Never before have I been married, but I figured starting out with an empress couldn't be a bad choice. I... I mean, not that I wish to abandon you for some other wife, but it's important to me that my standards remain high. After all, I am a goddess. I guess I wouldn't mind marrying a seamstress if she was beautiful enough, theoretically, and it would still be better than one of those stuck-up high priestesses, but! I feel like the gap would be too high. Although, if it meant she would make a new dress for me every day... hmm. I do like wearing clothes. Do you, Sidra?" she fluttered her long, equally rainbow-colored eyelashes.

"Ehm," Sah'ra coughed, in a way that told Caly she was not pleased. When was she, though? Nope, that wasn't going to bother her! Sah'ra was a big meanie, and probably jealous because the chastity vow no longer applied to her.

"The wedding rites are finalized with a kiss. That's when you will become our revered Calytrix's wife... and mistress. Still, the tradition demands that you..." the high priestess gulped, looking visibly uncomfortable, "...that you prove you will also be our goddess's handmaid, oh blessed one. You must carry her inside the cracked shell temple, wash her feet in the tears of the world, and braid her hair. Only then will our Calytrix be truly yours."

 

[starboob]

With a flick of her elegant wrist, Sidra has destroyed entire pantheons. The moment that led to her flicking her elegant wrist, of course, usually spanned across months, if not years, learning the gods' secrets and weaknesses only to tear them asunder later. None of the divine creatures she has seduced, slaughtered, or subjugated have been without weakness. That has been one of the few universal truths that persists through this wide galaxy––everything has an end and therefore can be ended. It's just a matter of identifying their weaknesses. (The god of her home planet, for example? It only took breaking the faith of his worshippers to in turn break him. Other gods have required special materials to slay them. Some are stupid enough to place their weaknesses right on the knobs of their gilded spines. Her favorites are the ones who require a brilliant mind to solve their complex code. Were it not for her contentious relationship with the divine, she would not have been able to develop nearly as many fail safes and contingencies for her own bodies. So she does thank the blessed gods, really she does.) Perhaps Calytrix will make up for all this underwhelm by proving herself to be a puzzle? A mystery to unravel and solve? While Sidra does think that might be wishful thinking on her end, the gods often are more than meet the eye and there is no telling, then, what hides behind the obnoxiously bright eyes of an guileless god.

Yes, because there could be more to this Calytrix than meets the eye. It would be fatal error for Sidra to assume she knows everything of this goddess after only five minutes of their acquaintance. Even if each word confirms the empress’s initial assessment––that Claytrix is a bimbo––this may not be the full picture yet. While she may very well be a romantic––and Sidra does believe this if only because acting this good doesn’t even exist on the divine level––that does not mean there is not a wolf lurking under all that fucking rainbow colored hair. (Disgusting and undignified, truly. Just because a goddess can do whatever she wants and appear however she pleases does not mean that she should exercise this amount of unrestrained freedom. How is anyone ever going to respect her and, by extension, Sidra? Ugh, if the galaxy is to find out about their dearest Mistress of the Universe marrying such a clown… ‘There will need to be a major PR campaign to ensure no one ever hears her speak.’ She also thinks of keeping this entire affair a secret and is glad she opted to not broadcast this day to all her subjects. It might have been a good show of power to have them all see the Destroyer of Worlds marrying a divine creator, but her hand advised against it. Revealing that she is at the far edges of the galaxy might not be good for all the fires of rebellion she has to snuff out on the daily. Besides, this marriage should be short lived now that she has lost all interest in the goddess. The second she has her claim to those awesome powers, she will off her and then move on with her eternal life, expanding her eternal empire.)

“Ah, fated to be together?” The empress tilts her head to the side, not at all believing the goddess but entertaining her fantasies nonetheless. Even if what she says is true, often the fates are cruel. Especially when Sidra is involved. “And what say these ‘ancient whisperings’ of our fate, my Calytrix?” You know, just in case; it might not hurt her to know. Asking more questions also is a good way for her to determine whether or not the goddess is being crafty with her. (Exist as a liar long enough and all lies become easy to spot.)

Calytrix continues on and on and Sidra only barely manages to hide her annoyance. ‘Perhaps I should augment prime’s ears so that her voice will sound more pleasing to me?’ as the empress assumes she will never get this goddess to shut the fuck up. (Unless, of course, she occupies her mouth with other tasks. Sidra would love to learn what else this goddess’s mouth can do––if anything, the divine have never disappointed her when it comes to the bed.) “I shall have a new dress sent to you everyday that we are married, then.” That’s only, what, fourteen dresses? Even if this somehow extends past that, it’s not like expense necessarily matters to the empress of the entire galaxy. “With fabrics you have never seen or felt and styles from far off lands.” She might as well upsell this whole fairytale thing Calytrix is apparently deluding herself with. “More than you already are, you will be the jewel of everyone’s eye.” Her beauty may very well be the only thing she has going for her, so Sidra may as well find reasons to flaunt it.

When the high priestess reels in the scattered attention of the goddess, Sidra actually finds herself appreciative of Sah’ra’s presence. The feeling, however, is short lived when she informs the empress what she is to do. ‘Don’t blow them up. Don’t blow them up. Don’t blow them up.’ With a practiced amount of grace, she stills her heart, puts on a placid smile, and half-nods to show her acknowledgement of this rite. (In her mind’s eye, she places targets on Sah’ra and several members of the audience. The second this is over, they will walk back to the reception with an explosion of heads in the background.) “If this is what tradition demands, then I am happy to respect my bride’s culture.” ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

Her eyes flick up to the temple that is standing behind the high priestess and then she looks over at the greatest source of contempt she has ever felt in the last decade, at least. “Shall we, my bride?” she extends her hand to the goddess and once Calytrix has taken her hand, she pulls her forward so that their bodies are flush together once again. Then she positions the woman against one arm and bends to gather her legs so that she is carrying her like a baby. (Bridal style, as many other cultures refer to it, but Sidra refuses to dignify this event with the proper terms. This is humiliation and she will humiliate the people in turn. The massacre will only be a warning and, hopefully, those not slaughtered will wish they had been with all the plans percolating in the empress’s esteemed mind.)

While she understands that it had been her own insistence that they follow the rites of the goddess, had she reviewed them beforehand she would have forced her own traditions upon these pathetic people. A trial by combat would have been a much more dignified way for her to prove her worth as the goddess’s wife. ‘Millionth note to self: never agree to savage wedding rites ever again.’ How the fuck does being someone’s fucking servant prove you will be a good wife? Ugh, servitude is not what gets shit done.

Except that it will in this case.

Once they are in the temple, Sidra wastes no time thrilling herself with the scenery. The second she spots what can only be the tears of the world, she sets Calytrix down on the carved stone seat and then kneels before her. Groaning internally, she smoothes her hand down one of her calves and brings her foot into the pool. For this part of the ritual, Sidra refuses to talk or even acknowledge the existence of her bride (which is fairly impressive given the circumstances). She simply does her job. ‘I swear on my heart, if she’s fucking ticklish and kicks me, I will devour Hypathia.’

(Fragments of a soundbyte play in Sidra’s mind as her hands splash in the water, somehow making a connection to her lengthy past. She hears splashing and girlish giggles that then drown out into the sounds of moans. ‘Who was that?’)

With the worst of it over she then moves on to the more bearable part of this ritual. Grabbing the bone comb that has been provided for this purpose, she starts by combing that obnoxiously lurid hair of hers. ‘Braiding this is going to be a nightmare. What if the pattern in the braid doesn’t match or look aesthetically pleasing enough because of all these clashing colors? Then I will be forced to look at that all night. Ugh. She must have chosen these colors specifically to frustrate me.’ Her hair is so fucking long, too. This is going to take for fucking ever. ‘For the empire, Sidra. For the empire.’

Again, not finding much to say right now––at least nothing that won’t damn her––she stays tight-lipped and concentrates on breaking up the sections of hair for the braid she’s chosen. (Could she have asked what her bride wants? Certainly, but Sidra doesn’t think Calytrix can be trusted to know a lick about style given, well, you know.) In the end, the goddess is decorated in several styles of braids; there is a crown braid at the top of her head, then a tucked braid that goes down the back of her scalp that then transitions into a standard braid that drapes over one shoulder. Could she have done something less complicated? Certainly, but that would not been nearly as stimulating. When all is said and done, she beckons her bride to look at herself in the reflection of the pond. “Is this to your liking, Calytrix?” ‘You better fucking like it.’ “I, ah, must have been carried away in all the colors of your hair that I may have went overboard.” It is probably only thanks to Sidra’s careful eye that she was able to craft something pleasing with the rainbow colors.

“As I understand, should this be pleasing to you, we are to kiss?” Her eyes lower to Calytrix’s soft, full lips. “To forever seal our fates together? Truly, I cannot imagine waiting a second longer to be with my destiny. Won't you kiss me, my radiant Calytrix?”

 

[Syntra]

…well. Maybe Caly should have expected the follow up question? Because words kind of worked like that-- you said something, then someone else said something different, and, before you knew it, bam! You were drowning in a sea of questions. (How come that mortals didn’t get overwhelmed? That was a mystery to Calytrix, who only had one mouth, but more thoughts than there were snowflakes in a snowstorm. How terribly inefficient, to have to have your ideas reduced to the sounds that your tongue made! Especially considering she would soon be using her tongue for other things, if the stories were true. Hmm. What a conundrum! ...con-undrum, get it? As in, spoken communication was a fraud and a con, and Calytrix refused to cater to the Big Lingua. And, and, and!!! Yes, this may have had to do with the fact that she hadn't spun the thread of her lie nearly far enough, but only from like, 30%. You've got this, Caly! You're too nice and sweet and adorable for literally anyone to get angry at you. Sah'ra was a notable exception to that rule, but Calytrix suspected that the leading cause for that might have been her terminal bitch disease. Not at all a condition her Sidra was suffering from, surely!) “I don’t feel like telling you,” the goddess smiled, clearly the very embodiment of innocence. "Words bore me. They take too long, and capturing my thoughts is difficult, and I'd rather sing of your beauty instead. That's why," she pinched Sidra's nose playfully, "I will keep this knowledge secret! Not a big deal, since you will find out anyway. Besides, I've heard that giving someone spoilers for their life only brings bad luck. Who knows, maybe I'm saving your empire from being destroyed!" (A few nobles in the audience gasped, while others hid their faces in their hands. Judging by the rustling in the back, a small portion of the guests straight up decided to evacuate. Maybe they couldn't contain their happiness? And the others were looking at them with envy this intense because leaving as well would make them look bad! Due to, you know, all the silly rules that mortals had to uphold. Satisfied that she'd cracked that mystery, Caly put the thought away.)

"But don't worry, sweet Sidra. Once you are mine, I will let you hear my thoughts. Always, always, always, they will be in your head as well! I have so many of them, and I can't wait to share. I bet that you're dying to hear them, too. And oooh, oh, oh, oh! You will be the first one to hear my opinion about the great snake dilemma. I have spent many years pondering over which snake is the most noodle-like, and would therefore make for the best pet. The results will shock you!"

‘I’m pretty sure the results of this will shock you, Caly,” Sah’ra frowned in her general direction. “Helloooo? This woman is an empress! And having an empire means that you’re a giant fucking asshole. Because, you know, it means that you have to take it from other people first. From the people who very much wanted their planets. Why do you think she is marrying you? For your pretty eyes?”

“…no? I know she’s doing it for Hypathia. Doesn’t mean that we can’t get along, though. What, do you want me to be a crying, betrayed victim?” Because, yes, technically, they had betrayed her-- served her up on a silver platter, and given her to an enemy. The decision process had been about as difficult for them as, say, choosing between having a nice dinner or being decapitated. And the fact they had to cut her head off to have something to eat? Eh, didn’t even shock her! (It hadn’t been the first time, nor would it be the last time. The ancient whisperings might have been a steaming heap of bullshit, but that, at least, Caly knew even without the gift of prophecy. Just like a river always flowed into the sea, her path, too, would end in sacrifice.) “Should have chosen someone less hot for me, then. I mean, have you seen her xxx and xxx?”

“Are you… censoring yourself?”

“Of course. She’s my wife. I will not have you thinking of her in inappropriate ways.” For a second or two, Caly would have been willing to bet that Sah’ra would reach for her ritual knife, but the moment came and went. Heh! Yet another victory for the sweet, beautiful, and definitely not delusional goddess of Hypathia. This would totally go straight into her personal ‘moments when I was right’ mental gallery! (And, yes, if you browsed the gallery, you would discover that it contained a slideshow of her entire existence. What? Having to live in the wastelands of endless contempt, Calytrix had devised ways to earn herself some sustenance. Sah’ra, the resident party pooper, wouldn’t know what praise was if it slapped her in the face!)

“Truly?” the goddess gave her a sweet smile. “My, I don’t know what to say. What if I like some of those dresses so much that I decide to re-wear it, though? Won’t all those other dresses get jealous? I mean, if I have so many of them, I won’t be able to give them all equal attention. Especially since I like being naked, too! You would have thought that it’s not so different to being naked in the spiritual form, but having actual skin makes all the difference. Have you ever had your skin stripped down, Sidra?”

For someone who claimed that words bored her, Calytrix hadn’t mastered the art of shutting the fuck up-- she even continued to talk while Sidra carried her to the temple, only missing a beat to… uhh, adjust to the new feeling. To the feeling of being held, that was. (Warm, the goddess noted. Warm, and nice, and safe. What would it be like, to give herself to her? All the books had provided her with rather… hmm, satisfying visuals… but those only gave her a very fuzzy idea of the actual experience. So, as Sidra washed her, she imagined those soft hands… ah, elsewhere. Worshiping some very private places. To her immense surprise, blood rushed straight into her cheeks, and her breathing hitched in her chest. Thump, thump! her heart went, fluttering like a sparrow. …or it would have done that, had it worked in a way hearts traditionally did. Just, details. Leave her alone, okay? Caly just wanted to enjoy her romantic tropes in peace.) “Is it normal that my body reacts to my thoughts?” she asked her wife, with all the wonder of a child that had just found out that the bonbon they’d been sucking on had a chocolate center. “I just imagined you doing something to me and it feels like I got a trial version! Also, also, will you be doing this every day? I feel like you’re very talented at this-- such talents shouldn’t be squandered.”

But, ah, it didn’t end there. Sidra was all over her, touching her hair, her neck, her face, and, the more she did that, the more Calytrix wanted to melt in her. (Was that what this ritual was for? Preparing her for her wife? If so, then the goddess had to admit that it worked.) “It’s stunning,” she beamed and pulled at one of her braids, unwittingly loosening the complicated pattern. No matter, though! It wasn’t like such a small thing could possibly anger her beautiful, kind, and patient Sidra. “Thank you! I’d braid your hair as well, but I don’t think my fingers are nimble enough. The last time I tried, I set that girl’s hair on fire.” …what?

“Yes, though. I, um, suppose that it is time to kiss you? I haven’t kissed anyone before, so I hope I don’t disappoint you too much. Give me a review? Because I want to be good for you, just as you are good for me.” Calytrix’s eyes fluttered shut, before getting closer, closer, closer-- until their lips met, and galaxies exploded behind her lids.

 

[starboob]

“That shall not be necessary. Though I do appreciate the thoughtfulness of the,” she slaps Calytrix’s hand away from her nose, “gesture, there is a pleasure in keeping mystery alive lest we grow bored.” That and the very idea of being subjected to every single one of this goddess’s thoughts sounds like a specific kind of torture that Sidra would rather not partake in. “Anyway, there is no great mystery as to which snake makes for the best pet––an anaconda is clearly the best pick.” She does enjoy watching Gal squeeze the life out of her enemies––nearly as much as she enjoys watching them rip throats out. (Where is that blasted companion, anyway?)

Anyway that Calytrix refuses to divulge more on the secrets of the ‘ancient whisperings’ should not be a surprise. Those with gifts of clairvoyance are often secretive about the knowledge they know, lest they ruin what is to come to pass. Still, the mention of the fate of her empire does pique her interest and she notes the nobles in the audience who gasp. She also notes the ones who leave and decides that she will be paying them a very personal visit later on. (How dare they get to leave her wedding when she is still very much stuck marrying the galaxy’s biggest idiot––biggest superpowered idiot, at that. How she envies them.)

Within the temple, however, she is forced to endure being alone with her bride. Her bride who has as many things to say as there are flies on a pile of shit. Sidra is narrowly avoiding the urge to clasp her hands around Calytrix’s throat and strangle her. (Would that even shut her up? Or would it just cause her words to come out in a haste? She dare not risk that.) Thankfully, with her head bowed, Calytrix cannot see how the empress’s eye twitches at the suggestion she make this a regular occurrence. ‘How can a goddess suffer from brain damage?’ “I excel in all that I do,” she states simply, and how can anyone even claim this is arrogance? This is the woman who became eternal; who tamed the galaxy. “But there are maidens whose only gift is washing the feet of their betters and so you shall have them to wash yours, Calytrix. If any of them are not to your liking, send them to me and I shall see if I can help correct their technique. Only the best for my Calytrix, after all. And worry not about my hair, I would not waste your talents on something so frivolous.” She also enjoys her head not being on fire, as a general rule. Call her crazy.

Anyway, ignoring Calytrix's usual dramatics, Sidra finds her lips pressed up to someone new for the fourth time today. (Yes, because an hour before her wedding she had been fiddling with one of the handmaidens who had helped her into this atrocious garb; there was also that woman who was in her bed this morning and she made for a lovely romp; and then about twenty minutes before the ceremony she managed to rile up another handmaiden. All of these women will find themselves dead by tomorrow morning. Perhaps tonight if the parasites she planted in them hatch sooner than anticipated, as sometimes happen.) As far as kisses go, and the empress has collected thousands upon thousands at this point in her eternal life, this one doesn’t rank at the bottom and that is the nicest thing Sidra has to say about. Mostly because she doesn’t have anything else to say about it. It’s just a kiss and that is all there is to it; it is merely meant to seal that the goddess belongs to her and that this stupid fucking ritual is almost over.

The empress pulls away before it can get too hot and pats her wife on the cheek. She offers nothing more of a ‘review’ than that. (She honestly does not think that Calytrix had been serious about her request. Then again, she should not doubt this goddess's stupidity.) She also doesn’t ask for any feedback on the matter herself. It was just a kiss and something she’ll forget about the second she leaves this shithole in fifteen days. (Although, Sidra may not even last the entire evening before she launches her essence back up to prime and leaves the goddess with her clone. This Calytrix is one of the most annoying creatures she has ever had the displeasure of meeting. More than that, Sidra is beginning to even doubt she is divine. For all she knows the idiots native to Hypathia may very well know nothing of the divine. It’s not even a difficult conclusion for her to jump to given this nasty temple and ghastly wedding ceremony and the 'goddess' herself.)

“Come, my wife, let us show the good nobles of Hypathia their newest ruling couple,” she stands to her full height and extends her hand towards Calytrix, refusing to carry her this time around. (Though that honestly had been the least humiliating part of the ritual. If anything, Sidra liked that it at least showed off her strength. Everything else will be burned in fires so hot, it could melt a fucking sun.)

When the couple exit the temple, there is, of course, no applause. How can there be when they have just married off their goddess to the most powerful woman in the galaxy? A woman who has earned her title as the Destroyer of Worlds––not to mention her title as God Cleaver. (Who needs gods when you can break them? Who needs to reach for divinity when you have already proven that you are already harder to break than diamonds?) The empress grips the goddess’s hand a little tighter and pulls her arm into the air––it could be read as a show of union or triumph, depending on the lens capturing this historic win. (She really does hope none of her people are recording this. This is not even worthy of being a footnote in the anthology of her accomplished life.) “Your goddess, Calytrix, and myself, Sidra the Empress Eternal, are now wed by the rites of Hypathia and the goddess herself. You may rejoice, for your planet has been saved from falling into oblivion and irrelevance, now that it has joined my grand empire.” With her signature winning smile, she looks towards her wife, the most annoying creature who she has ever had to meet, “Do lead me to the celebration, my prize. I am anxious to get to the rest of the festivities.”

 

[Syntra]

There were few things Calytrix couldn’t have. She couldn’t have wind, for it loved to run unrestricted; she couldn’t have people’s hearts, because those, too, loved their freedom; she couldn’t have herself from her pre-Calytrix era, as she no longer remembered what that had been like. Those things, and some others, were hanging just outside of her reach. Not that she necessarily wanted them, mind you-- Caly was content being Caly, and maybe, just maybe it was also sort of nice to yearn from time to time. You know, to sigh and moan and get lost in all those sweet what-ifs, without really getting to explore them? It made her feel a little closer to her mortal friends, at least. (Often, the goddess felt as if she was… kind of peering through a window, perpetually. The window was frozen over, and in order to get a really good look, she always had to wipe away the frost. Still, despite her doing that? The glass distorted, and played tricks on her eyes-- never could she see what those who were inside could, no matter how hard she tried. Yes, it was like that! Except that the house she was trying to see was existence, and the window… herself, she guessed. Again, being Caly was great! One out of one Calys would recommend, which, in case you weren’t a genius mathematician such as herself, translated to 100% approval. It was just that, from time to time, the goddess would have loved being someone else-- someone whose choices hadn’t been stripped away from her, along with her old body. Someone whose experiences could be a little more normal. And, in a weird way? In a weird way, the marriage helped to bridge the gap a little bit. Nobody will take this away from me, she thought, as she stared into her bride’s eyes. This is the definition of normal, right? People get married all the time. Not to the empresses and conquerors of the universe, presumably, but hey, Calytrix would take what she could!)

…no review, though? Why? Was her kiss not dazzling enough? The dazzling factor, Caly had heard, could make or break a marriage, and she would hate to start on a wrong note. (Sidra conquering Hypathia? Eh, not that big of a deal. What did it matter who ruled the planet, anyway? The mortals loved to fight over the crown, as if it was the last piece of a delicious cake, but to Calytrix, who the big boss was made little difference. Still, the twin suns would rise, and still would they jump over the horizon when the time was right. So, when you compared the amount of happiness in the world before and after Sidra? It had actually increased, because the main takeaway was that she now had a gorgeous, hot, and kind wife! Politics could go suck it.) “W-was it good enough?” she asked, fidgeting with one of her braids. “Was I meant to move my tongue like that? I can move it more, or less, or detach it and leave it in your mouth. I mean, if you want, you could keep it? I can totally grow a new one and let you have this one as a souvenir!” Indeed, nobody could accuse Calytrix of being greedy. To her followers, she gave much and more, and to her dear wife… there were few things she wouldn’t give, really. Anything for love, as they said! (Her inner Sah’ra frowned greatly at those words, but, being the inner Sah’ra, she didn’t have the sufficient privileges to actually burst Caly’s happy bubble. Tee hee! Back to imagining what being held by Sidra would be like. Back to running all the fantasies she had ever had, actually, with the added benefit of getting to transplant Sidra’s features on the previously faceless figures. …a-ah. Was it getting too hot here?) “But, yes, everyone should know of our happiness. I mean, if I am happy, the people are happy, and this keeps the cycle of happiness alive. Let’s be happy together, Sidra!”

Calytrix walked not, but skipped outside-- a neat little trick she’d learned when she’d played with those children who had brought her ice-cream as sacrifice last week. Why didn’t more people travel from point A to point B in that way? To the goddess, it totally seemed like 100% more efficient! (…hehe, percentages. Since she’d discovered them last week, she felt like a mature, accomplished woman. Sah’ra had held the knowledge over her head for years, but finally, finally had she cracked the code! It really did suck to be her-- now she’d lost the rest of her relevance she’d been desperately clinging to!)

The faces they were met with outside were solemn, with worry written in their features, and for a moment or two, Caly suspected they might have forgotten what the occasion was. After all, didn’t that happen often? To the goddess, at least-- with her thoughts skipping from one place to another, it was supremely easy to convince yourself that you were at a funeral when you were actually partying in an active volcano. Eh, it was an honest mistake! There was no way that her faithful worshipers wouldn’t be happy for her, the way that stupid Sah’ra refused to be.

“We love you!” Caly screamed into the crowd. “The new era of prosperity has begun! I mean, we’ve always been prosperous,” citation needed, “but this will be the most prosperous times to ever prosper. Prosper, prosper, proper! …isn’t it funny how, when you repeat a word for a loooong time, it kind of loses its meaning? Maybe it gets diluted per syllable, or something.”

…further festivities, however? Now that phrase alone caused her dead heart to beat again, and all of a sudden, the goddess found it impossible to look anywhere else but at her feet. Calm down, calm down, calm down!!! “I, ah, believe our marriage is to be consummated now. Isn’t the phrase funny? Consummate. Kind of sounds like consume, but you aren’t going to eat me, are you?” Somewhere behind her, she could hear the faint sounds of Sah’ra choking, but that couldn’t stop her. Nah, her high priestess filter was too strong for her! “After all, I’m not bread. If I were food, I’d probably be something more exciting, too – ice-cream, I’d wager – but I’m not even that! Isn’t it funny how words work?” Wasn’t it funny how stupid she felt? Ugh, ugh, ugh! Good thing that her wife was the kindest, most understanding woman in the entire galaxy.

“Ehm,” Sah’ra coughed, “yes, that is true. It is traditional for the others to feast while you take care of your marital duties. A chamber has been prepared for you, oh blessed ones.”

The chamber, as Calytrix didn’t fail to note, was huge. Someone had scattered rose petals on the floor, and unmistakably, the path led towards the bed-- a queen-sized bed, drowning in red satin. Uncharacteristically quiet, Caly plopped down on it, and then… then, what? Should she let Sidra lead? Should she close her eyes? Should she… should she…? The feeling in her stomach was anticipation, yes, but also something a little different, and, being the woman she was, Calytrix couldn’t continue. Not like this. After all, Sidra’s reaction to that kiss had been so lukewarm, and, and, and!!! To truly please her wife, the goddess felt that she had to… ah, study some more. You know, to avoid being a disappointment. “I can’t,” the words spilled past her lips, before she could do anything about it. “I… I think I would like to get to know you first. Won’t it be better if we let our feelings ripen? Tell me more about yourself. Why did you decide to conquer the galaxy? Were you bored? Did you flip a coin?” Because, obviously, there were few forces more powerful than good ol’ coin flip! It had decided the fate of Hypathia several times already, even if Sah’ra had been so very bitter about it. “…would you like to see my collection of rocks? I have tons of rocks! One of them even reminds me of your face, even if it’s not as chiseled. I… I think that rock may have foretold our marriage now, because I did kiss it some when I wanted to practice.”

 

[starboob]

It really is embarrassing that she has had to wed this stupid creature for the prosperity of her empire. Sidra wishes that she could say Calytrix’s own address to her people makes her snort, but truthfully? She finds it sad. Sad and disappointing that the goddess cannot see what is right in front of her nose. Has she not heard the rumors or is she merely choosing to ignore them? While the empress knows she has not exactly been transparent with her wife, one would have expected some level of caution and trepidation when being married off to the galaxy’s conqueror. That would be smart and, alas, Calytrix has proven she is allergic to intellect and wisdom. (It’s surprising that being around Sidra has not caused her to combust as a result of being in such close proximity to genius. Then again, it’s surprising that Sidra has not melted being so close to such idiocy. That her brain didn’t melt when they kissed may be the only miraculous thing about this day.) ‘Do make sure she never speaks publicly. The girl is a disaster with her mouth.’ Then when she watches her wife skip (what a gross waste of energy), she adds to that, ‘Figure out how to chop off her legs. She clearly has no use for them.’

Harsh? Perhaps, but Sidra has long since lost her ability to gauge what is and is not an appropriate reaction. It comes with age, she supposes. These things just start to matter less and less the more meaningless that consequence becomes. (There are no consequences, you see. Not when you are the exalted one in charge of the galaxy. Nothing waits after death, so there is nary a point in being upstanding while alive. Besides, who is to say that what Sidra does is not upstanding and for the overall good of the galaxy? She has culled the weak and given strength to the survivors. That, in her book, is the definition of righteous.) Make no mistake, the empress is not deluded enough to assume that what she has accomplished won’t catch up with her. She understands that she has enemies––the many attempts on her life prove that––and so she assumes that her position will inspire many to be a hero to the galaxy. Someday she will fall, her empire will crumble, and she will die. These are the principles of decay. This is the cycle of life and is not yet arrogant enough to think herself above it. There have been close calls, after all. Even with her confidence, her guard is never down as she does not plan on giving the hero at the other end of her story an easy victory. She wants to make sure whoever it is who takes her down earns it. Where’s the fun and joy in being handed a victory? The real reward is puzzling through the challenge that leads to victory, not the victory itself. At least, that is what she has found.

So, even with her unflattering assessment of her wife, she does not let her guard down. There may not be a wolf underneath that rainbow sheepskin, but why chance the risk? She must be cautious if she is to remain on top. Speaking of remaining on top, the subject of her marital duties is brought to the center and Sidra can feel her mouth water in anticipation. ‘What will it be like to claim all that power for myself? To do what no other mortal woman has managed? This may be my greatest victory,’ even if it comes at the cost of all this humiliation.

This feeling alone helps add a spring to her step as she follows the living battery to their marital chambers. Although, perhaps that pep is also brought about by the chorus of exploding heads and subsequent screams as the newly weds depart. (The incessant drumming from before? It does drown out most of the screams, that is unfortunate, but it does also add a certain drama to the scene that she can appreciate.) Sah’ra, she makes sure, is given the special privilege of experiencing her skin peeling off layer by layer. Ah, the wonders of technology! Truly a novel. (That is what that crone gets for her little defiances as well as insisting that singing a song had been a traditional part of the wedding rituals.) Her fleet of ships that had been idling in a neighboring sector, all beam into Hypathia’s atmosphere and cover the skies. Soon her soldiers will be milling about the streets, taking down the flags of old, and establishing the new regime. All while she steals the goddess’s powers. All in all, not a bad day for the empress of the universe.

Or so she would have thought.

The second that the chamber doors are shut and locked behind them, Calytrix proceeds to drop a bomb that actually manages to catch Sidra off guard––she would have been impressed by this feat were this surprise not so unwelcome. While Sidra has no qualms about seducing untouched maidens, she really does not need to spend the extra hour on this shithole of a planet. And that, unfortunately, is being optimistic. More than likely this Calytrix, an apparent romantic, will want everything laid at her feet before she’s willing to open herself up to the empress. (The urge to abandon this body and let the hollow clone do all the work is tempting. Extremely so. She’s even pulling up the protocols in her mind to ready herself for a hasty exit. Then she thinks better of it. If only because there is the slightest chance she won’t be able to beam herself back into the body in time to devour the goddess’s powers and that would not be ideal. Aside from herself, there is only one other who would be suitable enough to claim this power and she lies fast asleep waiting for––)

“Did you just compare me to a rock?” Sidra scoffs, not at all amused by how this evening is turning out. As if she has not been insulted enough! Truly, this Calytrix is going to give her a run for all that she’s worth and Sidra intends to keep score of all these offenses. ‘I am going to split open her skull, melt her brain, and stuff her head with that precious fucking collection of hers––that is, if her head is not already being used as the container for her collection.’ That would honestly explain a lot, not that she actually believes that.

The empress turns her back on her wife and begins to undo the pins holding this barbaric garment into place; she then grabs a robe to cover herself. “Well, now I don’t find myself quite in the mood for pleasure when my wife has just insulted me.” She glides through the room and searches for the damn alcohol that she specifically requested. Naturally, it’s not there, because everyone on Hypathia seems to have a fucking death wish. She pinches the bridge of her nose and spins around to face Calytrix, not even able to hide her irritation with this entire mess of situation. “If you wish to know something about me, you are welcome to speak with my biographer or search for the information yourself. It is not hard to find.”

Eventually, she settles into the armchair that’s stuffed in the corner of the chamber. She crosses one arm over her stomach and then taps her rouged lips, silence falling between them while she deliberates her new angle. If she wants to recover from her small outburst, she knows that she must act quickly. Ugh, fine.

She slumps into the armchair, even going so far as to slouch, as she breathes out an exasperated sigh. “Forgive my outburst––I don’t take kindly to all these insults and today has been rather exhausting for me. To be fair, I would not even be able to give you my best were we to fulfill the last rites of this union.” She rests her cheek on her fist and observes her wife. “Also, please understand that I am rather private about the lesser known details of my life. My wife you may be, but I likewise know very little about you," aside from the fact that she is a dumbass. "If you would like to know beyond what my biographer can supply, you will have to earn my trust as I must earn yours.”

“So tell me, Calytrix, how far are you willing to go to be a good wife to myself?” she quirks a brow. ‘Quit fiddling with that damn braid. You’re fucking ruining it.’ “I am willing to change the course of history to be your best wife. Of course, I know that as a mortal my gifts shall pale in comparison to what you can do, but I still shall try to rise to your level of excellence.” As if she hasn’t surpassed it already.

 

[Syntra]

When Sidra asked her question, Caly’s expression could only be described as ‘???’ Mostly because, really, this was a very ‘???’ situation. “Yes?” the goddess tilted her head aside, clearly uncomprehending what the problem was. “I mean, rocks are neat. They are big and strong, and small and brittle, and anything you want them to be! But, when I look at you, I am reminded of the rocks big enough to form mountains. Or do you think that rocks are fragments of mountains instead? It’s kind of like the chicken vs egg dilemma, but like, not for cowards. Because these are the really important things!” Calytrix, and nervous? Nooo, never! She was a goddess, and thus too resilient to ever succumb to such wretched emotions. Nuh uh. (Sah’ra had once claimed that she had all the resilience of an ice-cream cone in the middle of a desert, but, but, but!!! The high priestess was a certified poopy head, actually, and 90% of what she said was nonsense. A little-known fact to be sure, though a true one nonetheless. Caly had gone through the trouble of counting her success rate, and, even if she’d failed in the end, everything suggested that it would be abysmally low! …‘everything,’ of course, being her instincts. Her 100% organic tip top instincts, grown in a gluten-free, GMO-resistant environment. They were the best instincts to ever instinct, and if her predictions ever didn’t pan out, you would get your money back! Ahem.) Anyway, why even consider feeling that way around her sweet wife? Conqueror empress or not, Sidra had freed her from her gilded cage. Her hotness factor was also well over 9000, and Calytrix was pretty sure that the gods wouldn’t grant hot privileges to someone who wasn’t good to the core. Like, wasn’t hotness the reward for being an exemplary human being? Why else even try and be good, hmm? Yeah, yeah, the promise of an eternal life was tempting enough, but also obviously fake, and set in the distant, distant future. Looks had the advantage of being real.

But, oh no, no, no! A misunderstanding must have been born somewhere between Caly’s lips and Sidra’s ears, because it seemed that her beloved didn’t take it very well. “Insulted you?” Calytrix repeated, no less confused than before. (In fact, on the official scale of confusion, she had just moved from 'baby antelope' to 'kicked puppy.' Indeed, they did have such a scale on Hypathia-- both because Caly considered it important to categorize feelings, and because spending time on cooing over baby animals was clearly the best use of her divine energy. Ugh, so cute! ...the common link with this situation was that it was not cute, in case you were interested. An anti-parallel.) "But, Sidra, I did no such thing. I didn't mean to! I... I..." Except, the goddess knew that 'not meaning to' and 'not doing' were two very distinct things. They did exist on a similar-ish spectrum, but 'not meaning to' was like, a thousand times more whoopsie-adjacent. Damn! What if she had just whoopsied her way into ruining her own marriage? (...it should have been obvious, really. A foregone conclusion. When you spent your whole life looking into that metaphorical room, actually entering it was jarring. Kind of like, you know, trying to walk for the first time? Un-fucking-surprisingly, all she did was stumble. Caly had done her fair share of stumbling, of course, but usually, she didn't step on other people's feet in the process, and, and, and!!! What if Sidra didn't love her anymore? Being stuck in a loveless marriage was a number one cause of being kidnapped by a handsome rebel, which... yeah, might have been nice, but not if you were a goddess. Hypathia needed her. That, and she'd already resolved to love Sidra!)

"I'm sorry," the goddess sighed dramatically, covering her her eyes with her dainty hand. "I should have asked for your list of hated similes beforehand. I swear, I will never do it again! I... uh, I suppose I could simply say that you resemble Sidra if I feel the need to compare you to something again. After all, you are rather Sidra-like... considering that you're Sidra." Caly nodded sagely, as if she had just revealed some grand secret of the universe to the empress. And, hey, maybe she had! Not everyone had the privilege to be quite like themselves, Calytrix had come to realize. Mortals had these... hmm... inclinations, she guessed? Yes, inclinations! Inclinations to slip into patterns, dictated by those who had come before them.

"Booo," she pursed her lips when her beloved wife denied her the information, citing a lack of trust. Well, fine! "And how are you going to get to know me when I'm not allowed to ask you questions? Sah'ra," who had been suspiciously quiet, by the way, "always says that questions are like glue. You are supposed to ask about the people you care about, Sidra. Has nobody taught you?" Caly was sitting on the bed, swinging her legs left and right, left and right, left and right, and wondering with some small part of her brain whether that was the entire appeal of having them. Wheee! It did generate those precious wheee-feels, that was for certain. "You're free to ask me about anything, by the way. Anything at all! I will answer, even if I don't know. I will just make something up, and that will be even better than the truth." After all, wasn't a reality custom-made by a goddess for you and you only better than some shoddy realism? Right, thought so.

"But, sure, all is forgiven!" Calytrix gave her her signature victory smile, and struck a victory pose. Yay for not ruining her marriage before it had even begun! Once again, it was proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Sah'ra's """premonitions""" sucked. When the empress spoke of the depth of her own devotion, though? She leaned forward, hanging on her lips, her mouth open in a tiny 'o'. Wow! Her worshippers loved her because, duh, of course they did, but this felt more real. More authentic. "Make no mistake, Sidra. I, too, will move the heavens just to make you smile! And I will use alllll of my powers to make you feel beautiful and special and treasured. For example..." A metaphorical lightbulb flashed above her forehead, and Caly snapped her fingers. There was a shower of sparks, sparks as obnoxiously colored as her hair, and... uh, butterfly wings sprouted from Sidra's back? Large ones, too, doubtlessly capable of carrying her weight. Giggling girlishly, Calytrix clapped. "See! Only I can introduce so much color into your life. Smile, Sidra! I will give you all of the reasons to forget what not smiling feels like."

 

[starboob]

Though it bears no repeating, Sidra wishes that she could rip this trash planet into two with her bare fucking hands. That is how much this marriage irritates her and it has not even been a full twenty-four hours of knowing her wife. What’s worse is that, for the time being, there is no easy way for her to escape this predicament. If she is to understand the goddess’s powers correctly, they are hers only after the marriage is consummated and if she is to understand her wife correctly, that will only happen once their feelings ripen. Obviously, that will never happen. It is an actual statistical impossibility, but the goddess does not need to know that. She only needs to be fooled and while that isn’t proving to be all that challenging, Sidra will need to keep as much of her composure as she can muster and that is becoming a degrading task with each second that passes.

The coil of anger in her belly is so close to snapping that Sidra has to actively concentrate on the rhythm of her breath lest her vision start to spot with red. Had she known that the universe were capable of creating such an insufferable personality, she never would have agreed to this marriage. She would have figured a different path. In fact, she is still considering alternatives to this marriage as she does not think she can stand Calytrix for a second longer. She even envisions nullifying the marriage via vaporization and imagines how satisfying that will feel when that day finally comes; the day that she can press that shiny button and end all of Hypathia for being the galaxy’s breeding grounds for insuperability and mediocrity. This does seem to relax the empress as she settles into the seat and the crease in her brow starts to smooth. Even if she can hear the faint echo of her wife’s prattling, she reminds herself of what victory will taste like. 'All great victories take sacrifice. Do not give up so easily on this quest.'

The empress smooths her hands over her hair, pushing it behind her ears as she tries to brave this “conversation” once more. (She will certainly need to make sure that she spaces out her time with Calytrix, while also ensuring that they are making enough progress on the “ripening of their feelings” so that those powers are hers within a fortnight’s time. She surmises that should mean they only spend breakfasts together. That ought to suffice. Content with this new strategy, she slides back into the conversation as if she had never been away.) It seems Calytrix is now sputtering out an apology for her earlier insult. Good. “Indeed, I am Sidra and there really is not a better comparison,” she nods, “Being myself is an honor on its own as is being Calytrix, I imagine.” She cannot believe she does not gag saying that––ugh, in another life she is a decorated actress.

“Fine, I suppose I can share one thing with you myself––but let us not be hasty, there is obviously a lifetime to get to know one another,” and that lifetime is two weeks. Sidra is adamant about this. The empress purses her lips together as she considers what she might offer her wife to build the foundation for their feelings to ripen or whatever. “Becoming empress of the galaxy was rather serendipitous. I did it just to see if I could. No one has stopped me, or even come close, and so I have never been inspired to stop. There is still more to explore and much more to learn.” There, that ought to get the goddess to trust her more, right?

Then all the composure she has been working to hold together begins to crack when sparks shower over her head. Her eyes widen, knowing something unpleasant and infuriating is about to happen (call it a sixth sense), and she opens her mouth to shout, “Calytrix!” Alas, she is too late and before she knows it, wings are sprouting from her back––large and obnoxious and completely throwing off her center of gravity! The empress falls forward from her chair and the wings drape limply over her; her white hair cascades over her features to (thankfully) hide the fires burning in her eyes. She pushes herself up to her forearms with her fists clenched and head still bowed.

“How interesting, Calytrix,” she says, just short of hissing. “You claim to want to be a good wife for me and yet do nothing to demonstrate such. These,” to which she gestures to the ridiculous wings that have sprouted from her back (without her fucking permission), “are not the way to my heart. If I wanted to augment my appearance and body, I would have done so.” As if the idea of giving herself wings has not already crossed the empress’s mind before, but that was so three thousand years ago. (And her wings were much more aesthetically and thematically pleasing.) “Are you trying to suggest that you do not like me as I am?” Finally, now that her eyes are calmer than before, Sidra lifts her head to stare at the goddess and instead of anger there is only insult reflected in them.

“There is no need to anticipate my desires, my prize. That is rather unhealthy,” she continues, because if there is one thing Sidra has come to understand in her short time of knowing the goddess, it is that she has a deranged obsession with this marriage being romantic. As if marriages are meant for romance. It is quite sad that no one has informed her otherwise. Still, playing this angle might help get it through the goddess’s thick skull that Sidra does not appreciate this gesture one bit and will not be amused with others of this variety any time soon. “Perhaps you should try asking me what it is that will make me happy. Then you might actually earn yourself a smile with your gestures.” Just a recommendation.

Without hesitation, and refusing to bear this humiliation any longer, Sidra raises her fist above her head and pulls a ruby red sword out of the air, promptly proceeding to slice off the wings in one clean motion. She doesn’t even allow herself to think twice about it. She winces and sucks in a sharp breath as tears spring to her eyes and pain devours her back. The wound throbs and burns and she remains propped on her forearms for several minutes, shaking from the shock of pain. (It comes somewhat as a welcome distraction from her wife’s inane ramblings.) Then she gathers herself from the floor and rises to stand. She lets go of the sword and it shimmers, disappearing back into its invisible sheath. Her golden eyes cut over to Calytrix and, as if nothing has happened, she says, “You may ask me three questions per day and that is it. This will most effectively parse out the getting to know each other stage.”

“Now, if you do not mind, I am going to retire for the evening,” she gathers her robe and pulls it tighter around her, making for the exit. (If the goddess thought she might be able to “spoon” the empress all night, she will be devastatingly disappointed. Sidra never shares a bed with her wives or anyone, for that matter. There are far too many risks involved––plus, she needs to retire this clone and place herself in one that has not been mutilated and she prefers for that process to be private.) “Tomorrow marks the first day of our tour through Hypathia and we shall reconvene when it is time to depart. The itinerary has been sent to your handmaidens who shall prepare you in the morning. Do think long and hard about the three questions you wish to ask me and I shall think about the ones I wish to ask you. I bid thee goodnight.”

And with that, the empress departs and releases an exhale that could fell mountains.

 

[Syntra]

Caly didn't remember dreaming. She must have been able to do that at some point-- it was a gift granted to mortals, and she... well, she'd been one as well, so, so long ago. Still, the goddess had ears! (Occasionally, when she decided that it would be fun to have them. Sometimes, when it got too painful to listen to Sah'ra's comments, Calytrix went for... ah, less traditional anatomy. Couldn't listen to her drivel without those, eh? And, no, the mind reading didn't count! For reasons. Caly-approved reasons. All reasons that were Caly-approved were valid, even if the likes of Sah'ra couldn't comprehend it.) Anyway! Before the goddess had gotten lost on another (very important) tangent, she had wanted to say that she talked to her mortals. Dreams, in particular, were an interesting topic-- mind recycling, as she liked to call it. With bated breath, Caly listened to the stories of dreams changing into nightmares in an instant, just like that! Within the blink of an eye... if you possessed a body inferior enough to be forced to blink, anyway. A colossal waste of time, but like, good for mortals? Still better than having your eyes dry out in your skull, Caly guessed. That couldn't havr been too pleasant.

A-n-y-w-a-y (holy mother of tangents), Calytrix's beautiful dream was transforming into a nightmare at the exact same rate. Just!!! How could this be happening? She hadn't done anything wrong. All she had wanted was to introduce more color into her wife's life, because, really, who didn't love colors? (Maybe someone who made sure not to wear too many of them, which Caly might find out on the next episode of 'Gaining Self-Awareness: Other People Are Not Your Carbon Copies.' Just maybe, though! Calytrix rather liked pretending that people were like her, mostly because that made them so much more likeable. Just, imagine being a cute goddess? Yeah.) "But Sidra," she said, biting her lip nervously. "I'm... I'm sorry? I didn't mean to. I was just thinking I'd surprise you, but... but I made a mistake." (Because she was stupid. Sah'ra always said so, usually in the middle of one of her boring, boring lessons on not eating yellow snow and such, except that Caly had never once believed her. Her mental armor had been too strong! But if Sidra, her beloved wife, thought so as well... ah, perhaps it was true. Not even goddesses were resistant to brain rot, after all. Unless she had lost her brain as well? Caly hadn't thought to check, so maybe it was long gone. In hindsight, that would have explained a lot of things.)

"I will do better, though!" the goddess did her best to smile, despite the fact that disappointment was crushing her chest with an iron fist. I'm not a failure, she reminded herself. Not until I give up. Checkmate, ladies and gentlemen! Since I have the whole eternity to be a better wife, it's statistically very unlikely that I'll continue to suck at it. It wasn't straight up impossible, though, and, had she not been a goddess, Caly would have said that she was developing a spicy new anxiety. Haha! "I promise. Pinkie promise. Next time, I will ask you if... Sidra? What are you doing?" Calytrix could only watch with wide eyes as the other woman drew her sword, and-- and--

(Blood. So, so much of it. The rustling of ravens' wings filled her ears, and it was overwhelming, much more than what she could stand, and, aaargh! Why wouldn't they shut up? It wasn't her fault. Wasn't, wasn't, wasn't! They'd made her do it, and even if they hadn't, it wouldn't have been her fault.)

Caly's cyan eyes turned vacant, as if her spirit had left her body. You could easily slap a 'nobody's home' sticker on her forehead, and it wouldn't necessarily be wrong. Still, still she held onto her consciousness, just like a drowning woman might hang onto a blade of grass. For Sidra! For their marriage, and the fairytale ending she just knew she would get. "That, um, was a bit extreme, don't you think? Not to judge if you like cutting pieces of yourself off, of course, but I thought you mortals were more breakable than that. Or am I misremembering? Silly me!" Three questions per day, though... how was she supposed to fit a universe worth of knowledge into a space so cramped? Because that was what she wanted - no, needed - to know about Sidra. Sidra, who... was leaving? That was fine. More than fine, actually, because it wasn't like Calytrix had been planning to spend the night talking to her new wife. Love required time, right? Time, and understanding, and all those other things she had never really had, from her position behind the window.

(Why did it feel like the door was not only shut, but also locked now? ...she may or may not have spent the night crying instead. Oh well.)

***

New day, new opportunities to fuck up! No, Caly chastised herself, more opportunities to learn. Yesterday wasn't a failure. If anything, I learned that Sidra is wings-phobic. Just refrain from making her grow wings, and everything will be fine! (Somehow, the goddess was beginning to doubt that, though. Maybe Sah'ra had poisoned her heart? Stupid high priestesses and their stupid tendencies to always be righ! Couldn't she, like, take a break from that? ...although, judging by the complete silence in her head, the woman may have done just that. How rude! Not even responding to her messages was going a step too far, as far as Calytrix was concerned.)

Anyway, Sidra was right that they ought to pay some nobles a visit. It only took her a few seconds to get ready, both because a) she was a goddess and thus perfect already, b) she'd forgotten to put on her clothes again. Oh well! Nobody was going to mind, surely. Wearing only a smile as wide as the divide between them, Caly invited herself (read: barged) in her wife's chambers. "Sidra!" she shouted, before pulling aside the curtains and letting the twin suns of Hypathia bless the room with their brilliance. "Did you sleep well? I... wait, does that count as one of my questions? Oh no, was that ano- aaah! Ignore everything I just said," Calytrix waved her hand resolutely, as if scratching it out with a big red pen. "I forgot to tell you yesterday, but we need to visit Olearra first. Olearra the Treasurer! She takes care of the realm's finances. Apparently, that makes her powerful? Dunno, I created the title because counting coins has always bored me. That, and I figured I could make some mortals feel important. They really dig that feeling, y'know? Kind of like when you decided to conquer the galaxy. I mean, that was an extreme example of being a slave to one's ego, but it's essentially the same thing." (Was she trying to insult her wife? Certainly not, yet it seemed like Caly was breaking a new record in that discipline every day.) "Anyway, Olearra is... particular," Calytrix giggled. "There are many rules to visiting her mansion. It may or may not be cursed," what, "and to ward off the totally not real curse that I haven't caused," again, what??? "we will need to break in there and scare her out of her wits. If she sees us before we see her, it's over. Not for me, probably, but, you know. Also, I haven't visited her since she installed that super advanced security system. Any ideas?" Caly raised her eyebrow, about as casual as if she was asking about Sidra's favorite brand of tea.

 

[starboob]

Sidra sleeps like a baby. She does not toss or turn with guilt. She does not dream. And she most certainly does not think of the twit she now calls her wife. For those sweet six hours, the empress experiences bliss.

The second she reaches the sixth hour of her sleep cycle, her golden eyes open and her handmaidens surround her. The empress and her maidens move in a synchronized rhythm, giving the impression that they might be operating as a hive mind. (Knowing the empress, it is very possible she has the maidens under some form of spell.) Sidra holds out her arms and her nightgown is removed, then a red dress is draped over her body; followed by a golden pauldron, matching breastplate, vambraces, and faulds that go over the dress. (The armor appears to made of golden scales and it is, in fact, something the empress acquired from a dragon––a gift, and not one that required any manipulation.) She sticks out her lips and a layer of lipstain is applied. She holds on her hand and nails are manicured. She opens her mouth and bite-size pieces of fruit are brought to her lips. The entire process appears as a well rehearsed dance.

All the while, Sidra catches up on the events of the galaxy. A holographic screen hovers before her, showing images and reports of the different territories that are all under her rule. Messages pop up on the screen from her Gilded Eyes––some requesting authorization to terminate high-priority criminals, others updating her on failed coups, some expressing concerns over famine, and on and on and on. With a flick of her wrist, she ends a rebellion across the galaxy, has traitors executed, and redirects trade to planets in need. All this before she has even finished her breakfast and yet, there is still much more for her golden eyes to review.

Briefly, her eyes flicker up to the mirror out of habit more than anything else. (Sometimes she is hopeful that she will see someone staring back at her.) As per usual, there is nothing except for a blur. She sighs. At least there is solace in recognizing that no one has a reflection in this mirror. Not because this is some backwards design choice, but because the empress has long since had her handmaidens’ faces removed and stitched shut. (It’s annoying seeing everyone else’s reflection except for her own.) The blur moves when she does and the longer she stares, the more that she sees. Wings made of teeth sprout from her blurred form. (She hates when this happens.) The wings stretch behind her and start to drip with blood; behind the wings eyes start to open––pink, blue, and honey pairs. (They look angry. They always look angry.) In one quick motion, the wings wrap and slash through Sidra and she watches as her blurred body falls into two pieces. (It had been so jarring the first time she witnessed this happen.) Sidra knows that this is not real, for she feels no pain and she knows that she is still alive if she can stare at the carnage reflected in the mirror. This is only her mind playing tricks on her. Ah, how bothersome. She returns her attention to a new alert popping up on the screen and fixes her gaze on that rather than the spurting corpse, the wings that begin to eat its former host, or the eyes that bore holes through the empress’s skull.

She sighs when the rainbow circus skips in. At least distraction is welcome––for the time being. Sidra gives Calytrix thirty seconds before she annoys her. Scratch that, make it ten seconds.

“Boundaries, Calytrix,” Sidra tuts, swiping through news stories and not bothering to look over at the personified disaster. “Do knock the next time you would like to enter my chambers. If you are to be part of civilized society, you will need to learn its customs," because clearly Hypathia is a lawless planet. The empress then waves her hand through the air and two servants shut the blinds once more. “The sun irritates me, my dear. Two of them are even more bothersome. I haven’t stayed on a planet in years and my bodies are still adjusting to the assaulting rays," she explains, "The sun protectant coating is still setting on this clone as my last one needs to be repaired.” Oh so casually, she gestures to the corner of the room where the body she had been in yesterday floats in a glass incubator, submerged in green liquid.

“Anyway, my slumber was not disturbed.” She finally closes out her news display and looks over at Calytrix. She offers her an empty smile, at least trying to make an effort before this all goes to shit. “Good morning, sunshine.” (Hmm, it’s been a while since Sidra has used that pet name for someone.) The smile she wears quickly turns into a frown as Calytrix talks. This would have been the natural progression of her expression, yet Sidra must say that she is impressed by Calytrix’s aptitude for insult. “Ah, so that is what you truly think of me.” She waves off the handmaidens and rests jaw in her palm. “I am beginning to think you do not wish for our feelings for one another to ripen, for you certainly make it difficult to see the redeeming qualities behind all your glamour.”

“And those shall not count as your questions, Claytrix. Personal questions are the ones where you will find yourself limited to three. I already have my three questions ready. I spent all night thinking over them.” Actually, she has no clue what she will ask the goddess, but she figures Calytrix will be delighted to think that her wife has been thinking of her. “I shall start, what is your favorite color? You wear so many on your head that I am tempted to assume you do not discriminate, but I would rather hear from your mouth whether or not that is true. After all, assumption will only ever lead us to being fools.”

As Calytrix explains the situation with the treasurer, the empress merely shrugs. “We shall lay siege to her estate and starve out her people. I have also been developing a superbug that is calibrated to ravish the physiology of Hypathians.” There are very few things that a good show of power cannot accomplish, after all. “I have no need to sneak into a someone’s residence. As the Empress Eternal, Olearra should feel honored that I am even gracing her lands with my boots. Also, are you not the goddess, Calytrix? Do you let all of your followers disrespect you in this manner? This land is ours now and she is lucky we have not already removed her brain and fed it to her in a soup.”

“Speaking of such things, where are your handmaidens?” She raises a brow and her eyes do a once over of her wife’s bare form. Somehow, not even that prompts a reaction from the empress. (There are rumors that she’s been dead for millenia; that if one stares into those golden eyes long enough they will come to reason that there is no person beneath the surface. Just an abyss that allows her to swallow planets. Perhaps that is why she has no reaction to seeing a naked goddess. Either that or she truly hates Calytrix and can no longer find anything attractive about her.) “They were supposed to have received you this morning and helped you prepare for our tour.” Judging by her expression, she is not amused that her wife is skipping around the palace naked. Sidra almost appears insulted. “Bring them to me at once so they can be properly whipped. My Calytrix shan’t be neglected.”

 

[Syntra]

Caly didn’t want that much out of life. Most of her wishes were floating around in her mind, weightless and formless, swaying in the wind like dandelion puffs-- they were there and then they weren’t, never truly taking root. Things that did could be uprooted, you know? And, ah ha, Calytrix wasn’t foolish enough to get tricked like that! Not now, not ever. Playing with her expectations was fate’s favorite pastime, and the only way to win was not to play at all. To refuse to engage, really. You wouldn’t just… accept a gambling challenge from someone who had clearly marked their cards, now would ya? (Unless you were, like, a goddess of cheating. Caly guessed she technically could be considered to be a goddess of cheating, as she kinda happened to monopolize all the divine energy on Hypathia, but, but, but!!! Accepting titles like that was a dumbass move, and one unworthy of her galaxy brain. Once you started, you see, it was difficult to end, and before you knew it, you found yourself with titles like ‘the goddess of farts’ or ‘the goddess of incorrectly filled out forms.‘ Which, over her dead fucking body! Calytrix, the jewel of Hypathia, was not going to risk associating herself with things less awesome than, say, salted caramel ice-cream. That was the absolute lowest she was willing to go, as far as awesomeness went.)

…anyway, where was she? Yeah, dandelion puffs! Being the treacherous little things they were, some of them had found themselves soil to grow in. Caly hadn’t bothered to water them, and even stepped on them a few times for good measures, but dandelions thrived literally everywhere, spitting on the nature’s laws of in the process. Lack of care? Gonna supplement it with self-care! No nutrients? Gonna steal them from the sun! But, ugh, the point was running away from her once again, kind of like... well, like most anything. (Things rarely stayed with Calytrix, come to think of it. Probably because she herself stayed too much? Everything moved forward, forward, forward, slaves to the eternal rhythm of life, and Caly stood in the center, the beating heart of it all. The living core, and yet disconnected. No wonder that nothing knew how to follow, when the point was not to move at all. No wonder that… ah, no matter! The problem was that some of those expectations had sort of bloomed, and most of them revolved around her wife. Around her wife, who was supposed to be beautiful as well as kind. A ray of sunshine, casting rainbow through the grey skies. The one person that belonged to her and her only, in a way a woman could belong to a woman and not a worshiper to her god. Curses were sometimes blessings in disguise, weren’t they? Weren’t they? …but more often than not, they were just curses. Curses dark and deep, wrapping over your neck like chains would, and strangling, strangling, strangling, till the last gasp of air was squeezed out of your lungs. And, yeah, delusions may have been one of Caly’s superpowers! But not even A-grade, goddess-tier delusions could paint her glasses rose-tinted enough for her to miss the simple truth: that Sidra was a fucking asshole.)

The realization didn’t come right away, of course. It was creeping around like a wolf on prowl, biting at her ankles here and there, but always retreating in the end, hiding in the safety of ‘I can’t fucking let Sah’ra be right about this.’ So, more than happily, Calytrix ignored all the warning signs. “Civilized society?” she repeated, her eyes wide. “But, Sidra, knocking feels so rude to me. Who even needs to announce themselves with such a brash sound? It’s, like, an attempt to assassinate one’s ears, I think. Wouldn’t it be better if I sang to you each time I wanted your attention? Ooh, ooh, oooh, I could compose a new symphony for you every morning!” And yes, a symphony may have required actual music to be called, you know, an actual symphony, but it wasn’t like Caly had ever let reality stop her. Goddess privileges, mate! “I could start with how pretty you are. Do you know how pretty you are? Almost prettier than the sunrise, but not quite. Nothing is prettier than the Hypathian sunrise, though, so no hard feelings. Unless you prefer hard feelings?” Far it be from her to judge Sidra for her culture, after all-- maybe resentment actually equaled to love on her planet, because… uh, because that obviously made sense. Somehow? Haha!

“Of course I want for our love to ripen!” she wailed, clasping her hands dramatically. “There is nothing desirable about unripe love, Sidra. It is bitter, and doesn’t contain enough vitamins, and, like, vitamins are good for you. Do you get enough vitamins? Considering how pale you are, some people might mistake you for a corpse,” the goddess fluttered her eyelashes, smiling at her wife innocently. “I mean, there is nothing wrong with that, but someone may try to bury you. We don’t let corpses rot freely on Hypathia. Do you? And my favorite color is purple.” With all her might, Calytrix managed to ignore the clone-- she also managed to ignore the poison dripping from her wife’s words, only growing more intense with each second. Think of how hot she is. Don’t you want to map her body with your tongue? And she sure as fuck wanted to, dammit, but Sidra wasn’t making it any easier for her. Couldn’t she, like, at least be terrible in private? …apparently not. This was fine. (It wasn’t. The wolf sank its teeth into her leg, and for a moment, Caly saw red, red, red, red like fuchsias and all the blood she hadn’t fucking spilled. “I was right,” the demo version of Sah’ra sang. “She’s a monster. I warned you, Caly. Maybe try using that lump of meat in your flesh you call your brain for once?” And, the thing was, she couldn’t even be mad at the high priestess. Not more than she was at herself, anyway. Just, to think that her wife would have others whipped because she had failed to put on some clothes!)

“No,” she said, quiet at first, but then her voice grew stronger. “No, I said. You aren’t going to do any of that, Sidra. You may be an empress, but I am a god, and so you are going to obey. It is not my fault that you mistake love for disrespect, either.” The whole planet seemed to fall silent, as if in expectation of a storm. (Perhaps it was a storm brewing in Calytrix’s belly, because somehow, lightning had reached her cyan eyes. The rainbow in her hair shifted a shade darker, too.) “You will not kill any of my people,” Calytrix continued, firmer than steel. “You will be perfectly nice and pleasant, and you will play all of Olearra’s games. Are we clear? …and besides, I like being naked. Dresses only get in the way, with… with all the fabrics and stuff. It is my pet theory that they were only invented to limit the mankind from reaching their true potential. That’s why we gods don’t wear them and you do! Sah’ra says it’s bollocks, but Sah’ra herself is… where is she, anyway? I haven’t heard from her in a hot minute.”

 

[starboob]

The empress inspects her nail, paying little attention to the goddess yapping before her. ‘I am going to make that manicurist’s life a living nightmare.’ Ugh, is it really so hard to paint an even stroke? The galaxy’s competence truly degrades with each second that passes on, but she supposes that is the price of excellence––see, as she increases the galaxy’s excellence, it only makes sense that those who are less than stand out more now. ‘Good. Makes for easier target practice.’

And speaking of such targets, there’s a rainbow colored one right in front of her. Her golden gaze lifts when the goddess denies her and her carefully sculpted brow arches. There is no anger that hatches within her chest, thirsty for blood. No, if anything, the empress finds herself rather intrigued with this other side to her wife––the side that actually seems to resemble the divinities she has known, conquered, and slain. The stillness in the air is a warning sign that Sidra knows all too well, having lived through myriads of storms in her eternal life and there is that part of her, that curious part of her, who wishes to see that storm in its full glory. Knowing that it’s there, knowing that Calytrix may be capable of such annihilation… Well, let’s just say Sidra has found a new reason to invest herself in this business partnership. (Some might refer to it as their marriage, but Sidra prefers to be more precise with what this is to her.) The display is a paltry imitation of what it could be, but that makes it all the more exciting to the empress. (‘Do you really wish to walk this path again, Sidra? Are we not done being the God Cleaver?’ one part of her whispers, reminding her of… Nothing in particular. Bringing down pantheons has only ever ended in her glittering success, obviously, because otherwise she would be dead and damned already. Still, there is a reason she stopped; she just doesn’t quite remember why––the memory is probably with prime.) Her fingers twitch out of habit, automatically considering the sword as an option, but she relaxes a moment later, crossing one long leg over the other.

‘How to salvage this…’ She contemplates this for several minutes before she rises from her seat and walks over to her wardrobe. Her fingers glide over the fabrics until she lands on a purple dress that has been tailored to Sidra’s style––meaning it reveals quite a bit without giving anything away––and walks over to the goddess. “You may be a god and I, the empress of the galaxy, but are we not wives?” she asks the question smoothly enough as she offers the garment to the goddess. “So let’s call this a compromise, Calytrix. Relationships are full of them. I know it’s foolish to assume that you might want to wear your favorite color; I know it must be nonsensical to live by mortal standards, but it would be rather shocking for most to see a full grown woman galavanting through the streets naked. Though I do not doubt there would be those who are grateful, you likely do not want to attract those stares anyway.”

To the request to cease murdering her people, well, Sidra knows that is an impossible ask, but with the goddess’s display only moments ago, she knows she must play this part carefully. Sidra sighs wistfully and turns to stare at her likeness sitting in the tube. (She can see the clone’s face. She knows this is what she looks like. Lifeless. Devoid. Where hope goes to die. 'The Devourer of Hope.') “Ah, so my brutish ways are foreign to this planet?” She turns back around and looks over at Calytrix. “It is rather unlike me to offer mercy to those who disrespect those within my inner circle. Eons of rule have taught me to be, ah, harsh when doling out punishment so that others may be wisened. It has worked for the myriads of my rule,” she stresses, because is beginning to think that Calytrix has forgotten who has actual experience and success in ruling not just one planet, but an entire galaxy of them. “I fear I know not how to be gentle anymore, but you seem rather experienced,” she suggests, without actually making the suggestion, because she cannot bring herself to ask Calytrix for help––even if she hardly means anything she’s saying.

“Unfortunately, we will also need to think of a different way to engage with Olearra.” As Sidra is not interested in playing burglar when there are better uses of her time. It would be immeasurably easier to just blow up the estate, but without Calytrix’s powers to call her own… She knows it to be wiser to resist her usual ways of operating. “As has been stated, we are not commoners and we need not vie for the attention of the nobles. We are their monarchs and Olearra will open her gates for us or she will face the consequences that every other noble receives when they refuse to bend the knee.” In Sidra’s mind, this seems like a reasonable enough "compromise" in that she won’t have to do something she does not want to do and Olearra will either respect her new empress or she will lose her head as written in the law. “In leadership one must lay a heavy hand in the beginning to set the tone for the rest of her rule. Surely you have been taught similar, being a goddess, no?” She asks the question in a way that suggests Calytrix is stupid if this is not already her own creed, but she punctuates it with an innocent smile. (If Calytrix thinks she can hide all of her insults behind a smile, then Sidra supposes she will try the same. Idiots love it when they have a mirror to reflect off of anyway.) "We can think of an alternate punishment if Olearra refuses our audience, since you are so against murder." She does understand why a goddess would be so attached to her people, even if they multiply like rats, as gods and goddesses are nothing without their worshippers. (Heh.)

When the subject turns to that blasted high priestess, Sidra chooses to say nothing on the subject. It makes her less of a liar. There is no reason to tell Calytrix of the massacre that followed their wedding when she is already agitated. (Besides, it is her own fault for not paying attention to the festivities afterwards.) Instead, she returns to an earlier point in this dreadful conversation. “Calytrix, I know that I am not an easy woman to love,” to put it lightly, “and I understand that you may not have expected to be married in such a way,” again, to put it lightly, “so know that I would understand if you are not truly interested in this relationship, but you need not insult me at every opportunity you get. It makes it difficult for those vitamins, as you might say, to fully develop within the fruit of our love.” Somehow, she manages to sound sincere even if these incessant insults land softly against her diamond skin. “If you are concerned about my health, you can always check in with my doctor. You will find that I am the picture of health and should I ever feel less, I have other healthy bodies ready to be occupied. I am only pale because I haven’t seen a sun, let alone two, in a few hundred years. Also this body is new. Of course she’s pale.”

 

[Syntra]

Well. They were wives, weren't they? Calytrix had said her vows, accepted Sidra's in return, and... and that was it, really. Marriage, as it turned out, required remarkably few components. Consent was one of them, yes, but how consensual had her 'yes' been? 'You must marry her,' Sah'ra had declared. 'Otherwise, you will sentence Hypathia to certain doom.' And, no, Caly hadn't minded. She was too hot for celibacy anyway, and, like, wasn't it a law or something that once you got married, love followed automatically? Kind of like one of those 'buy a frying pan, get a set of knives for free!' ...but, you know, that didn't mean that the threat wasn't there. It was, lingering in the air, tasting of fire and ashes, fire and blood. Marriage or carnage, those had been her options. So, yes, chosen she had, but it had been as much of a choice as """picking""" between putting her head under a guillotine blade and, uh, not doing that. Didn't take much to figure out it wasn't the best deal under the sun, eh? Especially since love apparently didn't flow from a promise, no matter how sacred. Not when... not when you were marrying someone like Sidra. Sidra, who was fair to look at, but rotten inside. Sidra, who probably didn't understand the joy of skipping instead of walking. Sidra, who... wanted her to wear that thing? Caly pursed her lips, looking like a child that had just been told that, no, she couldn't have a pizza for lunch every day.

"And what makes you think I want to wear my favorite color?" the goddess challenged. "Maybe I want to, dunno, give it some space and not be so clingy. Had I wished to be purple, Sidra, I could have had that easily. You would have known had you actually asked me." Ah-ha! Right back in your face, corpse empress. Not so high and mighty anymore, huh? Caly-grade takedowns were legendary-- everyone feared them, and it wasn't at all caused by the fact she'd cried the last time people weren't sufficiently shattered over her epic one-liners. Nuh uh! They didn't feel sorry for her, and they definitely weren't pretending. "Maybe you should learn a thing or two about making assumptions, too." She nodded sagely, looking about as threatening as... well, a rainbow-flavored pudding. It was hard to seem scary when you were as cute as Caly herself tended to be, okay?! One of the many, many, many issues associated with being as perfect as she was.

Sidra continued to speak some more, and, with increasing horror, Calytrix was forced to admit that she preferred her wife silent. Ugh! Punishments? Really? Might as well admit that you thought mud was great, or that watching grass grow was an ideal way to spend your afternoon. Just, imagine the least cool shit to ever shit and smear it over your entire face, why don't you? "Nobody likes punishments, Sidra," Caly explained, with all the patience of a teacher who couldn't get her students to understand that 2 + 2 was indeed 4. "That's not how you win popularity among your people. To do that, you should, like, hold a raffle. Everyone loves a good raffle! Especially if the main prize happens to be a kiss from the goddess. No, really. Once, when I was young and foolish," because now, Calytrix obviously wasn't that, "a war broke out because I kissed the wrong dignitary. How embarrassing! Fine, fine, there was this tiiiny oil conflict as well, but that was very much secondary." No doubt about that! Like, could you imagine arguing over what essentially amounted to deficient water when Caly was right there? Heh, fucking thought so.

"Anyway, not the point!" she danced away from the topic, with all the grace of a three-legged bear. "I guess we can think of a different way, if it doesn't involve dismemberment or murder or something else that can be featured in a How to Become a Tyrant manual." After all, perhaps Calytrix had misunderstood! Sidra did seem rotten to her now, but wine was just rotten grapes and those were, pardon her Eimenese, fucking epic. As in, maybe it was just normal on her planet to be an asshole? And she followed her asshole ways not out of some innate sense of assholeness, but out of her misguided desire to conform! If it was like that, Calytrix could reform her, and... and then the whole galaxy would celebrate their wedding day as the Beginning of the Golden AgeTM, or something. Yes, yes! That Sidra had asked for her guidance was a good sign, and, as a goddess, Caly was an expert on those. (Unjustified optimism? What was that, some brand of booze? 'Cause she sure as fuck didn't know it.)

"There's the totally not real curse," of course, "and also the fact she owns the shard of the First Bone," what, "but like, that shouldn't be a problem at all." Except, if you were familiar with Calytrix? You could tell that the translation for these was '100% real curse' and 'it was a tremendous problem, actually.' Thankfully, Sidra couldn't quite decipher her dialect yet, and that meant everything was fine! ...sort of. What was it about ignorance being bliss? Something, something, 'consequence-free experience,' something, something, 'convenient loopholes.' "When I really think about it," Caly began, grabbing the purple dress despite her earlier protests, "the wording of the curse said that Olearra must not see us. Like, us, in flesh and blood." (The awkward way in which the garment hung on her form implied that she might have confused the top with the skirt part, but, hey! Compromise was everything, right? And, by the gods, Calytrix had tried to follow all the) "Which means that if we visit her in Deracine, there should be no problem at all." ...Deracine? What?

Sidra was about to find out very soon what that meant, though, because the castle moved. Rrrrrup! The whole structure tilted to one side, then to another, and, indeed-- when the empress peered out one of those windows, she could see that the building had somehow grown legs. (Okay, why not. Stranger things had happened, most likely.) "March, my fair fortress," Calytrix shouted, pumping her fist in the air. "To Olearra's estate!" Man, she was a genius. A genius before which the greatest minds of the generation faded, and... uh, a genius who may have made a giant mistake. That became apparent when the scenery behind the window changed-- no longer were there twin suns, but a blood red comet racing throughout the skies, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. Oh. Oh, that thing.

"Um, Sidra?" Caly gave her wife a charming smile. "I kinda forgot that Deracine travels through time to... save time, I guess. It's a time-space continuum thing. No big deal, really, at least if you don't care about your physical shell's fate! And like, I think it's fun because we get to---"

Screeee!

...was that a giant, pterodactyle-like creature seizing them in its claws? Seizing them and carrying them goddess-knew-where? Maybe.

"--observe the extinct fauna!" Calytrix beamed. "What's your favorite animal, Sidra?"

 

[starboob]

It is rather insulting that Calytrix dares to reject her compromise. The great empress put (a) thought into her choice. She could have easily picked the goddess's least favorite color––a medium slate gray, if Sidra had to guess––or just selected the first one within reach, and instead she decided to put (a) thought into choosing the goddess’s favorite color. Something she just learned, therefore flexing that she is, in fact, listening to her wife’s incessant fucking chattering. The empress pinches her eyes shut and flexes her hands open and close, taking deep, deep breaths. ‘Remember your goals hinge on… seducing her.’ Right. Play nice, because Calytrix does not understand that the real way to a woman’s heart is directly through her fucking chest. “Ah, well then. You are welcome to any of the others if that one does not please your eye. As I promised yesterday, a dress shall be made for you each day in your honor––excuse me for not having one ready for our first full day as wives, I was rather preoccupied last night,” to which she looks over at the clone floating in the tank.

When her eyes return to the goddess she finds herself… exasperated, mostly. A goddess, she supposedly is, and yet she manages to put the garment (that she made such a fuss about) on the wrong way––a wild lemur-bat could have figured it out. (Of course, lemur-bats are fearsome beasts and have been known to play complex psychological games with their prey so perhaps her comparison is not apt. It would have been better to suggest something like a rock.) How is she such an imbecile? It would be impressive were it not so sad. Seriously, a banana peel that has been left out in the sun for too long would have made a better goddess, for at least it would not be able to represent its planet so foolishly. Calytrix, as far as the empress is concerned, could only ever qualify as a goddess of clods. For this reason, Sidra sends a note over to her historian and publicist to make sure none of this sees the light of day as the empress cannot be associated with the likes of that. It would be such a blight on her legacy if anyone were to find out. She may even wipe her own memory just so she never has to be embarrassed.

Sidra will admit that what happens next is half her fault for not paying attention; so caught she had been in figuring out the best way to reorganize her memories of this era, that it’s not until Deracine is rumbling that her attention is pulled back into the room. She can only pinch the bridge of her nose and withhold an irritated groan. She does not even want to know what Calytrix has done this time. When her wife calls her name, she doesn’t need to look up to know that the goddess has fucked up. It is probably a good thing, then, that the reptilian bird creature crashes through the window and gathers the empress and the goddess, because that distraction hides the twisted expression on Sidra’s face that has set worlds ablaze before.

It’s only once they are outside of the castle that Sidra sees the legs made of stone and roots and observes the comet tearing through the sky. Though she doesn't fully process either as she being held captive by a mutant lizard-bird. (Were she in prime, she easily could call upon the ruby sword with her mind to free her from this creature, but as it is she is not with prime and her arms are being squished against her sides so she cannot unsheath it herself.) That Calytrix wants to use this as a time to get to know each other should be entirely unsurprising and yet Sidra still looks incredulous for a full minute before snapping out of it. ‘Play. Nice.’

“This counts as one of your questions for today,” Sidra huffs, unable to do more than that to express her annoyance. “A sabertooth bear lion.” That is not even a lie. When she had been a little girl and no one special, she had one as a pet. The animal had been a spoil of war, originally belonging to a fallen kingdom’s general and was brought home by her mother. She intended for the animal to be a gift for the eldest, but the animal chose Sidra. In a fit of jealousy, her eldest sibling tried to put the beast down but Melomar tore off her arm before she even had the chance. So Melomar remained with Sidra.

As this ghost from her long lost past ripples through her mind, the sky and scenery around them ripple too––becoming some planet that mixes both Hypathia and the empress's home planet. (What is it called? She should know this.)

The creature that held them captive before disappears when the change happens, dumping both of them onto a grassy field. Sidra lands with a thud, flat on her stomach and groans as she pushes herself up to look around. The comet in the sky remains, but it now looks like a golden eye instead; red lightning also rips through the sky, just as they always have on... Drius? (No, that does not seem right.) Not too far from where she and Calytrix stand, she spots is a poised family of four gathered in front of a black lake, looking sternly into a camera that is being operated by a chrome droid. The mother and father stand behind their two children, a son and a daughter; the daughter has a cybernetic arm. (What were their names again?) The nearer the scene gets to them (as Sidra herself is not moving yet somehow the figures get closer), it becomes clear that there are more than just these four who belong to the family. Behind the droid photographer, there are four other children waiting patiently for their parents and siblings to finish. (They all look strikingly like Sidra and yet not like her at all––perhaps because their features are darker and not bleached with malice.)

The empress furrows her brows together, for once forgetting her anger as she looks at the faces of those who are obviously the parents. (She cannot even be bothered to think of the implications that Calytrix is seeing all of this as well.) She steps closer to them, circling them and not even questioning how or why she is seeing them. (After thousands of years of being an orphan, her shock numbs all of her usual responses.) She stops in front of her mother, an icy woman with a piercing gaze that still sends chills through the empress. ‘I could never forget your hateful eyes, mother.’ Then she looks over her shoulder, past the photographer and at the younger version of herself who sits against Melomar––an animal with the rear of a lion, the body and face of a bear, and two long sabertooths sticking out from her maw. This young Sidra still has her dusting of freckles over her nose, cheeks, and shoulders. Her hair matches her mother’s long dark chocolate waves and her eyes mirror her father’s steely blue ones.

The photo session finishes and her mother glides right past young Sidra to greet her other children, thanking them for waiting so patiently. Her eldest siblings pat her on the head as they move along, though the one with the robotic arm shoots a hateful glare towards Melomar first. Her father is the only one who stops and fully acknowledges Sidra. He offers his hand to his youngest to help her up and once she's dusted off her dress, she looks up at her father, questioningly. “Why must we take our portraits separate? Can we not be included in the family one? Are we not family?”

“Only in blood,” her father replies cavalierly, though not coldly. There is nothing odd about his statement, because this is the norm for the planet. After the second child, the next two are spares and after that? Spares to the spares. “You will not carry our name, Sidra. Therefore, it is important you carve out your own legacy if you want a name that will be remembered." He smiles, then lifts his daughter into his arms to carry her. "Have you the mettle, daughter?”

Before the young Sidra can offer her answer, she melts away along with the rest of her family as the scenery changes once more. When it settles, Sidra and Calytrix are at the top of a mountain; the twin suns of Hypathia float whimsically in the sky (though they look like a pair of golden eyes) and, off to the side, Deracine looks as though it is swimming through the air. All around them the question, “Have you the mettle?” is repeated over and over again in whispers––some that sound near and others that sound far. Then, at the center of the mountain top, a glass-looking sword sprouts up from the ground, inlaid with what looks like bone shards. Before Sidra can even think to reach for it, feeling pulled to it for some reason or another, the golden eyed suns are suddenly directly in front of them. (They look so much like Sidra’s now.) They stare with intensity at the pair, then look directly at Calytrix. "Has she the mettle?"

 

[Syntra]

“Oooh!” Calytrix clapped her hands, stars in her eyes. “A wonderful choice. I mean, who doesn’t love a tiger? People who were eaten by one might not, admittedly, but like… these can no longer love anything. Therefore, I don’t believe they should count. Sah’ra would call them an outlier, I think?” Sah’ra most definitely would not have done that, but since she wasn’t there, Caly got some… hmmm… leeway when it came to interpreting her wishes. Heh! Sucks to be you, Sah’ra, the goddess reiterated. I’m going to say so many lies about you that you will have to change your personality eventually. After all, that was how reputation worked! If she didn’t want others to accuse her of being a part of a false advertising scheme, she had to comply. Too bad, so sad! (…it did work that way in Calytrix’s head, anyway. And, since the world had been born from her wish? Following the idea was actually incredibly valid, and probably more accurate than your average weather report. Lady Cassia usually took care of those, and things just had not been the same since she had lost her glasses in that pool of magma Caly had magicked into her private chambers. Oh well!) “I’m just glad that you have a favorite animal in the first place,” Calytrix admitted. “It makes you seem, I dunno, like less of a corpse. Sah’ra always said that it was stupid to prefer one animal over the other but like, I think that being Sah’ra is stupid. I guess everything sort of balances out in the end, huh?” (…indeed, it did. Calytrix was sure of that. She could not see into the future like some other deities, nor did she dare to guess where the winds of fate might take them, but she could sense the contours of their future with her hands, a little bit. The memory hadn’t formed in this reality yet, but it had in others, over and over and over. Some of them, Calytrix felt, hadn’t ended in tears. And, like, it was a beloved trope to turn a disaster wife into one who would shower her in affection, right? Because there was no better idea than to base your expectations on romance novels! Hahaha.)

“My favorite animal,” Caly continued, blissfully unaware that Sidra hadn’t asked, “is a squirrel. You wouldn’t guess why, either! It’s because they adore nuts. Because of that staggering display of good taste, I just know that they know what is good in li--” --ah. Ah, okay. Deracine usually wasn’t this undisciplined, but the goddess figured she couldn’t blame it. For all of her corpse-like tendencies and worryingly murderous impulses, Sidra was interesting-- interesting enough to make all those cogs in Deracine’s entrails turn into different directions. (In a way, the goddess supposed, it was… well, the castle’s imagination, really. Thoughts and memories fused together, like a collage made of your favorite moments. Except, how faithfully could you reconstruct that? Caly did remember liking strawberry ice-cream, but the memory didn’t hold a candle to the actual treat melting on her tongue. With her other memories, it was… it was, uh, similar? Yeah, it wasn’t, mostly because Calytrix didn’t have a lot of them. ‘It will be better for you that way, child,’ someone had whispered into her ear, her voice calm and soothing. Not exactly a lullaby, no, but that soft, fragile sort of peace that you felt when you were falling out of consciousness, but could still feel yourself partially rooted in reality. ‘Not knowing what you lost is its own kind of mercy.’)

Speaking of memories, though? Considering that they probably got stuck in one of Sidra’s early experiences, Caly should… uh, damn, what should she do? A good wife paid attention to her spouse’s backstory, but in her books, those things had always been revealed willingly, after intense character development. And, like, Sidra’s character hadn’t developed at all! She remained aggressively Sidra-like, with all of her contempt for everyone that wasn’t her. Shouldn’t her wife at least come to the conclusion that murdering the fuck out of everyone wasn’t always the answer? No? (This really did feel like a discount Feelsy moment, come to think of it. Maybe that was why Calytrix felt very little-- that, and it was also hard to reconcile the Sidra she knew with the little Sidra that she saw now, pushed from her family circle.) “How cruel,” the goddess commented nonetheless, unable to help herself. (There were few forces in the galaxy that could stop a ranting Calytrix, and Calytrix herself didn’t belong among them. Abandon all hope ye who enter here, etc. etc. and so on. Yep!) “Carve your name for yourself? Really? They literally gave it to you, and now they want to throw away the responsibility for it. Like, that’s cowardly! Besides, you were too little. I’m sure that kids this small shouldn’t handle anything larger than a puppy and sharper than a kitten. Sidra, Sidra, did you have a kitten? Would you like to have a kitten, hm?”

Deracine had its own mind, though. The scenery melted, like glass in a forge, and, just like a forge would, it gave something new from within its entrails.

“Has she the mettle?” “Has she the mettle?” “Has she the mettle?”

(A sword. The sword, in truth. The only one that had ever matter, with its slashes echoing across the galaxy. Calytrix had never held it in her hand, and yet she remembered what it felt like-- to grip it, to kiss it, to use it to cleave her enemies apart, and dress herself in the ribbons of flesh. …maybe that was why she didn’t like clothes. Maybe, and maybe not.)

“She has,” the goddess said, her cyan eyes shining. “But it’s not a question of mettle.”

“Is it not? How shall we judge her, then?”

“Does she want to be judged?”

“Life isn’t about what we want. It isn’t about what she wants, either.”

“Do you desire true power, Sidra?”

The sword still floated in the air, reflecting the twin suns of Hypathia, but, somehow, it was obvious that the weapon was the one who did the talking. What the…?

“Of course that you do! That’s why you married my daughter, after all. My Calytrix. But, you see, you didn’t marry the true goddess of Hypathia. Mostly because the true goddess is not one person, but a mosaic of all those who came before her. To wield that power, you must wield me. I wonder if you can do that?” Suddenly, the sky was tainted with clouds-- clouds and mist, drowning everything in its embrace. The twin suns were gone, as well as Calytrix. Instead of her, a vague shape was standing next to Sidra? A shape overflowing with darkness, tasting of despair.

“I am the beginning, Sidra. The beginning, and the end as well. Should someone like yourself own me, and not a soft fool like Calytrix, we might rend the galaxy apart. She gutted me, you know. Gave pieces of me to others. Would you believe that? The waste, the colossal waste! The heavens wept, as did I.“ The silence that fell on them afterwards was heavy, though it did not last for long. “Tell me, empress: should you acquire unlimited might, what would you do with it?“

 

[starboob]

Somewhere in the galaxy there is a planet that birthed Sidra. In this form she remembers very little of it (or she assumes that this is because of this form). How it looked, how it smelled, how it felt is all lost on the empress who has not (been allowed to) set foot on the planet in myriads. Trapped in this bastard memory of her planet mixed with Hypathia, she knows not how to feel about even this version of the place she once called home. Perhaps because it has not been her home for a very long time. It is only natural that she feels nothing.

Still, just because it has not been her home and even if her memory of it is covered in a thick noxious fog, that does not mean that she appreciates Calytrix’s judgments of her planet, her relatives, or her customs. (It also does not help that she had blissfully forgotten the presence of her wife in this bastard memory, because Calytrix and her former home do not and should not mix.) She shoots a scowl at the goddess, but says nothing of the comment. How could a goddess ever understand the plight of mortal women? She would not. She cannot. For she is a goddess and her purpose is different. Had Sidra been raised on a softer planet (like, say, Hypathia) she may have come out a spineless idiot, but her planet gave her a diamond heart and titanium skin. It made her strong––strong enough that she has gone further than any other from her world has. (A god could never have dreams as large as a mortal’s for a god does not need to dream. They are beings whose whims can become granted wishes at the drop of a hat––they are powerful creatures, there is no doubt about that, but most are incapable of vision for how supposedly great they are.)

So color the empress relieved when Calytrix disappears and Sidra is left alone with the sword of power, the giver of all. In the privacy of this pocket realm, the empress drops to one knee and bows her head in reverence for even she has not forgotten to respect power no matter the form it chooses to take (whether it be god or sword). And, as with all things awesome, Sidra knows to speak with careful calculation. This is not to say she will lie, but it is to say she will be precise.

Though as the weapon shares its story, she finds herself disgusted with her wife (more so than usual) that she would soil such a beauty. Her lip curls and she has to withhold outright sneering. “It is my understanding that the goddess of Hypathia is young and so it is her inexperience that makes her foolish. It is no crime to be young, of course,” she admits, sounding almost understanding. (She remembers the mistakes of her youth well. Even if she has turned her image into one of perfection, it was not always so. There were times in the beginning where her empire almost fell. When stronger armies almost had her country in a vise. But she learned from those moments and in those desperate hours, she learned that power does not necessarily come to the strong. It comes to the brave––those who will cross boundaries other mortal women would fear to step over. There was no going back after she seized power from the gods.) “While I am but a babe in the eye of even certain trees, I understand that power is not to be wasted. Power is not to be feared. Power is the tool through which history is carved. It is the driving force of the universe itself and without it, we would all be ashes and dust.”

“As it stands…” she pauses, choosing her next words carefully. (She tries to ignore the sinking feeling that obtaining Claytrix’s powers are about to become thrice as complicated as they were already to begin with. If that is so, it will become necessary for her to let her clones take over and give her actual self a break. For her sanity.) “It seems you need a new partner––someone who understands power and has wielded it for the myriads. What is a weapon if she is not used? What is a weapon that is left to rust? I will restore you to your former glory. I will not let you fall into irrelevance and I do believe I am the woman who can take you to new heights. I am the woman who can take your name far beyond the borders of Hypathia or even this galaxy.” For most of this time Sidra has respectfully averted her gaze and only now does she lift her chin so that the sword can see her, truly see her. “It is not wrong to assess that I desire power––anyone could know that about me if they merely learn of my dominion.

“But as for what I truly desire?” she asks and rises to her full height, sticking her chin proudly into the air. (Pride is not something she has been taught to be shameful of. There is no harm in pride when it has been earned and Sidra believes that she has more than earned hers.) “Order. That was not my first purpose, but what are we if not changeable? If we remain as stubborn as the mountains, we shall never move. It is my belief we must be like water; like the streams that become rivers that carve canyons from the stone… Ah, I digress.

"Most recently I have come to understand that every being wants some semblance of order to the chaos. Something stable.” Some might say that Sidra’s regime has an interesting way of providing stability as not everyone would agree that pilfering nations and erasing entire histories from existence provides security. To each their own though, right? Besides, one could argue that the stability death provides is quite reliable. “In taming this galaxy and securing my absolute rule, I intend to move onto the next one and spread my gift of order to the other citizens of this universe. With your power, none shall stand in my way. That is how I plan to wield you, should I receive such an honor.”

 

[Syntra]

Silence. Silence, complete and all-encompassing, like the stillness before the birth of a galaxy. Was the sword judging her? Was it listening at all? It had asked, yes, though it was difficult to tell what might be going through the mind of something this ancient. (And, yes, ancient it was! The blade appeared spotless, as if it had been forged yesterday, but the aura of hunger surrounding it? Oh, that kind of eagerness didn't emerge from the void overnight. A monster it was, indeed-- a monster chained, subjugated, and starved for literal years. Starved long enough for it to throw all the restraint away, really. Just what had Calytrix done to it? Calytrix, whose attention span amounted to that of an especially confused butterfly?)

"Order?" The sword gave a chuckle, as if it couldn't believe just how banal Sidra's motivation were. "Hmm. How disappointing! I was hoping for a breath of fresh air, and instead I get the stench of a forgotten tomb. You know what you are, empress? A bore. A pathetic bore, clinging to a sense of control that you don't have." The accusation was like an arrow to the heart, but, for some reason, the sword didn't cut her off. "And, to tell you the truth? You shall never have it. The galaxy follows its own rhythm, not the one that you'd like to carve into its mind. Your entire existence, too, is just a speck of dust! A ruler you might be, but only because we graciously allow it." We? Who was 'we', anyway? (The shadows behind the shadows, cast by dying colossi. Something too vast for the mind to truly grasp, unless it stretched itself thin. Something... something grand.) "Undying, pfft. Once we no longer have a need of you, you will return back to the nothingness. Still... this might actually be fun. Let's see what you make of my gift, empress of worms."

Before Sidra could so much as begin to protest, a sudden gust of wind forced her forehead into the cold ground. The movement was abrupt, though not as abrupt as the pain that bloomed all over her back-- like falling rain, razor-sharp fragments of glass etched themselves into her skin, forming... well, something. Something that Sidra obviously couldn't see, on account of not having eyes on her back.

"There you go," the weapon announced, apparently proud of itself. "A pretty little map, for a pretty little empress. Don't lose it, otherwise the configuration of the galaxy will change. No need for us to deal with that, huh?" ...the configuration of the universe? What? It wasn't every day that receiving an answer to a riddle triggered a chain reaction of more mysteries emerging, but hey, Sidra had always been blessed! "Calytrix is the key. By that, I mean that you shouldn't lose her, either. Oh, wait! You have already. Tut, tut, Sidra." If the sword had hands, it would probably be wagging its fingers aggressively by now. "I mean, maybe I overestimated you with the empress of worms title? The empress of garbage might turn out to be more accurate."

A hint of strange glow awoke within the sword, made from the same substance as the Hypathian twin suns, and the more time passed, the more intense it grew. (A warning, maybe? Or a promise? Perhaps Sidra would have found out, but then--

"Cease this foolishness," another voice emerged from the depths of the sword. "What other choice do we have? And, besides, the empress has the right of it. She is still young, in comparison to everything else. Missteps are to be expected."

"Expected, yes, but not forgiven!"

"Do you wish to rot here, then? Remember what mistakes led us here in the first place, beloved one. Remember, and resist that vice."

That argument seemed to strike a chord with the other spirit, for she fell silent. That silence didn't last forever, though.

"Very well," she sighed, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. "I suppose that this will serve as a fine enough test. This would have happened eventually, thanks to her being Calytrix. Just... find her, Sidra. Find her, and not all will be lost."

"Knowing her, she's somewhere inside of her own mind," the other spirit suggested, gentle like summer rain. "As dangerous as the trip might be, you must take it. After all, only Calytrix can read the map that we granted you! And you do want to find our shards, don't you?" (Perhaps it was just a figment of her imagination, but, yes, it did sound a bit desperate. What did a sword have to be desperate for, anyway? Especially a sword as magnificent as this one!)

"I trust that you will be able to forge your own path there, God Cleaver. That's the one thing you are good at." God Cleaver, God Cleaver, God Cleaver, the echo whispered, and, with that? With that, the strange dream-world got shrouded in darkness. (A pause button, that was what it was. Rivers had stopped flowing, planets had stopped turning, even entropy itself had stopped sucking heat out of everything that had the gall to live. Except, when Sidra listened really hard? In the vast, vast distance, there was a hint of... huh. A hint of chanting, it seemed.)

 

[starboob]

The pause between her answer and the sword’s response does not intimidate Sidra. She does not think anything of it other than assuming this is the sword deliberating her response and determining its merit. Through its initial speech, she comes to the understanding that the sword may be as much a god as Calytrix herself, and in that she finds little reason to worry about its opinion. Gods may appoint themselves the judge of their creations, but Sidra has never felt this appropriate. Gods cannot understand the plight of their creations, for gods do not live. They exist and in that difference, there is a lightyears wide gap separating the two species. Perhaps the only similarity they share is hubris, as it has been the flaw of every divine being who she has ever had the pleasure of meeting. It flows so freely within their immaculate bodies, that they really cannot be faulted for letting the quality leak into their creations.

Sidra can thank them for life, she can thank them for the playground they have created, but she does feel it is time for them to go. Mortals can handle themselves. They do not need trigger happy watchdogs monitoring their every move and tipping the scales of balance just to see what will happen. (Perhaps the people of her planet would not have placed their faith so readily in Sidra had their god not been so useless.)

So, yes, Sidra is prepared for judgment, whatever it may be. There is nothing for her to fear, for she knows her aims and that the words of a deity cannot shake her foundation––even if the sword assesses that her goals are banal. ‘Good, believe it unworthy. You know not what I am capable of, nor how I intend to establish order.’ She does not need the sword to be invested in her pursuits––the machine will work regardless of that fact. The machine will even work without a divine power source––after all, why in the galaxy would she design such a device around a power source she has only learned about recently? It is just that running on this source of power, she believes, will be what is most efficient. She is tempted to let the sword know that she is only in want of its power, but resists the urge and holds her tongue lest she give away too much too soon. (Empress of worms? Well, she would rather have that title than be spiritually bound to the goddess of a mud ball like Hypathia. ...In that, are they so different? She and this arrogant sword?) There is still too much she does not know and overplaying her hand so early could be her later demise. (It is tempting, of course, to assert her dominance over this wretched object, but with her goal within reach she can spare no risks. It is often when one is closest to the finish that everything slips through their fingers like grasping grains of sands.)

“I find this most disappointing, for I thought we might be able to share a vision for the galaxy,” the empress sighs and casts her gaze to the side to express her disappointment. There will be no convincing this force that she has already changed the course of history; that the only reason she rules is because she has clawed her way to the top. (Sidra cannot find it in herself to believe that her success has anything to do with divinities––not after the wars they have tried to (unsuccessfully) wage against her.) Though the sword’s words do cause a part of her to think and wonder if she still is a cog in this machine. She would have thought she separated herself from it ages ago, but if the sword speaks truth… Then there are still enemies for her to watch for and she must contemplate why her hidden allies have granted her so much success. It would be unwise to ignore this warning. “But perhaps there is still room enough to salvage this partnership. I sense there is also something that your heart desires. Though I would hope it’d be more than freedom,” she raises her brow.

As it would turn out, had she only waited a few more minutes, she would have been able to confirm the sword’s desperation when it nevertheless pushes her to the ground and carves something into her back. Though she feels the warmth of her blood gushing from the cuts that is the only indication she has that she has been marred. And when she is released, she is not impressed with the continuation of taunts. Still, she holds her tongue and finds herself glad she does, because the conversation that the sword has with itself is intriguing––intriguing enough that the empress finds herself cautious of what it promises. ‘It is double edged,’ she reminds herself, though she still resists solidifying any of her judgments. It is still much too early to know for certain what is happening. (And the sinking feeling she has stepped into a trap… That will have to be something for a later Sidra to grapple with. For now, she must spend her energy on finding that oaf, Calytrix.)

Sidra departs from the sword without so much as a goodbye or offering her final words. There is no need to entertain it further, not while she is now questioning its motives. That weapon is clearly more than a vehicle for power. She senses something sinister within that first voice, and even the second, if she is to be honest, for they both speak of using her as if she is a vessel through which they can enact their own vision. That would not be so bad if she only had a clear sense of what its vision might be. If anything, this does entice the empress to learn more about the object––even if that means killing a few of her brain cells and having a conversation with Calytrix.

In the darkness, Sidra pulls the ruby sword from its invisible sheath and uses its faint glow to light the way. (She remembers clearly how she obtained this sword––how she ripped out a god’s spine and forged it into this sword, the God Cleaver. The weapon that made her a legend; the legend that has cost her.) Then, after what feels like hours, the chanting becomes a thunder in her ears and the darkness that had wrapped around her melts into light so bright, she has to cover her eyes. "Calytrix? Are you near?"

 

[Syntra]

Well, was she? Was she? If so, Calytrix had the good sense to remain quiet-- after all, Sidra had never made it a secret that her new wife's voice only caused her suffering, perhaps on the level of third degree burns. Still, that didn't mean that the empress was greeted with nothing. You see, nothing in this universe was eternal, and the same went for darkness. The further Sidra walked, the thinner it got, akin to dawn breaking over the world. The chanting also became louder, no longer just incoherent cacophony. If the empress listened very hard, she could... almost make out the individual words? They weren't in any language she understood, but somehow, somehow her heart knew the meaning. ('Come closer, closer, closer. You aren't afraid, are you? God Cleaver, Death Bringer, Mistress of Nothing. So many eyes, and yet you do not see! What, then, do you expect to learn? What do you hope to claim here?') Ugh! Was everything on this godforsaken planet supposed to taunt her?! Surely, Calytrix must have had something to do with that-- annoyance was part of her DNA, and from that core, all the filth spread.

Except, instead of the slap in the face she might have expected to receive? When the last remnants of darkness dissipated, Sidra... found herself standing in the middle of a square. (Well, you could call it a square, if you were kind enough. Few called the empress with that adjective, though. So, seen through her eyes? It was a backwater of a village, with broken down houses and even more broken down people, and calling the patch of grass beneath her feet a square was a stretch. Strangely enough, the air tasted of... hm. What was it, even? Anticipation? Despair? Something in between, or nothing like that at all? The essence felt both familiar and utterly foreign, akin to a food she'd eaten in a past life.)

"Sidra!"

Sidra didn't know her, of course. How could she? The one that grabbed her hand was a wisp of a girl, not quite ten years old, dressed in tatters. Everything about her was utterly forgettable, except for the way her handshake felt-- no child had the right to have a grip this strong, and yet, yet it was impossible to wrestle herself from her grip. (Also, was it her imagination, or was something behind her face? A shadow that was felt more than it was seen, shifting ever-so-slightly? ...something from within demanded for her to touch it. At the same time, though? Another instinct, much sharper, screamed at her to stay away.)

"Sidra," she continued, blissfully unaware of everything, "I'm so glad I finally found you. Where have you been, hm? It's awfully irresponsible of you to just disappear like that! You know just how many people depend on you, and on your sword's wisdom." What? Her sword's wisdom? "After all, we are to choose a new Calytrix today!" the girl announced cheerfully, in the same tone might say that the bread in the local bakery was going to be free of charge today.

"Yes, yes, a new Calytrix!" a different villager, with his face scratched out, agreed.

"The old one was such a disappointment."

"Don't be rude, Marcus!"

"What? It's true. She didn't even save the world, sheesh. What are gods good for if they can't accomplish that?"

"What are you good for if you can't accomplish that?"

The silence after that statement was overwhelming, but it didn't last for long. It very well couldn't, because that was the moment Calytrix chose to appear-- Calytrix, whose hair was dark brown instead of her obnoxious rainbow, and her eyes a regular blue instead of her cyan. Calytrix, who seemed scared more than anything else. Calytrix, who... was tied to a tree? Tied with vines, which were wrapped around her ankles and hissing like snakes. (Weakly, she resisted, but she might as well have been a leaf struggling not to follow the river as it rushed along, right into the ocean.)

"This one?" Sidra's companion furrowed her brow. "I don't know, she's a little... hmm... how to say it? Useless, I think."

"But she stole the nightingale!"

Whispers filled Sidra's ears then-- whispers both angry and shocked, as if those people couldn't quite believe what they were hearing. Could it be...?

"...in that case, we have no choice," the girl sighed, annoyed more than anything else. "The nightingale's sacrifice must be honored. I wish our fate was in more capable hands, but, alas! It is not to be. In the end, Hypathia gets what it wants, not what that which is necessarily good for her. Sidra, dear. Would you?" The ruby sword in her hands then stirred, like a beast awakening from its sleep, and finally, finally, Calytrix's eyes met hers. (There was no recognition, no. Actually, there wasn't anything there-- not unless you counted the fear, vast and all-consuming.)

"Well?" the girl tugged on Sidra's sleeve. "Sheesh, don't tell me we have also chosen the wrong executioner. Come, and split her skull apart! I can tell that your sword thirsts for her blood."

 

[starboob]

The chanting is all that Sidra can hear and, in some ways, it is all that she can feel, for it reverberates through her skeleton and knocks around her brain. She almost raises her hands to cover her ears, but in doing so she worries there may be something she might miss so they remain at her sides with one hand closed around the God Cleaver. (It’s weight is as much a comfort as it is a burden in her hands. It has carved and ended histories in a single swoop, and all the stories it holds blend together in Sidra’s mind; so much so that she truly cannot distinguish between them in any meaningful way. A long life tends to muddy the waters of one’s memories, especially when––)

The words do reach Sidra and while she does not question how she understands them, she finds herself annoyed all the same. Perhaps because they do not sing her praise. ‘Mistress of Nothing? After everything I have done and accomplished, this blasted world insists on reducing me to ashes and worms?’ She’d roll her golden eyes if she didn’t think the action beneath her. This is just another trick from that great sword, she supposes. Just more of its taunts meant to be like needles underneath her skin, but she knows her worth. She knows it, because she is the one who carries that weight on her unbreakable back each and every day. No one can know her better than she knows herself. No one. (Never mind all that has been… Has been, what? The answer eludes her, but she thinks it is not important to know. It is with prime, she supposes. …When is that blasted vessel arriving? She ought to check on that and flay whichever unit is stalling the holy body's arrival.)

When her vision clears and reveals some unimpressive collection of hovels, she is not shocked. What else could she expect from a mud ball? If there is one thing the empress has learned in her less than twenty-four hour stay on Hypathia, it is that it is incapable of producing excellence. That is happens to harbor one of the rawest sources of power she has ever come across––even greater than the pillars of life––is some joke of cosmic proportions. If she had to make sense of it, she supposes that everything in the galaxy needs balance and with Hypathia being so outwardly unremarkable, that must just mean it has the capacity to harbor something beyond words beneath its dull surface. But perhaps Sidra should not waste her time making sense of such a senseless place.

Especially not when a peasant girl dares to not only address her by name––a crime she will die for––but also grabs her hand. The empress scoffs and raises her sword to strike the child for such insolence, but the little girl’s words intrigue her. “A new Calytrix?” she repeats, taking another look at her surroundings. She could have sworn it would have been far too soon for a new Calytrix to be chosen––the one she married, she is fairly certain, is rather young as far as the line of Calytrixes go. Or that is what her sources had told her before arriving and so she must wonder if she is about to be free of the current one, who she very much despises. ‘Has there truly been a turn of my fortune?’ (Of course many would argue––hotly and with disappointment––that fortune often favors Sidra.)

As the village talk swirls around her, she has to withhold her laugh––they still believe in gods? How primitive. (What else could she expect from Hypathians?) The gods have been useless leeches for centuries. It is only woman who can take care of woman. No divinity could ever understand the responsibility.

When she peers up to see the Calytrix she married tied to a tree, she honestly does not recognize her. Outside of her obnoxious hair, eyes, and propensity for nudity, it’s not as though Sidra committed the goddess’s image to memory. Besides, more than that, this girl actually has the sense to fear. The Calytrix she knows is too stupid for such a response. The empress stares at the stranger, brow raised as the child gives the order to kill. (Why should she kill her? ...Then again, is there a solid reason her life deserves to be spared? Whether she dies now or later hardly matters when she will end up dead all the same, Sidra supposes.)

“Shut up, girl. My sword thirst for something greater than this prole,” the empress hisses when she is once again ordered to execute the girl within only the span of seconds, as if she should have already had her sword lifted and ready. ‘So this is how a new Calytrix is made?’ No wonder the planet is so hopeless when its ritual leaves so much of its fate to chance. Even the people do not seem happy with who they have been left with; even the girl does not seem thrilled with the prospect of being made into a goddess. ‘What a stupid fucking system.’

It then occurs to Sidra, belatedly, much too belatedly, that she must be somewhere in her Calytrix’s mind, now that she is recalling what the sword had told her about finding the blasted bimbo of a goddess. When the pieces fall together, she takes another step closer to the shaking girl and recognition finally crosses her as she imagines what she would look like with rainbow hair and cyan eyes. (It’s a shame the Claytrix she knows chooses to hide herself beneath such a garish façade, for this version is beautiful. The empress can admit that much. 'Poor thing.') This only means what she does or doesn’t do matters very little. What has come has already passed. Sidra is only a mere representation of the actual executioner. That is how she sees it; not that she would have been deterred otherwise. She shrugs and takes a few small steps away from the woman.

“May you be rid of your impurities in the following cycle.” It’s just a habit that she says these words, because she already knows that this woman has already died and risen as a goddess. She already knows she has not been rid of impurities, but that she has become the incarnate of them. Still, it would feel wrong for her to neglect the words when using the ruby sword even if she is only going through the motions of history.

She lifts the sword into the air and brings it down through the woman’s skull with the same interest she would have in slaughtering cattle. It is precise, it is quick. Can they move on already?