Ereshkigal made sure to return the empty box to the kitchen once she had eaten every last bite of food. She was loathe to let it go, but Hassan had said they were running low on dishes. It would be irresponsible to keep it, no matter how much she might have wanted to keep it nearby.
She didn't have to wait long to see it again. It returned to her door the next morning, filled to the brim with another selection of nostalgic treats. While Ereshkigal didn't see Ishtar again in the week that followed, the box was always there waiting for her. And if one of the wrapping clothes failed to make it back to its owner, instead becoming a new bandanna for a certain stuffed leopard, nothing was said or done about it.
Gradually the food was joined by little trinkets carefully folded into the package. A marigold flower, with the bright buttery petals she had once complimented in Marie Antoinette's hair. One of the stormy anzu feathers she had so admired in her sister's room. On one occasion, she even found a single ruby among the grapes—a very small one, but for Ishtar to give up a stone at all was unheard of. Ereshkigal held it clasped tightly in her hand the rest of that day, fearing it might fade away the moment she put it down.
On the seventh day, Ereshkigal waited by her door with the patience of a lioness ambushing prey. When she heard the light rustling of cloth, she burst into the corridor just as Ishtar was floating back from her deposited gift.
The black-haired goddess immediately averted her eyes, hands moving to wrap protectively around herself. "I don't need to prove anything, okay? I'm just doing this because I felt like it." A red flush crept across her face when she seemed to realize she wasn't helping her case at all. "Look, just shut up and take it."
Ereshkigal almost did, her fingers itching for the smooth feel of cloth. But right now, her heart was caught on something more. So she reached her hand out, palms up, in a receiving gesture. "If you want to give me something, sister, then shouldn't you do so directly?"
Ishtar's eyes snapped back to hers, crimson searching her face anxiously for the answer to some unspoken question with an intensity that made Ereshkigal's breath catch. Then the heavenly queen's forehead creased as she came to a decision, snatching up the box and setting it lightly in her sister's hands.
"There," she muttered, her eyes flicking quickly away from Ereshkigal's face to focus on the black silk of her ribbons. "Be sure to appreciate it!"
Ereshkigal felt warmth spread in her own face, all the way to the tips of her ears. The reaction made no sense, for she had already received many of these breakfasts from her sister, and there was nothing special about this one. She put it into my hands. Such a small thing, meaningless really. So why did it set her heart racing in her chest?
Another silence passed between them, and if they were mortals, Ereshkigal would have said that each was waiting for the other to say something, guide the next step of the awkward dance between them. But they were goddesses, and goddesses never hesitated.
That had to be why, when Ishtar turned with a final huff and kicked herself off the ground, Ereshkigal reached out and grabbed her arm-sleeve.
"Wait!" she said, not quite suppressing a flinch when Ishtar turned curious eyes to her. She dropped the sleeve as if it were on fire, and perhaps it was, judging from the sudden heat in her face and neck. She scowled, determined to keep better control of herself as she waved imperiously towards her door. "Come in," she said, "and don't ask questions."
Mostly because I have no idea what to say, she admitted internally as she swept into her room, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder to make sure she was being followed. She wasn't entirely sure what she hoped might happen next. I just don't want Ishtar to leave yet.
There was a small pause in the shadow in her peripheral vision, and she could have sworn that Ishtar's foot hesitated just the slightest moment on her threshold. But it must have been her imagination, for when she turned around Ishtar was hovering near the centre of the room, cocky smile in place despite being in another goddess' domain.
"This is your room, hmmm?" said Ishtar, her voice warm with curiosity. "I see, I see!"
Ereshkigal watched uncomfortably as her sister glided around her quarters, murmuring happily to herself as she took in the silver-framed bed, the sofa and dark wood tables, the various keepsakes she had already accumulated during her time at Chaldea. What had seemed grand and stylish when Ritsuka sat with her suddenly seemed thin and shabby under the appraising gaze of her sister, heaven's queen with all her pomp and opulence. She remembered the golden braziers and shining ornaments Ishtar proudly displayed and winced, expecting judgment at any moment.
"It suits you," said Ishtar at last, and Ereshkigal sighed. Here it comes, dark and gloomy. But Ishtar smiled as she swept by, her hand brushing lightly along her sister's shoulder. "Those daisies simply won't do though. I'll bring you some more impressive blossoms, something fit for a goddess."
"I like the daisies," protested Ereshkigal, but she knew she was beaming at the praise. That realization brought a twitch of anger to her limbs, for divinity shouldn't care for any opinion but its own.
She was still trying to work out her feelings when she saw Ishtar saunter over to her table and pick up her plush toy. Her fingers tugged at the bandanna tied jauntily around its neck, and Ereshkigal winced as she remembered just where she had procured the golden cloth. But again Ishtar merely smiled.
"Is this a leopard?" she asked, rubbing her thumb along the sewn ears. "It's really cute."
"Ahh, yes," said Ereshkigal, a bit of pride seeping into her voice. "Vlad made it for me."
"Hmph! He must have forgotten mine." Ishtar's expression darkened for a moment before resuming its usual cheer. "I'll just go remind him about it later."
Ereshkigal felt her stomach tightened as her sister's voice washed over her, the latter looking about and offering the occasional unsolicited opinion on this or that furnishing. Her mind felt heavy and oddly blank as she tried to picture all the things she had ever wanted from this impossible goddess, the bright aura that spun with her own to form the morning star. Companionship. Sympathy. Even just the knowledge that she was thinking about me.
But in that moment, she couldn't think of how to express any of that. Her tongue, well honed for practiced speeches but as raw as spring when it came to expressing heartfelt desires, felt like lead between her teeth. Come on, Ereshkigal. You've dreamed of this for centuries, she told herself. Strike while the iron is still hot. Do something, anything!
Her hands curled into fists, sliding her manicured nails along the inside of her palm. A memory floated up, Ritsuka gently handling each finger as she patiently bent over her work. Hadn't she thought that was exactly the sort of moment she wished she could share with her sister? Hadn't she wanted to hold her hand and feel its warmth, scent the fresh leaves and sunlight of her skin?
No, that wouldn't work. She didn't have any nail supplies of her own, for she only indulged in painting them as an excuse to bask in her Master's presence. Ereshkigal desperately surveyed her room, looking for something that might fit the bill. Some excuse for the physical contact she craved and feared all at once.
Her eyes fell upon the vanity, with its assortment of bottles and hairbrushes. She didn't strictly need them, but they were a comfort enjoyed by her mortal self. And wasn't that the sort of thing sisters were supposed to do for each other? She seated herself at the vanity before she could second guess herself, picking up a brush and thrusting it at Ishtar.
"Brush my hair?" she said. She had meant it as a command, but to her mortification it came out as a question instead. She hastily coughed into her fist, then turned her head defiantly to face the mirror. "This is what sisters do," she said. "I'm the eldest, so it's only right that I go first."
Her throat constricted at the sight of Ishtar's raised eyebrow in the mirror, as silence descended between them again. Then Ishtar smirked, that familiar curve of lips that never failed to set Ereshkigal's heart racing.
"As you say," she said lightly, taking up position behind the underworld queen.
Ereshkigal sat rigidly in her chair, her fists clenched atop her knees as Ishtar hesitated, a slight furrow in those elegant brows. Then her sister bit her lip before lightly picking up one of her twintails, letting the blonde strands fall experimentally between her fingers. Long years alone in the gloom had left Ereshkigal so sensitive to touch that even the gentle tugging made her shiver.
"May I?" called her sister's voice.
She snapped her eyes to the mirror, and saw Ishtar's hands had moved to hover next to the star-pointed crown on her head—the symbol of her Authority as a goddess. The very Authority she had tried to steal, all those millenia ago.
Ice sunk its cold claws into Ereshkigal's breast before she fought it off, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm her suddenly racing heart. Trust, she thought with a hard swallow. You have to trust if you want to bridge the chasm. Even if it ends up hurting.
So she made herself nod. "Very well," she said slowly. "I shall permit it. But only because we are both goddesses. I would never let a human see me in this state."
"Oh?" said Ishtar slyly. "Not even Ritsuka?"
"Urk!"
Ishtar laughed as she carefully drew the crown from Ereshkigal's hair, untangling the tresses before placing the ornament carefully upon the table. Then, to the eldest's surprise, she reached up and removed her own, placing it alongside. Gold-trimmed black metal shone brightly next to its silver counterpart.
"There," said Ishtar cheerfully as she turned back to her sister, running a finger along the ribbons keeping her hair up. "Now let's take care of these, shall we?"
Ereskigal forced herself to relax as Ishtar took a deep breath, then reached up to work her twintails loose, gently smoothing the hair out until it fell in a shining waterfall of gold. Then she dug her fingers fully into Ereshkigal's flowing locks, and the older goddess had to resist the urge to lean into that touch. Ritsuka had done this often enough, but her touches had been feather-light, as if afraid any pressure might burn her. Ishtar's fingers were far bolder, carding freely through blonde locks as she held them up against the brush.
It felt equally nice though, soft tugging and pulling as she felt the tangles come undone.Too nice, in fact, and it was only by staring at their reflection in the mirror and seeing that raven-framed face so close to her own that she could convince herself this was real. She kept staring into the silvered glass, convinced that at any moment Ishtar's lips would curl into a sneer, her fingers tightening to pull and tear.
She never did. If anything, some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to bleed away as she stroked and smoothed her sister's hair. "Like the fields of Uruk under the sun," she said admiringly. "You should wear it like this more often, you look very cute." She laughed as she twisted a strand around the end of her finger. "Of course, you have my face, so it's impossible that you wouldn't!"
"And once again you manage to make it about yourself," muttered Ereshkigal, but she didn't really mind. She had wanted this so long, to bask in her sister's care and attention. She closed her eyes, savouring every moment of it. The pleasant draw of the brush through her tresses, Ishtar's clever fingers alternately stroking along the surface or digging in to gently massage her scalp.
That feels nice, she thought distantly to herself, leaning into the heavenly soft touches. We should have done this much sooner. Ishtar's voice was surprisingly soothing as she talked about one of her latest exploits, some daring escape from Quetzalcoatl's latest challenge. The details didn't really matter, only the vibrancy of her voice as it flowed between them.
"Ereshkigal? Hey, don't just ignore me!"
"Mmm?" She looked up blearily at her sister, who looked halfway between amusement and exasperation.
"I've been trying to ask you something for the five minutes," she huffed, before her frown eased into a sly grin. "Feels that good, does it?"
"I'll admit you might have some talent here," said Ereshkigal grudgingly.
Istar laughed. "You can thank my host. Tense overachievers always need some sort of outlet, and brushing your hair to a shine can be really satisfying." She grinned as she tucked a few stray strands behind her sister's ears, then guided her face to look herself in the mirror. Ereshkigal rarely saw herself with free-flowing hair, as it felt too informal for a queen of her stature, but she had to admit it looked good.
"Mostly for herself," continued Ishtar in an unusually soft tone, "But eventually, she got the opportunity to do it for others too."
Ereshkigal found herself thinking of a pink ribbon clasped in a slender hand. It made her heart ache, though she didn't know why. She glanced in the mirror just in time to see the grimace on her sister's face before the other shook herself, resuming her usual mask of boastful cheer.
"She got pretty good at massages, too," said Ishtar, before leaning over to whisper teasingly in her ear. "Did you want to see?"
Ereshkigal hesitated, part of her still whispering that it had to be some sort of trick. But having her hair brushed by her little sister had felt good—amazing, actually—and she was eager to experience more.
So she nodded as confidently as she could manage. "Yes, go ahead."
Ishtar's reflection momentarily balked, clearly taken off guard by her sister's agreement. Again that curious hesitation as she floated slowly back to resume her position behind the chair.
"Right," she said at last. "I'll need to take off your cloak, but I think we can loosen the top of your dress enough to manage."
Ereshkigal merely nodded her agreement, undoing the clasp and letting the soft red material fall into Ishtar's hands. To her surprise, the other goddess reached up to undo the clasp on her golden choker, loosening it from around her hand. And rather than flinch from the gruesome design of skull and spinal cord, she gently set it aside next to the crowns.
"Alright," said her sister as her hands hovered just above Ereshkigal's bared shoulders, though she seemed to be talking more to herself. "Ready."
Ereshkigal meant to ask about that hesitation, she really did, but it all melted away the instant Ishtar's hands gently but firmly pressed down against her skin. Her breath hitched at the sudden heat that flowed into her, setting her nerves tingling. She had known that her hands were cold, but she had never realized how much that held true for the rest of her body, not until something so warm and alive glided along the frozen surface.
It hurt a bit at first, fire trailing along her back as Ishtar prodded her fingers along the knotted muscles of her back, seeking out the points of tension. And there was quite a bit of tension, more than Ereshkigal liked to admit. The downside of her constant focus on her responsibilities, be they souls or overly trusting Masters—
She gasped as the fingers were replaced by palms kneading and pressing against tender muscles, drawing out the dull ache. Then the pain dissipated as quickly as it had come, replaced by tingling warmth, very much like the soothing heat of hot springs. She sighed and let herself go limp as Ishtar's hands deftly moved along her back, massaging out tight clusters. The sensation of being touched, after so long… and by the person she had always wanted to feel this connection with. For all that her sister was obnoxious, infuriating, difficult in every way, this felt right somehow. As if in some way, she was being completed.
Gradually the pressure decreased, until fingers were lightly dancing along her skin. She let out a long sigh, her mind drifting with the lingering warmth.
"Why now, Ishtar?" she found herself asking.
The other goddess' hands froze, and Ereshkigal mourned the loss of their silky softness against her sensitive spine. No, she chided herself, I need her to answer me. I need to know.
"You had centuries—no, millenia—to do this," she continued, ignoring the lurching in her stomach and the slight trembling in the hands at her back. "So why now?"
For a moment, crimson eyes gleamed at her in the mirror as Ishtar's lips spread in an insolent grin, and Ereshkigal could tell she was about to say something that would ruin their tentative truce entirely. Then her sister's mouth snapped shut, and her expression drained into something uncharacteristically serious, even melancholic.
"My other self…" began Ishtar hesitantly, looking vaguely in the direction of the ceiling, "...was estranged from her sister too. And I was too busy reaching for the sun to even notice, let alone extend a hand down. I can't ever make up for that pain, and those wasted years." She swallowed hard, her hands dropping away entirely to wring in her sister's shed cloak. "So I… I didn't want to leave things like this. Between us, I mean."
She laughed shakily. "Well, you would know. She's a part of you too, after all." She paused when she saw Ereshkigal's frown. "No?" she asked carefully.
Ereshkigal shook her head. "My host… well, things were different for her. She never… reconnected."
(She stayed lonely. Like me).
"I see," said Ishtar softly, before resuming her usual cocky grin. "Then let's make the best of this, hmmm? I won't let you sulk, so be sure to enjoy yourself!"
With that, she picked up the brush again, drawing the soft bristles through blonde tresses as she hummed to herself. Ereshkigal let herself be pampered a little more, enjoying the feel of fingers running through her hair even more now that she was a bit more relaxed. And as she watched Ishtar arrange her hairstyle this way and that, she found her gaze straying towards her sister's raven locks. She really did have pretty hair, spilled ink against her creamy skin, so alike and yet so different from Ereshkigal's own. She wondered if it would feel the same under her fingers.
And as the older sibling, I should take care of my sibling a little bit, she told herself, warming to the thought. Yes, it's my responsibility.
She nodded to herself, enjoying the calm she could see in her smiling reflection, before glancing over her shoulder. "That's enough," she said, rising from her seat to face her sister. "You've earned your turn." She patted the chair invitingly. "Sit."
To her surprise, the colour drained from Ishtar's face as her gaze fixed itself first on the chair, then on the mirror. Then she laughed, so boldly and clearly that Ereshkigal decided that once again, she must have imagined the moment..
"Of course," said Ishtar brightly as she descended to perch on the chair. "Make sure to take proper care of my beauty!"
"I'll count that as gratitude," said Ereshkigal as she shook her head in fond exasperation. Divinities can only change so much, even with mortal souls to guide them. But this is okay too.
She reached up to untie Ishtar's ribbons in turn, sighing as hair brushed against her eager fingers. Even better when the freed locks spilled out into her waiting palms. It was raw silk, soft and wonderful to the touch. The scent of pomegranate blossoms wafted up from it, and how could she ever have thought it cloying? It was sweet and airy, and she thought she might happily breath it in a little longer.
Does my hair feel like this too? No wonder Master enjoys combing it so much.
Ishtar said little, only murmuring occasional encouragement as Ereshkigal happily played with the black strands, enjoying their flowing softness. Crimson eyes never strayed from her movements in the mirror, but that scarcely seemed to matter. Of course her sister would want to see what was being done to her, an understandable vanity for the Goddess of Beauty.
Then Ereshkigal put down the brush in favour of running her hands along the sides of those sculpted cheeks, the better to tuck back her strands, as her sister had done earlier. But as soon as her fingers touched the skin, Istar flinched.
Ereshkigal recoiled on instinct, drawing her hands back as if she had been burnt. Immediately she felt the old gloom settling back over as she watched her sister duck her head down, breathing hard.
"Is it that horrible, to be touched by me?" she asked, a bitter taste flooding her mouth along with her heart.
"No." Ishtar shook her head, crimson eyes pleading. 'That's not it, sister."
"You don't need to say anything," said Ereshkigal, drawing her shoulders in tight as the weight of her despair crashed over her. "I carry the taint of the Underworld. It's natural that you would shy away from me." She looked away, unable to meet her sister's gaze even through the mirror. "You can go now. I will not ask you to return."
"It's not your touch, exactly," said Ishtar quietly, before heaving a sigh. "It's more about where you touched me."
Ereshkigal turned to look at her in confusion.
"That…" Ishtar pointed vaguely upwards, where her sister's hands had so recently cradled her face. "That's where you held my head, during my first descent. To keep it steady." The red of her eyes was dull and flat, her voice trembling. "When the gallu spirits gouged my eyes out."
Suddenly it was hard to breath, as Ereshkigal's mind supplied all the images she had long sought to forget. Despite her sister's attempts at dignified stoicism, there had been blood and screams. And that had just been the beginning.
Her fingers shook as she clung to the back of the chair. "You remember that," she said softly, before meeting her sister's gaze in the mirror. "No, of course you do. How could you ever forget what I did to you then?"
"Sister, please," said Ishtar, shrugging in a vain attempt to steady her shoulders. "It's not important anymore."
"It hurts you, doesn't it?" said Ereshkigal. "To touch me. To be touched by me."
Ishtar tried to scoff. "That would be weak," she said. "And a war goddess is never weak."
Ereshkigal walked over to the sofa, stumbling on legs that felt like water. She slumped into it, leaning over to massage her forehead before glancing up at her sister.
"When I was in your room, and you talked about your first descent… " Her throat felt hot and itchy, but she forced the words out anyway. "Why did you treat it as a joke, Ishtar? How could you, when it's seared on both of us?"
"That's the only way I know how to talk about it," said the other quietly. "I hate remembering the details."
Me neither, thought Ereshkigal, forcing down another memory of darkness and crimson. She sighed, her breath a soft whisper in the space between them. "I wish you'd been more honest with me from the start."
Ishtar snorted, a rude sound that nevertheless brought a smile to Ereshkigal's lips. It was much preferable to the tears that threatened to burst through.
"Like you have a great track record there," said Ishtar, her surface scorn not quite hiding the smile underneath. "It took Master to drag you out of your evil witch act."
"And to bribe you into protecting Uruk properly, like you should have been doing all along," scoffed Ereshkigal. Then she gently ran her fingers along raven tresses again, handling them like a treasure. Noting the way her sister's body stiffened, now that she was no longer hiding it. "Does this hurt?"
"A bit," admitted Ishtar, "but please keep going." Her sigh was the whispering of wind through grasses after rainfall, of leaves opening in spring. "Because one day, it won't anymore."
"Okay," whispered Ereshkigal as she stroked her sister's head with feather-light touches, as she had cradled the most vulnerable of her charges. "Okay."
Silence descended once again, but a comfortable one, yellow and warm instead of the sharp crimson thorns she had earlier feared to touch. Ishtar slowly relaxed under her ministrations, resting the weight of her head fully in Ereshkigal's grasp. Again the scent of pomegranates hit the elder goddess, but as new buds rather than full blossoms. Lighter and shier, the promise of mortals rather than the ancient power of gods.
Mortals, she thought, and thought of warm amber eyes and a patient smile. Which reminded her…
"Ishtar?" she asked, never pausing the stroking of her hands.
"Mmmm?"
"The divine wine," said Ereshkigal, carefully so as not to stumble over her words. Words she had never imagined she might say, words that left her teetering on that chasm. "I've never brewed anything before. Do you…" she swallowed heavily, but forced herself to keep reaching. "Do you think you could help me?"
Crimson eyes widened in surprise. Then Ishtar grinned, so full of pride and golden joy that Ereshkigal couldn't help but smile back.
"Of course!" she declared. "Leave it to your little sister. Uruk's winemakers are the best in the world, and I am their patron. I'll make you an expert in no time."
"I'm glad," said Ereshkigal, and only then did she let herself feel relief. Relief that she had chipped the largest chunk of ice from her heart, and yet it remained whole and beating. Hope, because the first rope bridging the gap seemed to be holding, at least for the moment. Joy, because for the first time she could remember, she didn't feel lonely.
She felt whole, new, complete. It was a feeling that, in her gratitude, she wanted to share with everyone in Chaldea. All the Servants who supported the Master that made this possible, the staff that struggled tirelessly to keep things afloat. The people that made this—home, yes, she didn't want to deny it anymore—this home possible.
That warm ball of emotion in her belly made her raise her head again. "Hey, Ishtar? I think we should make an extra flask for Enkidu. They never did get a chance to taste it before—"
"Don't push it," growled Ishtar.
Author's Note: [Interlude complete. Obtained Mysterious Divine Wine x 10]
More seriously, thank you for reading. There's no greater compliment to an author than having someone follow their story all the way through, even a relatively short one. If you have any questions or comments, please do feel free to drop me a review or a PM. Writing is like a conversation, as better authors than me have said.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention one of the very best Ereshkigal stories out there, Meltryllis' "Touch-Tone Goddess", over on AO3. They've wonderfully captured Eresh's feelings on being touched after years in solitude, and in less than 1K words.