Another bottle was empty. The final two pills were a technical overdose, but the demand was too great. He did this often, however. This was only a light day. There were days when he was unable to even stand. Those were days when his problem was unbearable and debilitating. He was known to isolate himself away in his temple, so it was not known whenever he was painfully bedridden for a couple of days at a time. He sat on the edge of the bed, uncomfortable with the idea of having to lie down again. He only tossed the empty plastic bottle across the room when a sharp pain took his lower abdomen. The sensation traveled lower, and he know it was one of those days.

He held still, and braced himself for the hot flash. The tingle in the back of his head grew stronger, and he desperately fought the impulse within him. His hands clenched the linen, but not without tremble. A cold spell swept over him, and he shivered in his struggle to stay conscious. His cosmo rose, but he did his best to lower it. He did not want the rest of Sanctuary to wonder about a surge of cosmo in his temple. If that happened, he would be found out, and he didn't want to think of what would happen. Sweat trickled off his frustrated self.

The feeling diminished, and he was finally left with a throbbing headache. Unwilling to nap for a third time in the day, he stood up rather weakly. Once adjusted, he was ready to occupy his idle time to get his mind off the pain. He put on his overalls and gathered some tools, then made his way to his garden outside of the temple. Someone waited at the garden's gate, someone with a sharp haircut. The saint gulped and approached anyway. Whatever his visitor could do couldn't possibly be as bad as the pain he had all day.

"How sad a time must it be if the Pisces saint neglects his garden?"

"You want to talk to me about something, Deathmask?" Something tingled in the back of his mind when he spoke.

The cancer saint simply looked up and down over the gold saint. "No."

"Then why are you here?"

"I need permission to stand where I please?"

"Now is not the time for permission of any kind. Get out of my way." Aphrodite pushed ahead, but his peer resisted.

"Whoa, slow down! What's the rush? You seem to forget who you're talking to." Their eyes connected. The cancer saint carried calm, but challenged attitude in his expression. The Pisces saint only scowled with anger. They stared for a minute before Deathmask broke the standoff. His hands playfully stroked the saint's chin. "You should smile more often. Frowns do no good for your girlish face." With a chortle, the cancer saint walked off. Aphrodite seethed while his eyes followed his peer's movement. He rubbed off the cancer germs from his chin, and continued into his garden.

Deathmask was right. The garden had fallen to neglect. Pruning was the first order of business. The Pisces saint lost his thoughts as he worked the first bush. He found himself on the third bush when he noticed relief in his head. It was a steady beat inside, but not painful. He took a deep breath and decided to take a break and enjoy his moment of solace. Once seated on a park bench, he reclined. The sky was a beautiful blue now, with the sun still high and just outside his view. Although it was summer, there was no issue of heat at this altitude. He couldn't remember the last time he spent this sort of time in his garden. It was that illness that kept him in bed for the past week. His eyes narrowed upon recollection of that recent experience that was so unpleasant. He looked downwards, catching sight of his pale forearms. Looking over his hands, he figured that it was no good if he kept indoors so much. Worse was that his hands looked more delicate than he remembered. He turned over his right hand, and returned to look at his palm when he noticed a peculiarity. His fingernails were suddenly too long! How long ago had he cut them? Surely within the fortnight, he recalled. Yet these fingernails were much too long for a simple case of neglect. He shook his head and figured to just cut them right now. One of the pruning tools seemed appropriate. He only picked it up when he paused at another oddity; His thoughts.

This whole time, his thoughts were in the voice of a woman. He uttered from his voice box to check his voice, and it was indeed his own. Why did his mental voice not match his actual voice? Why a woman? He shook his head and tried to think in his own voice. There was no reason this should have been hard, yet it was. How long had this been going on? Days? Weeks? Months? Only now was he conscious of this mental peculiarity? He uttered voice again. No, that wasn't his voice! He tried again. It was the same! Where did his voice go? How could he sound like a girl? He quickly stood up. Maybe it was the painkiller. He had switched brands with the previous bottle. No, he couldn't waste his only time of relief on imagining new problems. He came out to his garden to care for it, and that's what took his mind off problems in the first place.

The sun hung low in the sky at the same time the dosage wore off. Nearly complete with the work, Aphrodite decided to call it a day. Perhaps he should have spent time obtaining a new supply of painkiller. He sucked a fingertip that had been pricked an hour earlier. It hadn't closed, because of the side effect of aspirin. Small cuts were tolerable in this condition, but to engage in combat would carry extra liability. It was one matter he did not have to consider since he was the least dispatched saint. The pope charged the Pisces to remain at Sanctuary the most, even more so than the Capricorn. Aphrodite gathered the tools then suddenly dropped them. The fingernails were long again. He shook his head and cut them again. Maybe it was his cosmo reacting to the aspirin and the small cut. He put off the speculation as it was, since it was a waste of time to contemplate such things.