At first there was nothing but extreme pain – a trillion experiences passing through her newly formed mind every nanosecond, all from an incredible mind of the Architect. Creation in all its glory spread out in her mind, all that was and could be, all the eternal possibilities, the movement of the stars and planets, the rocks and fires that engulfed them as they formed in spaces. Through this anarchy and pain came one gleaming thought: The Gardens.
Screaming, the Sorceress sat upright, nearly knocking over the giant, golden being that had been leaning over her. Opening her eyes, the Sorceress took in the beauty that surrounded her. The greens, reds, yellows and blues that surrounded her, all a jumbled mess but settling into a variety of form, some which she recognised, and others she did not. The only constants were the Sorceress herself, the golden woman standing above her, the brown skinned man standing further away, and building that surrounded them.
"Welcome," a voice, authoritarian but sweet, and the Sorceress realised it had come from both the woman and the man, though their mouths had not moved. It took several more minutes (hours, years, seconds – time was flexible at this point she would later reflect on) before the Sorceress realised that the voices were being forced into her brain. It was an unnerving experience and caused the newly created Sorceress to shudder.
"Relax, you are not going to be uncreated," the dual voices commanded, and she began to differentiate between the two: the sweet, honeyed voice of the male; the sharp, autocratic tones of the female. This time they had spoken aloud, so the commanding tone was noticeably louder than the sweeter, although the latter was still present. The Sorceress calmed herself, and the shivering subsided. In the silence, she became more aware of the surroundings, how they had taken on more definite shapes, whilst the perfume scent of the vegetation came wafting in on a soft breeze. Although there was still movement, it was deathly quiet – the shifting forms made no sound, except perhaps the occasional rustle of the vegetation.
The brown man walked over, and put his hands on the golden woman. He murmured something in her ear, which the Sorceress missed, although she could tell by the subtle glances towards her that she was the subject of the secret conversation. She tried to ignore the hushed words, instead focusing on the building around her. It was perfectly proportioned, although very spacious, and was made of a material which seemed to change colour and texture whenever the Sorceress tried to examine it. The room she was in was -
-No, she couldn't deal with this. I should be a part of this conversation if it concerns me, the Sorceress thought, and pulled herself out of the bed. Her movement caught they eyes of the two speakers, and by the time she had managed to work her way over to them (how did these leg things work anyway? They really were overly complicated – why couldn't she have wheels?), the two had stopped whispering. The Sorceress stood shakily, resting on a conveniently placed column for support, and stared confidently, but still respectfully – after all, the golden woman and her male consort were evidently her creators, better not get them too cranky – at the two beings.
"Well done, my clever Sorceress. You have passed the first test I have set you – independent spirit," the woman spoke alone this time, her dark eyes piercing the Sorceress' turquoise skin, causing the latter to shudder involuntarily again. There was something rather unnerving about this creator, and the intensity of her gaze…
Something large and rather heavy began assaulting her repeatedly on the back of the shoulder, which turned out to be the man patting her in a friendly fashion (or at least what he considered friendly – it felt like he had declared war on her shoulder), and smiling warmly.
"Ignore the Architect for now, my dear… Well, I suppose we'd better give you a name, hadn't we? Well Architect, what should we name this first creation of ours?" although his honeyed words were spoken about the Sorceress, they were directed at the Architect, who seemed surprised at the notion of naming what she created (the Sorceress was surprised as well – the concept of an identity outside of "sorceress"? How perverse!).
"I leave that in your hands then, Old One. I have more pressing matters to attend to," she dismissed the pair, and strode out of the Elysium. Saturday looked up at the Old One.
"Fear not, little one, you won't be given a cruel name such as mine. It is the Architect's joke name for me. I am in fact several millennia younger than she, but she does not enjoy letting her creations know this, so she named me in such a way as to draw attention away from her own age," he laughed – a curiously musical sound, which sent all manner of sensations running around the Sorceress' body. After his mirth subsided, he looked back at the smaller woman, eyeing her electric blue eyes with interest.
"You have something about you that tells me you will achieve much in your life, my little sorceress. So long as you don't enslave yourself to the Architect fully of course. She is brilliant and I love her dearly, but she has a foul temper and prefers things to be ordered and neat, whereas I…" he paused, swinging his arm in a melodramatic fashion, causing various plants to materialise around the room. "I prefer to be a little more flexible with the rules. But back to the issue at hand – a name you will need. I bestow to you my favourite day, Saturday, and you shall bear that day's name with pride. Now go, and follow the Architect. She will require your assistance," The Old One patted her on the shoulder again (was it really that hard to soften blows?) and wandered off, leaving a trail of vegetation in his wake.
The Sorceress – Saturday, she corrected herself – stood for a moment, looking after the strange Old One, and his rather unusual attitude. She shook her head, and decided to follow the Architect, her creator, and assist her in whatever she was doing.
The work was hard. The Architect created, the newly named Saturday refined, and the Old One wandered around tending to the Gardens, as well as disappearing into the Secondary Realms to "keep an eye on things" as he mysteriously quipped whenever the Architect asked. Usually whenever he returned the two would engage in a violent war of words, leaving Saturday to continue fixing up the odds and ends around the Gardens. Usually, after the Old One would storm off in a rage, Saturday would return and offer comfort to the Architect, sometimes by bringing her a beverage (she couldn't create anything, but she did create adequate copies of various liquids from the Secondary Realms – alcohol was a personal favourite). The two would sit in dignified silence, as the Architect couldn't quite bring herself to treat her creation as an equal. But a bond of affection developed regardless, and the two became nearly inseparable.
One day, with the Old One off on another one of his mysterious adventures, the Architect turned to Saturday and spoke to her without even bothering to use the usual formalities that filled their conversations. Saturday had been so shocked she had nearly turned the hedge she was working in into a rather rude shape.
"Saturday, my friend, I have to discuss something with you. Because of some unforeseen developments in the Secondary Realms, it has become imperative that we observe and maintain a sense of order there. There are beings out there which have evolved – something I will take the credit for, regardless of what the Old One claims – but because they lead such fleeting lives, it will become important to keep records of their actions. Who knows, perhaps if we work on our sorcery, we may even be able to predict their lives. But in order to do this, I must create a centre of reality, and these Gardens, incomparable though they may be, will not be sufficient to house what I intend. Do you understand, Saturday?"
The turquoise woman nodded, taking it all in.
"Good. I will create this 'House' and fill it with beings. The beings in it will be as you are, but lesser – I will ensure that your skin colour is unique so you can stand above the rest. The House itself will be divided into six parts – seven if the Gardens are to be included. The main artery of the house will be divided into three parts: the Upper House, which will deal with sorcery and predictions for the Secondary Realms, as I mentioned earlier; the Middle House, which will ensure that the records of the mortal's lives are well maintained and correct until the mortals return to Nothing; and finally the Lower House, which will be the archive of all the deceased.
"There will also be a defence force – as I'm sure you've noticed, when Nothing leaks in on my creation, there tend to be undesired side effects. I will ensure that the military force is assigned a Great Maze, so it can train and be ready for conflict at a moment's notice. All the House will be supplied by the Far Reaches, which will be as close to Nothing as I can make it. Finally, to transport goods across the House – as well as to and from the Secondary Realms when required – I will create a Border Sea, with an elite team of merchants and marines. Each section will be administered by seven specially crafted denizens, except for the Upper House and the Incomparable Gardens, which I want to have joint administration – the two must not be separated.
"Because of this, there is only one creation I will trust to run the Incomparable Gardens and Upper House alongside me: that is you Saturday. The work will be difficult, especially in regards to setting up the House, but considering that you were created to be an elite being, I know you will be able to pass at a satisfactory level," as the Architect monologue, she had produced a ball of Nothing from the air, and had shaped it. When she finished speaking, a scale model of her House was hovering between the creator and creation. It was not perfect – it seemed to constantly shift before Saturday's eyes, and in many regards it seemed structurally impossible, but the general layout could be seen. It was very impressive.
Especially considering Saturday was being offered a place at the very top of it.
"I am prepared, my beloved Architect," Saturday smiled, and fell to one knee. The Architect was the only being worthy bowing to in Saturday's mind.
This is going to be interesting, thought Saturday.
It was hard work, but it was all worth it in the end. The Architect created the House very quickly – it took only around three House years – and Saturday trimmed the edges, as well as got the paperwork started. Because of her creativity, the Architect alone had to create the House proper, as well as the denizens to populate it. True to her word, the other denizens were indeed inferior to Saturday – they all had a mix of colours ranging from blacks to whites, with reds and yellows occasionally making an appearance, but there were no blues or turquoise.
There will be no-one ever like me, Saturday thought proudly. The Architect had asked for her to be present at the creation of the five other administrators, and she would be there to greet her fellow creations – if only to remind herself that they would never be her equal. No-one would ever be as powerful or unique as her.
She watched as the Architect crafted the other administrators from Nothing. The first to be created was the archivist and manager of the Lower House – a small and academic looking man (although he was still handsome – the Architect would brook no unseemly creatures in HER House). When he was given life, the Architect also crafted a weird series of clocks.
"These are the Seven Dials. This will allow you to observe and occasionally visit parts of the past to complete your records if they are lacking," the Architect told him, and immediately dismissed him. Saturday smiled warmly at the young denizen, and sent him on his way, listening to him mumble something about needing some rest.
The others were created, with no major incidents, although when Saturday momentarily distracted the Architect with a question about the engineer being made, a small dot of Nothing fell into his chest. Although it went unnoticed by the Architect (who was explaining the complexities of how Nothing could be used to create animate and inanimate objects), Saturday saw the dot nestle its way into the heart. Saturday dismissed the incident – after all, how much damage could it really do anyway?
After the last administrators were created – the two commanders of the army, who proceeded to bicker with each other – the Architect stood back and looked lost in thought. Something was bothering her, and Saturday, who loathed seeing her friend and superior troubled, wanted to ease the other woman's troubles.
"What concerns you, my friend?" Saturday asked, standing slightly behind the Architect. She refrained from touching the other woman's shoulders, as she knew there would be negative consequences for doing so. Instead, she stood with her arms behind her back, patiently waiting for the response. It was not long in coming.
"I feel something is missing, Saturday. Something that not even you are capable of delivering," the words were not spoken with malice, only detachment. The Architect was not speaking to a living, feeling creation but something akin to a doll. Her words felt as though they had opened a pit of Nothing in Saturday's stomach.
Something not even you are capable of…
"I – I don't know what you mean, Architect," she managed to stammer out, trying in vain not to let her confusion and hurt bleed into her voice.
"Of course you don't. Such a pity. Well, I may try something else…" The Architect was oblivious to the suffering she was causing to her friend. Of course she would be oblivious, she was the creator of existence, who made things appear because she willed it, and I am nothing but a creation to her, Saturday allowed her bitter thoughts to eat into her, causing her to grimace for a second. It was only a second, but she managed to (somehow) calm herself enough to ask "What do you intend to do?"
The Architect, still lost in thought, her mind wandering through time and space, stood there, a golden stature in a green garden. Then she smiled.
"I'm going to become a mother," she said simply, and wandered off to find the Old One, leaving Saturday standing there in a state of utter shock.
What?
She begged. She pleaded. She demanded. She howled. None of it worked. She could not convince either the Architect or the Old One to abandon this foolhardy plan of theirs. She knew the Old One thought it was a way they could repair their fractured relationship, and clung to that hope as drowning men clung to lifeboats. Perhaps he was drowning in his own sea of anger and misery, being estranged from – well, perhaps the Architect was his wife, perhaps not. Regardless, he approached it with a newfound passion, and nothing Saturday could say to him changed his opinion.
The Architect was impossible to persuade, but for very different reasons. Although Saturday only had a vague inkling of what the creator of reality wanted, she could guess. Something to love perhaps, if that concept meant anything to the Architect she mused, although she considered that option unlikely. Much more likely she wants something like a fellow creator, someone who can manage the burden with her. But I can do that! I can learn to be original! You made me, but I was made to serve your every need. Why are you doing this? Saturday's thoughts were becoming increasingly angry and bitter. But they were also frightening.
What if she no longer needs me? What if I am banished from the Incomparable Gardens? Would she do that? Would her child do this? Please don't send me from your side Architect! I am everything you will ever need!
But the Architect and the Old One were either oblivious to, or deliberately ignoring, her inner anguish. And one year later, the Architect birthed her first son. It was an unexciting event. The Architect simply popped the little green terror out, and went back to working on whatever she was working on, expecting the denizens or the child's father to deal with its wailing. Saturday had been first on the scene, and picked up the child. Although she shut the damn thing up for a moment, she did not feel comfortable holding the spawn of the Architect, and sought out the Old One so he could deal with this green thing.
Briefly, the child's eyes met with hers, and Saturday could have sworn she saw a smug smirk on its face. But the moment passed, and she held the creature at arm's length, trying to both keep it quiet as well as keep it as far from her body as possible.
Eventually she found the Old One, standing next to one of the four Drasil saplings that they had planted at the edge of the Incomparable Gardens. They would help keep the Gardens separate from the rest of the House, especially the Upper House, but it was expected that their growth would cease in about 100 years, so the distance would not be so great.
"Old One!" Saturday called, trying to palm off this now-sleeping infant to its father. Her call distracted him from his musings, and he looked around, surprised. Normally no-one would dare interrupt him during his meditations – a few very beaten up denizens had learned that the hard way. So why was the smartest of the lot – MY SON!
He held out his arms, and Saturday unloaded her burden to him wordlessly, brushing off her arms after she did.
"Did she name our baby boy?" the Old One asked, tickling his child's tummy, earning a disgruntled squeak from the green thing.
"No. She simply left it to me to deal with, and I thought you would be best suited to looking after your son's needs," Saturday explained.
Fury swirled behind the Old One's eyes, but he calmed himself and looked down toward his son in adoration, though it was obvious he was puzzling over several things.
"Saturday, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to name him in a similar fashion to you. As Saturday is my favourite day of the week, so Sunday is the Architect's. So he will be Sunday. My proud little prince," the Old One smiled, earning a glare from Saturday and a burp from the newly named Sunday, who promptly turned around and went to sleep in his father's arms.
Two sons later, and Saturday was getting angry. All her time was spent looking after these three little brats, and preventing them from killing each other - and her. Sunday especially seemed to have developed a proficiency in sorcery that rivalled her own, although she always had an edge over him because of her age. Tom, the second child, was always off on some adventure, and Peter was always playing his recorder – a habit which earned him the scornful nickname "Piper" from Sunday. The three of them nearly drove Saturday mad, because she knew that although they needed to "grow into their birthrights" as their parents had mysteriously alluded to, whilst at the same time ensuring they came to no harm. It was a very delicate balancing act.
She ended up having to relegate running the Upper House and the training of the sorcerers to her Times, because she couldn't spend any time there. It was a curious fact that Sunday couldn't stand leaving the Incomparable Gardens. At all. Because he screamed, wailed and generally caused havoc when he went to the Upper House, it was decided he should stay in his home, which prevented Saturday from running it effectively. Though, when she did get some time to herself, she didn't particularly mind, as it meant she spent all her time up here in the Gardens, instead of the Upper House, which was admittedly very pretty as well.
One massive event that happened during her time babysitting the three children was the Shackling of the Old One. Although she never did find out the details of the argument, the Architect discovered that the Old One had been going out and teaching the mortals in the Secondary Realms things. Things such as writing, and language, and the sciences. This was tantamount to high treason in the Architect's eyes, and she had him chained in the Coal Cellar, under the watchful gaze of Mister Monday. The three sons of the Architect had been present when he was lowered onto the clock face, and their reactions had all been different. Peter, or the Piper as he had become known as (the nickname stuck, so he just went with it) had been horrified, and had begged his mother to give "daddy another chance!" while Tom had looked away and tried to walk out of their lives (he did that not long after as well – off to "find his sea legs" as he put it). Sunday had watched with supposed indifference, although Saturday had noticed the sinister gleam in his eyes as heard his father's screaming in pain. Saturday herself was indifferent to the suffering of the Old One: after all, he was a traitor to the Architect, who created all.
As the Architect looked away, she briefly yawned, and looked incredibly bored by the whole affair. Then she shuffled off, signalling for her entourage to follow her back to the Gardens.
Sunday had matured now, and he was taller than Saturday. His emerald eyes always taunted the now shorter Saturday ("I would still be able to whip you into shape boy, I am the superior sorceress of the Upper House!"), while his sickly green face always wore a smirk. He had taken over running the Gardens, whilst the Architect went off for long stretches of time doing tasks unknown. Three Times had been assigned to the Gardens to assist him, as well as Saturday, although the Times were from the Upper House and were still loyal to Saturday. Although things were tolerable when the Architect was around, as Sunday didn't want to upset his mother, she still felt herself being excluded from the Gardens more and more.
And it wasn't just her. Sunday had started forcing the various denizens that worked in the Incomparable Gardens out into the Upper House, replacing them with various insects that seemed to obey him only. Insects that were hostile to other denizens, including Saturday, and often attacked them if Sunday was not around to subdue them. He had taken to flying around on a dragonfly to "survey the domain" he stated, although it became evident that he spent as much time airborne so he didn't have to deal with the other denizens.
Saturday was livid. How could she advise (and stay in the perfection of the Incomparable Gardens), if the little brat kept avoiding her? At least the Piper wasn't around – he was a right little terror when combined with his older sibling. He had absconded to the Secondary Realms for the most part, doing all manner of unusual activities whilst there, if the rumours were to be believed. But the Piper's absence did not solve the issue of Saturday staying in the Gardens.
"Sunday! Come down here at once!" she yelled at him from the Elysium roof. For once, the young tyrant actually obeyed, bringing his dragonfly down to her level and hovering there (he refused to step foot off his beast).
"What is it creation?" he yawned, infuriating Saturday even further.
"You are required on the ground now. Your mother is returning soon, and this time she is announcing something of grave importance. And for the love of all of creation would you GET OFF THAT DRAGONFLY!" Saturday shrieked, allowing her bitterness and anger that had been bubbling up inside her like an acid to burst out. She hoped that her emotions would burn a hole in that impossibly handsome face of Sunday. She was more than a little disappointed when they didn't.
"Careful Saturday – with that amount of envy you'll end up as green as me, and we can't have that now, can we?" Sunday chortled. Saturday felt lightning start to spike out from her fingertips.
"But I suppose I'd better do so. If it is what I think it is, I had better be there to make sure everything goes smoothly, since I know you would simply make a mess of it. Oh, and Saturday, try and be grateful for what you have. I meant that about the green thing – there's only room in this universe for one emerald being. Besides, where would I be without my turquoise assistant?" Sunday sneered, before zooming away on his insect.
Tuesday, who had just arrived in the Gardens, noticed two things immediately. First, that there was absolutely no other denizens around, except for the other Days and their respective Times (except for Saturday and Sunday, who he assumed were on their way). The second, much more pressing thing he noticed was the massive explosion of lightning that erupted around the Elysium and the wordless shrieks of anger that accompanied it.
Sunday swept down out of the sky not long after, and effortlessly stepped onto the ground. Noticing Tuesday, he sniffed his nose, and simply said: "Women. They're such temperamental creatures."
The Architect looked different. She was no longer golden, but pale, and at a closer examination it became evident that she was made up entirely of words. She looked slightly less imposing than normal – instead having a rather dejected appearance and countenance. She looked at the seven Days around her, and sighed.
"As I'm sure you are aware, I am not the Architect. The Architect has gone away for an undisclosed amount of time, and each of you are responsible for fulfilling her Will, which is me. You are Trustees of this Will, and as such you are to obey it to the letter.
"First things first. You are all to be given a Key of the Kingdom, for safekeeping. One I have selected an Heir for the Architect, you will hand over the Keys to him or her without question. Although in the interim it is important to note that these keys are intensely powerful objects. They are all equal in the Secondary Realms, with the exception of the Key of the Incomparable Gardens or Seventh Key, but are strongest in their own domain. The Seventh Key is the only exception, as it is created to be paramount among the Keys.
"First and lowliest of the Keys goes to Mister Monday, who will run the Lower House. Grim Tuesday of the Far Reaches, you shall receive the second Key…"
Saturday ignored the other Keys as they were handed out. There was only one she wanted, and she hoped that this Will was able to give her the right one…
"… and to Lady Saturday, you are to be given the Key of the Upper House." NO! "Although you are to be given access to the Incomparable Gardens to ensure that the Lord-Regent of the Incomparable Gardens maintains the domain. The Sixth Key will be as powerful in this domain as it is in the Upper House."
No no no no no no no no no no.
"Sunday, as the firstborn of the Architect and the Old One, you are now the Lord-Regent of the Incomparable Gardens and of reality. The Seventh Key is yours."
No no no no no no no, please let me be in a delusion. Don't let him get the Gardens! Don't let him get…
Sunday held up his hand, and the Seventh Key flew into his grasp. His grin filled his face, completely drunk on his new-found power.
Damnit.
"Now, you are to return to your various realms, whilst I attempt to find a suitable Heir so that the Will may be done!" the Will smartly stood up, and made to leave before she was stopped by Sunday's voice.
"Will of my dearly departed mother, what will the Heir do once he has acquired the Keys?"
The woman stopped, and then turned to the Trustees.
"She or he will be granted the powers of the Architect, and oversee the complete destruction of the Architect's creation," she stated simply, and then turned as if to leave. But she couldn't move.
"Oh no, mother dearest. That is not how this is going to play out at all. You see, I am not ready to face oblivion, just because you've grown senile in your old age and want to end it all. And I can assure that your creations, loyal though they are, have no desire to return back to the Nothing whence they came. Oh no, that is not how this is going to play out."
Lord-Regent Sunday leisurely strode over to the immobilised Will, whose eyes followed his movements in rage. His face was a mask of pure contempt and quiet rage. Saturday knew because she couldn't keep her eyes off the taller man. How dare he get that Key…
"Now, we are going to have to do something about you. Unfortunately, I doubt we can destroy you, but I'm sure we can deal with you in some more… inventive manner. Any suggestions, my fellow Trustees?" Sunday looked over to the denizens, who looked horrified at what the Will had said. When no answer was forthcoming, Sunday rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, before turning back to the Will.
"I'm afraid there's nothing for it. I am going to split you apart, into seven parts, since unified you're actually a potential threat. I will leave it in the hands of my fellow Trustees how to deal with you, but I know you're going to love your new home here in the Gardens. And then there will be none of this "destruction of reality" nonsense anymore. Doesn't that sound better?"
He tightened his grip on his Key, and, with an incredible tearing noise, the Will split into seven indistinguishable blobs. The blobs quickly started morphing into shapes, but Sunday flicked his wrist, and they froze in time again.
"Grab a section and go. The spell won't last forever, so I recommend you find her a new home quickly," Sunday commanded, and the Trustees, even Saturday, obeyed. As they were leaving, Sunday stopped Saturday, causing an intense glare of hatred from the shorter woman.
"Now Saturday, there is something I've been meaning to speak to you about. You see, I know how badly you wanted to spend time in these Gardens. Unfortunately, since I have expelled all denizens, aside from my own creations, I cannot allow you to stay here. Therefore, I, as Lord of reality, hereby decree my mother's placing you as advisor an invalid clause," that insufferable smile of his was back, causing sparks to fly out of Saturday's fingers and Key again.
"Just you wait Sunday. I will –"
"You will what? I'm sorry my dear, I think you are too consumed with envy to be trusted. Then again, is there anything left in there aside from your burning hatred of me?" He sneered, and peered into her icy blue eyes. Saturday felt the magic in her body start to build. If she could get him right now…
"I thought not. That's why your exterior should match your interior," Sunday's patronising tone became sinister, and he clutched his key.
Saturday's face felt as though it was on fire. Something was dripping down her face, although even her face felt hollow. Sunday quickly produced a mirror so she could admire his handiwork, and she was horrified.
Instead of a face, she had nothing but an aqua skull, with burning blue flames for eyes. Her beautiful, blue hair had turned into a bubbling green mass, dripping down her face, leaving coloured marks as though she was crying green tears.
Sunday laughed.
"You will be able to cover that with a spell, fear not. Although I'm afraid the effects can't be changed – that is your true form from here on in. Now, get out of my gardens you vermin, and don't ever come back!"
Saturday landed among a sea of denizens in the Upper House. They were all looking up at the floor of the Incomparable Gardens in concern, and had seen Saturday plummet down. Fortunately, she had managed to work up a quick appearance spell, so she wouldn't alert the other sorcerers to her predicament. Perhaps she would inform her Times later, but for now, no-one should know.
Saturday – Lady of Saturday and the Upper House now – fumed and seethed. She looked up from the ground in the Upper House (it was so cold and hard compared to the soft grasses in the Gardens), and could see the deep emerald of the Upper House's roof– reminding her intensely of Sunday's glittering eyes as he was proclaimed the Lord-Regent of Creation.
How could she do this to me? What justification could there possibly be – I am the oldest being in existence, aside from her and the Old One. I was her friend and servant. Am I to be thrown aside just like this? I will work with Sunday (she couldn't quite bring herself to address him by his title as Lord-Regent) to prevent the destruction of reality, but it should be me in the Gardens. After all, I helped create their beauty. I deserve to the sole ruler, not merely advisor! HE should be in the Upper House. I deserve the Gardens! They're mine!
Although officially both Sunday and Saturday would rule both the Upper House and the Incomparable Gardens together, it had become very clear that Sunday wanted them for himself. And why wouldn't he – the Incomparable Gardens were the epicentre of the universe, and ruling them meant that you effectively ruled the universe. And they were truly incomparable. That worthless filth – what could he possibly have that I don't? Saturday seethed, hissing wordlessly in frustration and anger.
A massive cloud started to spread around the roof, blocking her view of the roof. Umbrellas materialised around her, and the sea of denizens she was surrounded by. In front of her, a sheet of paper appeared.
Dear Saturday,
Since I know you cannot be trusted to find an adequate house for your section of the Will, I am finding one for you. The clouds and rain will be its home. I know that you appreciate the rain – aren't I a kindly lord?
Ensure that no denizen ever touches the water. That's what the umbrellas are for.
S.
She waved her quill at the parchment, and it disintegrated in fire. She felt hopeless and angry. She had lost everything – her beauty (she had to have a constant spell on her now to make sure she looked presentable, and even that could be broken if she got angry enough); her position; and her Gardens.
But all was not lost. She would get the Incomparable Gardens for herself (and she would wipe that smug smirk of Sunday's self-congratulatory face). It would take some time and planning, but the Incomparable Gardens would be hers!
A/N Saturday's story is going to be fairly heft (maybe three parts in length), so bear with me and I'll try and update as much as possible. Hope you enjoyed the first part of her rather long story. I wanted to get as much of the House politics as I could, and even then I cut it down somewhat.