Godhead

Part Two

:.:

A/N: Due to the sexual nature of this story, is has been altered from its original form to fit within site guidelines. If you want the slightly more explicit version, there's a link to my Archive of Our Own account in my bio.

:.:

I'm eighteen when my world spins on its axis.

It's the dead of summer once again, and the heat is nigh unbearable this season. The cicadas drone endlessly—nature's ballad for those of us that dwell in the valley. The lord's son and his entourage have returned for the second year in a row. He brings more merchants with him this time, many of whom express interest in the fine hides and furs that we make. The possibility of trade is good; it will bring life back to the village.

My sister follows the lord's steps with wide eyes. She looks more doe-like than I've ever seen her, head full of visions of the future she desires. She thinks she's in love with the man. I tell her that she's smitten with the idea of leaving rather than the man himself. I caution her to drop her gaze and focus on the ground beneath her feet, rather than the clouds. She ignores me, instead choosing to follow doggedly behind the lesser noble and make moon eyes at him. She's beautiful, my sister, so it's no surprise when she catches his eyes.

And I catch the eyes of one of the guards—the one from before, with the dark eyes and the scarred lip. When the lord's son looks upon my sister, he does so with lovesick eyes. When the guard looks upon me, he does so with the eyes of a man starved—like he's had hardly a bite to eat in years and I'm a suckling pig roasting over the fire. So ravenous, like he's aching to sink his teeth into my delicate skin.

He hunts me with his eyes.

I catch those night-black depths lingering on me when I pass. They don't look upon my face. No. I catch them roving over my body with carnal interest—the kind of interest that should only exist between a couple bound together before God. I feel my skin crawl like a thousand insects dwell in my body. He makes me feel… unclean.

Despite his interest, he keeps his distance. Little more than a shadowy presence in my peripherals, he lurks like a wolf on the prowl. I fear the moment when he feels brave enough to clamp his jaws around my throat.

While the lord's traveling group is in the village, I avoid the Head Elder's home out of caution. While I don't think the guard will be brave enough to try anything within the village's boundaries, I'm not silly enough to invite his attentions. So, I take the long way around the fields to get to O-Satoru-sama's shrine. Some of the fieldhands loiter about under the shade of the trees, taking refuge from the sun during the peak of its arc. I wave at the few that I recognize, who I know will wave back. The number is few, and dwindles with every passing year.

Being blessed by God has driven a wall between the village and I; it only grows taller with each year that passes. The undercurrent of rage and loathing runs deeper for every winter that I don't take ill.

I am favored by O-Satoru-sama. And with his favor comes the bitter taste of loneliness.

The blacksmith's face contorts into baleful hatred every time I make a request at his forge, and I must fight to keep from shrinking away from his ire. But that's hardly an uncommon response to my presence, now. Many of those who'd once been friends with Mama and Papa close their blinds when I pass and curse the ground I walk on. They curse God, too, for letting their loved ones die. The Great Sickness that'd ravaged the village has been gone for years, but hurt feelings are seldom cured in such little time. Eventually, their anger will pass, and they'll welcome me as one of their own again. Eventually their anguish will fade and O-Satoru-sama's shrine will be visited again.

I watch children play in the dusty street, kicking a ball back and forth. They're older than I was when I was introduced to our god, but they still wear the red garments of the Cursed. With no Elder to speak to God, no new souls have been cleansed. I'm not sure what happens when a Curse goes without being purified, but old legends state that those afflicted eventually become monsters. I shiver at the thought. The children continue their play, ignorant to the fate that awaits them if they don't meet God.

"Cute little things, aren't they?" The voice is an unfamiliar one, deep with an edge sharp as a blade. I turn around and gasp in fear. The lord's guardsman is standing behind me, head cocked and arms crossed. His breath reeks of alcohol. I take a shaky step back. "Want to learn how they're made? I could show you. Sweet village girl like you, I bet you'd love it." The man smiles, but it's more like he's baring sharp fangs.

Make… children? I swallow thickly and shake my head, not wanting to speak.

"No? That's too bad." His scarred hand reaches towards me and I flinch away. Rough fingers trap a lock of my hair, and he crowds into my space. I shiver in disgust when he brings my hair to his nose to inhale my scent. "Fuck. You smell innocent. I bet I could ruin you," he growls.

I have to get away from him.

"I have somewhere to be," I try to tell him firmly. I jerk my head away from him and try to walk around his bulk. His callused hand lashes out, grabbing my wrist with speed I've only seen in striking snakes. He yanks me against his body, and I tumble on unsteady feet.

"That's not nice, sweetheart," he admonishes. "When a man gives you attention, you're supposed to be flattered." His thick arm coils around my waist.

"Please let me go," I whisper. My heart pounds in my throat.

Chapped lips brush against my temple, a mockery of a kiss. The touch makes me think of O-Satoru-sama, of his gentle caress. I recoil, shoving at the man's large chest. I shriek at him to let me go, but he only laughs at my attempts to escape. When I look at the other villagers for help, they avert their eyes. I plead for them to make him stop, but they turn away, one-by-one. They go inside of their huts and shut the doors, drop the drapes down. Even the farmhands have left their shade spot.

I'm alone with the guard.

Why did they abandon me? I know that many of them are angry with me, but to let me be assaulted in broad daylight?!

"Let me go," I try again, but the man only drops his hand to cup my rear. He tugs me tighter against his body, hand bruising my delicate wrist with its crushing force. And his hips roll against me. I feel something poke my stomach, and my insides clench when I realize what it is. The tie around my waist loosens ever so slightly.

"I've had my eye on you for a while now. So pretty," he coos at me, tone demeaning. This is all a game to him. My distress is funny, I realize. "Little village girl needs to loosen up a bit. I can help. Let's go somewhere private, Sweet Girl. I'll show you how a man takes care of his woman."

My response is instant. In a sudden show of bravery, my free hand darts out.

A smack rings out in the heavy summer air. The man's face burns red where I'd struck him. Shock and disbelief cloud his eyes. I wrench free from his grip, putting distance between us. My breathing is harsh with panic, and my haori askew from his rough handling. One of my shoulders peeks out, bare and exposed to his predatory gaze. I right my sleeve and shrink into myself.

He's going to come after me now, I think. He's going to hit me back. I back away more, waiting for the inevitable. But he doesn't lunge. There is no coiled strike. Instead, he stares blankly, mouth working like he's chewing on something to say. Then the man turns and walks away like nothing had ever happened—like he'd never tried to feel me up when I'd asked him to stop. I have a feeling that this isn't over, that he'll be back again.

Dread pools in my stomach.

I wander to O-Satoru-sama's shrine in a daze, unable to believe that I'd just been grabbed like that.

Nobody had stopped him.

Nobody had cared.

Do the others in the village truly hate me so much?

In a trance, I go about my chores: scythe meets grass, cropping it to a manageable length; the walkway up to the moonpool and altar are swept; O-Satoru-sama's statue is scrubbed free of moss and dirt. I have no offerings to place today, so instead I take to my knees and pray in front of the statue. My eyes close, and I feel his presence immediately. The warmth of God seeps through the cloth of my haori, and a gentle weight presses down on the back of my neck. Long-fingered hands stroke softly at the baby hairs at the tip of my spine, and I shiver even under the oppressive summer sun.

I almost protest; I'm sweaty from a long day's labor—and I feel disgusting with the touch of that man lingering on my skin. O-Satoru-sama shouldn't dirty his hands with me.

"Somebody had touched what belongs to me", I hear him speak, tone angrier than it's been before. "I watched that man sully you from the eyes of my familiars."

Familiars. The village cats. Somebody had been watching over me, after all.

"I'm sorry, O-Satoru-sama. I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn't listen," I whisper, hands clenching into fists whose knuckles are bone-white and creak with the pressure.

"It's not your fault, Love." The presence kneels before me, and I keep my eyes closed. His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking the sensitive skin below my eye. I lean into his touch, craving the gentleness of his attentions. "But perhaps I've been silent for too long. This might be the time to remind those that live within my lands exactly whom they serve, hmm?"

I shiver. His tone is cold, a contrast to the heat he radiates.

Then I lick my lips. "Why have you been quiet for so long, O-Satoru-sama? Many in the village believe that you've deserted them."

When the plague had swept through, killing everything in its path, Elder Gakuganji had entreated for God to speak to him and tell him how to save us. O-Satoru-sama had been silent as the grave. Many people believe that the sickness was sent as a punishment for straying from the old days, when we used to sacrifice animals in the name of worship—more still simply said that the deity had turned his back on us lowly humans. Gods are slaves to their ever-changing whims, and our beloved O-Satoru-sama would surely be no exception. After all, he's said to be a fickle, childish God.

But the voice that rattles in my skull is hardly childish. The presence that lingers at the edge of my peripheries radiates a power so great that my body beckons me to bend a knee to it.

"I was never silent; I couldn't reach you."

"But Elder Gakuganji—"

"Was not my mouthpiece towards the end of his life. I'd found another to speak on my behalf," O-Satoru-sama states firmly. "He feared losing his status as Head Elder, and all the benefits that came with it, so he'd kept it a secret. But he could not hear me, not after another had taken his place."

The gentle hand cups the back of my head, bringing me forward until something soft brushes against my forehead—lips, I think. My hands shake where they grip the fabric of my hakama tightly. Warm breath tingles against the crown of my head. The breath of a God. O-Satoru-sama lets out a hum low in his throat that sends shivers down my spine. The sound vibrates my whole being, makes my soul tremble with want. I want him, his touch and his heat and his voice echoing in my mind forever. Warmth pools between my thighs again, the sensation new and exciting.

"Open your eyes," God entreats.

My eyes only close more firmly. "If I do, you'll disappear again."

"You're ready to see me now. Open your eyes." This time, it's a demand.

I comply with his wishes, eyes fluttering open, and I gasp. God is… beautiful. O-Satoru-sama is like no man that I've ever seen before—pale as the moonlight, with hair the color of freshly-fallen snow. His features are a curious blend of strong and delicate, and I must resist the urge to trace the sharpness of his jaw and the fine line of his defined cheekbones. Despite the statue depicting him as a cat, this is a man standing before me. A gorgeous man, yes, but a human one, nonetheless. It's only when I meet his gaze that I see him for what he really is. His eyes are a color so unnatural that for a moment, I resist the urge to flinch away from him. Blue eyes, I have seen before, but never a shade so indescribable. He has starlight in his eyes; they glow.

God is kneeling before me, clad in a sky-blue kimono which shines like it's made of the finest silks. The cloth is worth more than I'd ever be able to comprehend, with its patterned weave and embroidered imagery of waves. The six-eyed mask that his statue dons is pulled up off his face, affixed to the side of his head seemingly with magic. Even lowered as he is, I can tell that he towers over me. One of his pale hands—unmarred by imperfections like scars or calluses—moves to cup my chin. His thumb strokes over my lips, and those otherworldly eyes of his fixate on my mouth. For a moment, I wonder if he's going to kiss me. But a little part of my brain says that he looks like he'd rather eat me.

I shudder in his grasp. And I swallow down a sigh of something that I can't quite name.

When God speaks this time, it's not in my mind. Instead, his smooth voice is that of a human's, reaching my ears. "You were my new mouthpiece. From the moment your little hand met me, you were mine." He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. "You touched my heart, and I recognized your soul."

God has a beating heart. I can feel it thrumming beneath my fingertips.

Touched his heart? Right! I jolt, remembering my introduction ceremony, when my hand had touched the statue's chest. The statue's eyes had flashed blue, had signaled to all that I was in God's favor. I'd been so young at the time… had I really been chosen as his mouthpiece then? And if so, how long had Elder Gakuganji been unable to hear O-Satoru-sama's voice?

I lick my lips and swallow my nervousness. "When the plague killed Papa… Elder Gakuganji was…" I trail off, unwilling to finish my thought. The Elder had lied to us for years, had been deaf to God for so very, very long.

"His hubris killed so many people," God sighs wearily. "The river that carries water to the village had become tainted. Had he stepped down, had he brought you to me when I'd originally asked, none of that would have happened. You could've drank from my spring or boiled away the disease, but he could not hear my instructions. I was voiceless, watching as you all succumbed."

Tears flood my eyes. Papa would still be alive. Mama would still be alive. I hate Elder Gakuganji, I think. Part of me hopes that he's suffering for what he did. He'd killed himself, too, in the end. A fitting end, I suppose, for somebody who'd sworn to protect us and ultimately failed because of his own greed. I could've saved everyone. O-Satoru-sama shushes me and gently brushes away the tears that spill over. The badump-badump of his heartbeat grounds me, brings me out of my sorrow.

There's no use mourning over what could've been. I can only more forward, now. Mama and Papa would want me to stand tall, as I'd ever done. I'm blessed by God, his voice among mortals. I'm strong. I'm special.

"Is that why I never get sick? Because I'm favored by you? Because I'm your voice?"

He laughs, then, loud and boisterous. I feel his chest shake under my hand. He feels like life, like joy. "Oh, my sweet girl, you aren't simply favored by me; you're a part of me. When your mother and father came to me, asking for a baby that would live a long life, I gave her a sliver of my soul. You were the product." My eyes widen. "The reason you never get sick is the same reason roosters never scratch you, the reason wolves don't attack you, and stray dogs don't bite when you pet them: you're a living goddess."

A…

Living…

I try to pull away from him, but his strength is astounding. I don't so much as shift. The hand that'd lovingly cupped my chin and stroked my tears away grips firmly around my neck. The touch should scare me, having something so deadly around such a vulnerable part of my body. But I trust him, as wild as it is. Something within him calls to me, and I wonder if it's my portion of his soul that resonates. His fingers find my pulse point and I can feel the beat of my heart against his grasp.

"Our hearts beat as one," he whispers. They do; I feel the evidence under my palm, in my throat. "You are mine—you have always been mine, even before you took your first breath in this world, even before you met me for the first time." The possessiveness in his tone is dark, almost obsessive. "You are mine to hold, to touch, to love. But somebody else has touched what is mine."

The viselike fingers that hold my hand to his chest stroke over my wrist, where a bruise is beginning to darken the skin. Fingers emblazoned on my person, evidence of an unwanted touch. At first, I think he's angry at me and I apologize shakily, but the man-god shakes his head at me. He soothes me with lips against my temple again. I know then that he's not angry with me, but at the man who'd sullied me. I feel dirty, still. The guardsman's lingering presence is like ichor that stains me where he'd let his vile fingers wander.

"You may bathe here, in the sacred spring. Wash him away," O-Satoru-sama offers with a whispered word to my temple. "Cleanse yourself, then go home and rest."

When I look up at him, his eyes are shuttered, dark. His grip slackens and I pull myself away reluctantly. Even in the summer sun, leaving his embrace is cold. When the god stands, he is a great shadow above me, taller than any man I've ever known before. And he looks down at me with a hint of fondness, ruffling my hair, before turning away to gaze down at the village below.

I walk over to the moonpool and strip my clothes, baring my skin to the open air. When I'm naked as the day I was born, I step into the waters. Quickly, I submerge myself, dunking my head under and wetting my hair. It's cold, almost too much to bear, but I stay in and scrub myself with my fingernails. My skin turns red from my ministrations, but I finally feel clean. I stand. My arms come up around my nude body, cradling it as I shiver. I absentmindedly watch the holy water run in rivulets that dip between my modest breasts and caress my legs. The feeling is sensual.

When I turn around to look back at O-Satoru-sama, he's looking at me with something unreadable in those glowing eyes. I shrink away from his heated stare, sheltering my bared chest and the cleft of my legs with my arms. He approaches, then, and he stops at the edge of the water. "Don't hide from me," he admonishes softly. "I've known you longer than you've known yourself. Your body is as familiar to me as my own." Tentatively, I drop the last barrier between us and let him take me in.

"D-does this please you, God?" I ask shyly.

He responds with a tone that borders on worshipful. "You're perfect in every way. There is no equal in this village or the next."

Blushing, I look at the water beneath me, watch as it contorts our reflections. The water ripples as he enters to pool with me. The god doesn't let out a gasp at the chill, nor does he act like it even affects him. He's steadfast, unshakeable. He approaches me with purpose, joining me where I'm at my most vulnerable. I feel shy, but not scared. This isn't like being cornered by some unknown guard. This is something preordained, something ingrained in the fabric of my being. I was made for O-Satoru-sama; I realize that now.

I was made for him to use me and love me as he likes.

I am blessed. I am favored.

I am his.

I am his living goddess.

He reaches out to cup the curve of my shoulder, thumb stroking the skin with something not unlike reverence. His touch is a balm, soothing and warm. I find myself leaning into it, yearning for something more. My eyes drift closed. Safe as I feel with him, I am at peace. Here in his tranquil oasis, I am untouchable by all but God.

I let out a sigh of disappointment when he steps back and removes himself from the pool entirely. He breathes deeply, eyes closed, like he's restraining himself.

"I'll leave you to finish. There is ceremonial garb in the shrine house that should fit you."

Then he abruptly turns away and vanishes in the tree line at the edge of the shrine grounds.

And I'm left alone, naked and confused.

My knees tremble when I pull myself from the sacred waters. I open the doors of the shrine house, which creak from disuse. There is dust—layers upon layers which blanket all I see—and a myriad of cobwebs in every corner. Tirelessly, I sift through the contents of the many crates. In one, my fingers find something luxuriously soft. I gasp and pull the bolt of cloth free, marveling at the soft blue color of it—the same as the kimono God had worn. This is a yukata, though, made from soft cotton and free from the ostentatious embellishments of O-Satoru-sama's own garb.

Still, it's finer than anything I've ever owned. I wrap my chest and slide on the blue garment. It fits perfectly. The summer yukata feels like the embrace of a precious person, like being held by Mama again after so long. It feels like wearing O-Satoru-sama's love on my person.

I burn my old haori and hakama in one of the ceremonial braziers.

When I arrive home in clothes different from those I'd left in, I expect my sister to say something snappy. But she doesn't, because she's absent. I know that she must be with the lord's son, and I feel discontent bubble in my stomach. She is an adult in the eyes of our people now, and I cannot stop her from pursuing him. Besides that, I have no way of stopping the noble's attentions without dooming the village to an existence without trade.

I'm at an impasse. There's nothing I can do. The hollow feeling in my gut only grows wider with each passing moment until it yawns wide and dark.

I go to bed alone, my sister's cot empty save for her blankets. My dreams are filled with disjointed images of hands that grip me in unwanted places, and a mouth gnawing at my neck, like it wants to drink down my lifeblood. I awake to the darkness once or twice, fearing leering eyes peaking in through my window, but I am still alone. I toss and turn for fear that he's still hunting me, that he's been waiting to strike in the dead of night, when he can hurt me and nobody would ever know. My sleep is fitful.

My sister never returns from where she's spent the night.

And the guard never visits me outside of my nightmares.

Because when the dawn greets the village, he's found dead.

His body is discovered in an irrigation canal, just past the fields where he'd lain his hands on me. At first, the Wisewoman suspects an animal attack—we dwell in the mountains, after all, and there are no shortage of creatures that find lone men easy prey. But the body is not bitten or clawed; it is twisted and crushed, like a great force had pressed down on him from all directions. His bones are in shards so small that his bruise-blackened limbs flop like wheat stalks when they remove his body. Where once there was a ribcage, there is only a caved-in and hollow husk. Expression frozen in an expression of horror and pain, his face peeks over his shoulder because his head has been twisted backwards.

A crowd gathers to watch the spectacle; there has never been a death like this before.

It's horrific. It's brutal. It's inhuman.

The wrath of God.

I find no joy in his death, nor his torment. But there is justice in it. O-Satoru-sama is not cruel; he would not punish a man so terribly without reason… Right? The god has only ever shown me kindness, patience, love.

A white cat slinks around the edge of the crowd, weaving in between he legs of the on-lookers as the body is carted away. I kneel and motion for him to approach me, and he does easily. The lithe white form of the tomcat nudges against my knee, purring happily in my presence. I scratch him behind his ears absentmindedly.

"You shouldn't linger here, Little One. The villagers might trample you if you're underfoot," I scold him.

And when the cat's eyes open, I gasp. Blue and filled with starlight, they are the same as God's. My mouth hangs open in disbelief and the cat seems to wink as though to say 'it was me all along'. He's been watching over me since I was very small, I think, remembering the snow-colored kitten that'd played in the water at my introduction. I remember my mother's death, how he'd been watching over her... and the comfort the same cat had offered me for many moons.

The Wisewoman makes her way through the crowd and announces that this is the work of divinity. This is the punishment from God for some unknown transgression. But they know what the man had done. They all turn to me with knowing gazes. This man had put his hands on me and had ended up dead. There is no jealousy or hatred in their eyes now. No. All that is left behind is fear.

They fear that our once-loving god will strike them down next.

The lord's son is furious at the death of his favored bodyguard, and more so at the 'superstitious hicks' that write off the killing as a deity's work. The wealthy man has little faith in what he cannot see, and he berates us for our ignorance. 'There are no gods, no monsters', he says to anybody who will listen. And when we won't listen, won't look deeper into what he considers to be a murder, he leaves.

He and all of his merchant friends and the rest of his guards depart the village at the end of summer. The changing of the leaves and the autumn chill follow the entourage as it rounds the road up the mountain. Before I see them fade from view, I can just barely spot my sister among them—her hand laced with the lord's like lovers do. She turns around, and for a split second her impassive eyes meet mine.

Then she's gone.

I'm alone, save for the tiny cat-god that nudges at my knees.

I go to his shrine and cry into his fine kimono until I pass out. When I wake up, I'm warm in my bed. A white-furred body lays on my chest, purring. Our hearts beat as one.

:.:

I'm nineteen when God devours me.

I feel eyes on me every time I leave my hut, so I prefer to stay inside and practice my leatherworking. Papa had shown me a little before he'd died, but it's up to me to learn the finer points on my own. With winter here, the cooking fire keeps me warm as I press tools into the leather's tanned façade. I'm getting better at cutting straight edges, and my hands are growing steadier by the day.

Someday, this village will flourish again, and we'll revitalize our trade. This is my goal when I take over as Head Elder. I'll write letters and send couriers to neighboring villages, and we'll become what we once were.

O-Satoru-sama tells me that I'm an optimist, but I hardly care. I want to do better by the people than my predecessor. I will not allow others to die because of my own hubris, nor will I allow us to waste away here in this isolated valley. I'll be a good village leader, and I have the favor of God on my side. O-Satoru-sama has already stated that he'll bless the fields for the next harvest so that our food stores can swell once again. I had thanked him with a bow, but he'd demanded a kiss on the cheek. I'd obliged nervously. The kiss had been chaste, but it'd left me feeling giddy for several days afterward.

God is loving; he's kind.

He will watch over us.

But winter is always a difficult season, and first we must make it through to spring. O-Satoru-sama has made me promise that I won't tell anybody about being his mouthpiece until after the first leaves are on the trees. He worries that the villagers might still be resentful of me, and that they may try to do me harm. I'm not worried, though—these people are good at heart; I know it.

The last few years have just hardened them. But they'll soften up, someday.

This village is my home; these people were once my family and friends.

O-Satoru-sama had seemed doubtful. And he'd sworn to protect me. His tone had been dark enough that I'd shivered. He'd brushed his lips over my cheek and murmured a threatening 'if anybody touches you…' into my ear. I know what will happen if somebody tries to do me harm. I dread the day it happens again. The dark feeling in my gut curls inside, though, and a part of me admits that I like that he'd punished a man so severely for touching me. He'd do anything for me, kill for me, and the realization leaves me breathless.

I'm sick in my head, I think, because sometimes I shiver with an unknown heat at the thought of O-Satoru-sama displaying his power again.

The middle of winter marks the day of my birth, though I'm unsure of exactly which day it is. I know that I'm around nineteen winters, old enough for a husband and a babe or two by now, if I were a traditional woman. I wonder if my sister had ever married the lord's son; I wonder if she's with child now.

There are things I'll never know, though, and wondering will only bring back the melancholy.

A knock on my door breaks my concentration, and my tool slips through the leather in a jagged pattern. I groan in annoyance but get up anyway. The white cat at my side stirs but doesn't follow. O-Satoru-sama has been at my side diligently for the better part of two seasons; he must be exhausted. He's mentioned that inhabiting a familiar uses up quite a lot of energy, and his energy had been waning for years. We'd talked at length about his divine abilities and how they worked.

He'd used to devour the Cursed Energy of children, which all of those in our village are born with. For centuries, he'd eaten the Curses in return for providing fertile fields and protection from other, less kind deities. That's what the introduction had been when I'd turned three; he'd devoured the Curse inside of me. But with no new introductions made, he hasn't fed since after Elder Gakuganji died. He's not weak now—he could never be weak—but he must rest more than he once did.

Awaiting on the other side is the blacksmith. This aged, angry man looks nothing like he had years ago, when he'd been good friends with Papa. When he'd often stopped by to join in supper or help repair the roof. The man before is defeated, broken, hollow. He'd lost so much when the sickness came: his wife and twin daughters. It'd changed him into something dark, something harsh. He was one of the people who'd let the guard touch me; I remember seeing his familiar face in the group of farmhands. Papa's friend glances at the cat near my cot and frowns, weary eyes turning downwards and lips pulling taut. And he looks away abruptly when one of the cat's black-tipped ears twitch. The smith informs me that the Wisewoman wants to see me, and that it is a matter of great importance. Then he pulls away so suddenly that I flinch.

I watch as he stalks off before I have a chance to thank him for the message. I think that's by design.

The Wisewoman is the same one we've had for three decades, and she'd been the one to preside over my birth. She'd once told me that she'd known I was special from my first breath. I hadn't cried like most babies do, like my long-dead brother and absent sister had done. Instead, I'd laughed when I'd met the world. She'd once told me that the birthing room had never heard a more beautiful sound.

Mama had worked for her, grinding herbs for healing poultices and potions, and I'd taken over the duty after Mama had died. But there is nothing to grind in winter, when all the herbs have already been dried and stowed for storage. I wonder what she could want with me, but the woman is the only person who has continued to treat me with kindness in the wake of the guard's death. So, I immediately bundle myself up and head to her hut on the far side of the village square.

I shiver in the cold's biting embrace. Winter stings my cheeks, even through the layers of my clothing. No snow has fallen yet, but ice forms on my breath as it leaves me in puffs.

I enter the hut near the base of the overgrown shrine stairs and find the elderly woman swathed in blankets, resting in her bed. The rest is not comfortable, though, judging from her labored breathing and sweat-streaked skin. I rush to her bedside and take her gnarled hand between my own. Her flesh is hot to the touch. She feels like she's burning alive. I grab a cloth from the bucket of water nearby and use it to mop up her sweat. Then I wring it out and let the cool compress soothe her heated body, laying it tenderly across her lined forehead.

She's sleeping, I think.

And when I stand up to leave, her hand shoots out to stop me. It startles me, how fast she moves for a sick person. The woman motions me to come closer and I lean in. Her wheezing only sounds worse now that she's moving. I realize then that she's terribly, terribly ill.

"You… must.. leave." I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Does she want me out of her house after she called me here and had me stay? "Leave the… leave the village… before it's too late, Child."

I start. "Leave the village? Why, Wisewoman? What's going to happen?"

"He's waiting for you," she coughs out with great difficulty. "He's killed to keep you… He'll keep.. he'll keep killing until… he has you."

"Who?!" I ask, casting a suspicious glance at her open window. "Who's killing people? Why does he want me?!"

The woman's breathing is labored, and she hacks and coughs for a moment. I worry she'll hurt something, and I try to soothe her with gentle touches, but she flings her hands out and screams at me not to touch her. I draw back, hurt and confused.

"You're not well," I say. "Get some rest, and you can tell me when you feel better."

"I'm dying," the woman hisses like one of the village cats. "But before I go… I must warn you. Leave. Please… leave," she pleads brokenly. "Leave us or we'll all die!"

The delirium of a woman about to meet her end, I think sadly. There's no truth to her words, just paranoia. I sigh sadly and think of how to handle her. The Wisewoman was once a strong, beautiful person. Now, she's a shell, mangled and twisted by visions of death. She smells of vomit and loosened bowels, and her hair is twisted into filthy matter clumps. She hasn't taken care of herself in a long time. Her mind is gone, eaten away by whatever fever she has. Before I can say anything, though, she lurches away from me like she's been struck.

"O-Satoru-sama," she whispers in terror, looking over my shoulder, "please forgive me!"

I peek behind me and find God's avatar watching from the doorway. The white cat's starlight eyes are fixated on the woman in the bed—they're blank and unnervingly dark for things that usually shine like jewels. He must be upset that she'd yelled at me. He's so overprotective since the guard's assault. I offer him a smile and stand up. I'm done here. The Wisewoman needs to calm down again so she can find peace in slumber, and my presence here will only prevent that.

"She's hallucinating," I tell God's vessel. "She's paranoid because she's sick; she'll be better tomorrow."

But I know she's dying. This is the last time I'll see her. The last image I have of her is the shriveled form on the bed wailing in fear and anguish. I shut the door and let out a sniffle. O-Satoru-sama paws anxiously at my knees.

"I'm fine," I reassure him. "It's just sad, watching somebody so proud sink so low."

I don't pay any mind to what she'd told me. The irrational ramblings of a dying woman don't mean much to me.

Still, something inside of me whispers that I'm in terrible danger.

It's not until I'm tucked in for the night and ready for bed that the feeling is proven correct. It's the middle of evening, with the full moon high in the sky, when I'm plucked from sleep by a rough hand in my hair. The grip pulls and tugs at me until I'm tossed onto the floor. I shout in pain and surprise, fingers clawing at the man above me.

Papa's old friend is in my hut, towering over me. He yanks on my scalp again and I let out a throat-scarring scream. Somebody will come help me, right? Somebody will save me, right? He pulls me up off the floor with his grip, jarring my neck and shoulders. And he holds a tanto to my neck. He's… he's going to... kill me?! Is this who the Wisewoman had been warning me about? I'd ignored her, thought she was speaking from a place of madness—but maybe she'd been right about this.

A white steak launches itself at the man, yowling and clawing into his eyes. The man yells out in pain but doesn't let me go. Instead, he drops the short blade and tears the furious cat off his face, smashing it into the ground at his feet. Then he raises a heavy boot and brings it down on the small animal's body with a sickening crunch. Then he does it again and again and again.

"O-Satoru-sama!" I cry. His avatar's white form lies tellingly still, red pooling from beneath the tiny corpse.

"You're not a god; you're a demon!" the man spits at the cat's body. Then he yanks me up to follow him, grabbing the blade from the ground. I'm dragged closely behind, barefoot and tripping over every rock in the road. It hurts, walking without my straw sandals for protection. And it's freezing. My toes are slowly turning to ice, even as the razor-sharp pebbles rend slashes across them.

I'm paraded through the village like a macabre art piece, feet covered in dirt and cat's blood, and clothes askew. The villagers gawk and stare, but do not move to help. Instead, they watch. And they wait. The other avatars of God, too, watch in the wings. Their feline eyes glow eerily in the dark. Hisses and growls from the small beings rise with our passing.

"The Wisewoman is dead. Because of you, so many people had to die," Papa's old friend snarls under his breath, tugging viciously. "Your father and mother, Elder Gakuganji… my family. The burden of their deaths rests with you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whimper. "Please let me go. Please. Please. Please."

His eyes soften just a fraction. "Your Papa and I knew each other since we were children. He was my best friend. And now he's dead because of you." He holds the tanto up, the sharpness of the curved edge grazing my tender throat. "He's dead. Because of that thing we used to worship." The blade presses deeper. "Did you know that God feeds off of us? Elder Gakuganji told me before he died. Gojo Satoru is a monster, a creature that devours part of our souls in exchange for more crops than we need. Is that a fair trade to you?!"

I protest, voice shaking in terror. Is this how it ends? "He eats the Curses inside of us; he told me himself. It's to keep us from becoming tainted."

"It's a lie to keep us coming; he harvests us like we do the fields, yielding a bigger crop with every year." I'm dragged to the statue of O-Satoru-sama's likeness. The cold stone seems even taller, even more foreboding. It glowers at the man with all six of its all-seeing eyes. "I just want it all to stop."

"Then let me go," I plead. "Please, let me go."

The broken man shakes his head, tears in his eyes. "I can't. The demon wants you. And now he'll have you."

My back meets the rough flagstones in front of God's statue as I'm carelessly thrown. The large, strong blacksmith pins me down with a knee in my gut and the hand still in my hair. I try to claw anywhere I can reach with my grubby nails: eyes, throat, arms. The man ignores the bleeding gouges I leave behind—treats them like little more than kitten scratches. He again rests the blade on my throat, presses threateningly. I jerk under him, watching as more cats linger at the tree line; they observe with hackles raised and needle-teeth bared.

The tanto shakes in his hand. "I'll sacrifice you to Gojo, then we'll be free of his curse," he whispers, voice breaking.

Something wet drops down onto my face, and I realize that the man above me is crying now. His weight shudders on top of me. The glistening trails down his face catch in the light of the full moon. And, after a moment of tense silence, his grip on the short blade goes slack. Then it loosens completely, letting the weapon drop to the ground next o us with a loud thunk.

"Forgive me, everyone, I can't do it," he cries mournfully. "Not with you looking at me. Not when you have your Papa's eyes." The man, deep in his grief, bows his head over me and lets out great heaving sobs.

Am I safe now? Is it over? I'm still pinned, still at his mercy, but the immediate threat is gone. I feel hollowed out now that the terror has fled. There's an empty chasm inside of me that whispers 'he was going to kill me' over and over again. I was going to die by the hand of somebody I'd known since I was a child. I stare blankly up at the cloudless sky, taking in the swollen moon and the starlight.

Starlight, like O-Satoru-sama's glowing blue eyes. I remember the broken little body in my hut and shudder.

But God isn't dead. No. I see him over my captor's shoulder, looking completely unharmed. The deity's eyes are swirling vortexes of rage, glowing with divine fury unmatched by any earthly source. And, with deliberate slowness, he reaches out to grasp the human's hair between his pale fingers. He draws the man's head back, meeting no resistance. Papa's old friend seems to be in a trance, I realize; he no longer cries, but is eerily blank, like his soul had already fled his body. O-Satoru-sama takes up the discarded tanto and runs it quickly over the human's throat.

I observe all of this from a distance, like I'm outside of my own body.

But I feel the hot spray of blood as it hits my cheeks. I see the red fountain erupt from the new mouth opened in a grim smile on his neck. I hear the disgusting gurgling he makes as red liquid obscures his airways. The man remains calm—he doesn't fight, doesn't struggle, even as he chokes on his life blood and exsanguinates.

O-Satoru-sama watches all of this with disinterest, like one would observe a fly being swatted.

The man—now a corpse, my brain hisses—threatens to fall on top of me. God grabs the body by the collar of its haori and tosses it aside like rubbish. I watch the boneless heap in distant horror. The waiting cats descend on him en masse, and I shiver as they tear into him like a hunk of meat. It's awful, the sounds of gnawing and hissing.

"Are you alright, Love?" my deity asks. I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes forth. I choke on my words—like the man had choked on his own lifeblood.

Choking.

Suffocating.

I turn over and gag. Then I look up at God's impassive face. There isn't a hint of remorse that I can see. if anything, he looks... excited.

Propping myself up on trembling arms, I whisper, "I have to go back to the village and let them know what happened. I have to-"

"There isn't anybody there anymore."

That gives me pause and I look up at him. "W-what do you mean? Where did everybody go? Did they all run away?"

The God doesn't answer me, instead tilting his head and inspecting me with the same countenance as one of his familiars. He's unnervingly still, I notice. God doesn't have the same idiosyncrasies that humans do; he doesn't fidget, doesn't shift, doesn't breathe. He's a statue with lifelike colors. Strong and cold as the stone shrine he dwells beneath.

"O-Satoru-sama, where are the villagers?" I ask him again.

"They allowed that man to touch you." It is a non-answer, but it's telling all the same. I wonder if there is a sea of blood at the foot of the shrine steps. I wonder if he'd spared any of the children. But I know that he's not the merciful deity I'd once pictured him as. No. He's a demon, a monster. How many people had he killed in his long existence? How many had he killed just tonight?

And he'd killed them all for me. I'm complicit in it all. All those deaths, and it's my fault.

It's...

It's all my fault.

I'm a monster, too, I suppose.

Something inside of me cracks. It's not a clean break, but one that leaves the mental wounds exposed and jagged. One false step, and I'll shatter.

I wonder if that's what he wants; for me to fall to pieces under his attentions so that he can put me back together how he likes.

O-Satoru-sama kneels before me, not a speck of red decorating his beautiful skin. His kimono is flawless as ever, unmarred by the struggle of tonight. My own matching yukata is streaked with crimson, soaked in it. It's seeping into the inner fabrics of my chest wraps. I can feel it on my body, hot and sticky. Shaking, I tug at the cloth, trying to pull it away from my skin before it, too, is stained.

O-Satoru-sama's strong hands grip the fabric, and he pulls it apart with the ease of ripping rice paper. I'm left bare before him, but not clean as I'd been last time. No. I am drenched in the evidence of the slaughter, decorated with the carnage of murder.

I can't breath; I think I'm dying.

The demon coos at me, cupping my cheek with the very hand he'd used to kill a man. To kill many, many men. "It's okay, Love. Nobody will ever hurt you again." He pushes me back gently, and I bend to his will as a bough bends before the great winds. Outside, I'm docile, calm. Inside, I scream and scream until my head pounds. "I'll kill anybody who touches you." O-Satoru-sama's gentle touch unwinds my breast band, and his mouth presses hotly against the side of my neck. "I'll kill anybody who tries to take you away from me," he whispers against my skin. "Your father tried to steal you away, too, you know. The Elder would've allowed it. So I punished them."

The confession falls between us, hot and heavy like the striking of a blacksmith's hammer. It takes my molten core and shapes it further, warps it until it's unrecognizable.

'He's killed to keep you… He'll keep... he'll keep killing until…'

'Because of you, so many people had to die. Your father and mother, Elder Gakuganji… my family. The burden of their deaths rests with you!'

The words swirl together in my mind. I stare at the night sky above, body heavy as stone. God's soft lips latch onto one of my bared nipples, and I let out a soft cry. His lithe fingers curl at the ties of my underthings, tugging them free from my body. My legs part without my input, without my control. My body is his to command, and command it he does. He plays me like one of the ceremonial drums, in tune to the beat of our hearts.

The beautiful monster sucks a bruise onto my throat before moving down lower and lower. His perfectly straight nose nudges against my bared chest, and his lips trace each of my ribs, caress petal-soft. Then his tongue drips into my bellybutton. And his chin comes to rest just above my most intimate spot, between my parted legs. And he stares at me with starlight in his eyes.

Those eyes are gentle, full of love and devotion. O-Satoru-sama is a kind god, I lie to myself.

Those eyes are starving, full of lust and obsession. Gojo Satoru is a vicious demon, a lone voice whispers on the wind.

Warmth pools in my belly, and my body shakes with anticipation. This is wrong, is sick, but I can't pull myself together long enough to stop it. This was inevitable, I realize with resignation. This was how it was always going to end. I was made for him, carved from a piece of his soul.

"You're mine," he demands of me. "You'll always be mine."

I am blessed.

I am cursed.

I am a little of both, I realize as the otherworldy being dips his head and licks.

I cry out again and again in the stillness of the night, uncaring who hears my pleasure. When I look down, I think I see a flash of horns curling on his forehead. His blue eyes are locked on me, watching me fall to pieces under him. My fingers reach down to grip at his hair, to keep myself grounded lest my soul float free of my body. The white of his locks stained crimson with blood. Where my filthy fingers touch, red follows.

Blood, blood, blood.

He's killing me, I think. Even when the sensation is too much and I sob, trying to push his head away, he doesn't stop. I try to get away, twisting this way and that to escape, but he holds fast. He devours me like I'm the sweetest treat he's ever had. I soar up and up, until the high runs together in a continuous loop. I'm shot into the sky with the stars and the moon, spiraling back down until I'm dizzy.

It feels good.

It hurts.

I cry at the intensity of it all.

And then…

I black out.

And when I come to, there's a weight pinning me down, simultaneously reassuring and oppressing. O-Satoru-sama has shed his clothes, and his naked skin is smooth and warm as the rest of him. He's between my legs, chest pressed against mine. Our hearts beat as one. His eyes are soft with something that I would've once called love. Exhausted, I don't resist when he hooks a still-twitching leg over one of his slender hips.

He smirks with mischief and nuzzles into the racing pulsepoint at my throat. He gives it a nip with his needle-sharp teeth. "Who do you belong to, My Goddess?"

"Y-you, O-Satoru-sama," I answer, voice brittle.

"Who is your God?"

"You are," I cry when he bites me again, tauntingly.

"Who is the only one to touch you?"

"You! Only you! Please!"

I think I smell smoke.

"You will live as royalty until you are old and grey and worn. A long, fulfilled life," he murmurs against my cheek, breath hot enough to elicit shivers. "And at the end, I'll be there. When you die, your body shall be buried with me beneath this shrine," he commands. "We'll rule this valley together until the stars burn out, until the moon shatters, and until time tears itself apart."

"Yes, Satoru," I whisper, numb to everything except the perfect being on top of me. I don't think about my family, nor the village below. There is only Gojo Satoru.

I must've bit my lip at some point because it stings. I can taste blood. The demon drops his head and presses his lips against mine. First tenderly, then insistently. I open up to him, allowing his tongue to snake against mine in a dance as old as humanity. He tastes like blood and something musky and tangy that lingers in the back of my throat. Our first kiss, fouled with the fetid flavors of death and pleasure. I shudder and drag my nails down the length of his back. I hope I mark him; I hope it hurts.

"Our children will love it here," he sighs into my mouth, tone wistful.

Children, I think distantly. I wonder if they'll be human. Or if they'll be demons like their parents.

I wrap my legs firmly around the demon's waist, drawing him ever closer. I quiver with pleasure when his lips find mine once more. His touch is reverent, obsessive, all-consuming. The bigger part of me wants to drown in the sensation, wants to sink into it until there's only him and I left. The smaller, less vocal part wants me to run away and never look back, to seek out my sister and live far removed from this creature and his machinations. But the thought of leaving makes me feel desolate. I can't leave him, not now. My mouth meets his again, and I tangle my fingers into his blood-soaked hair.

When he takes me, I yowl like a cat in heat. If there were anybody left alive in the valley, they would've been frightened by the sound of our mating. But we're the only ones here, now.

I am blessed by God.

I am favored by God.

I am his, and he is mine.

In the distance, I think the village is burning.

:.:

Godhead - End