The Gods, Arya Singh [top reads TXT] 📗

She sat in her splendor. The gold trim of her extravagant palace only paled in comparison. She was goddess, she was eternal. Her palace resides in the heavens, the rays of sun reflected in her golden palace if only to illuminate it. She rises. Full sunrise is only seen by mortal when her eyes open and a smile flatters her placid face. She threw off the covers of Egyptian cotton and slid of the bed of red silk. The earth is warmed. Her pitch black hair fell from her head to her knees, the red satin gown in which she slept trailed behind her as she walked the halls of her abode. The halls' glittering candles ignited as she stepped in front of them, her hazel eyes emit her true spirit when illuminated by them. The spirit trapped within her. A fire goddess by nature, a phoenix.


She walked to her bathroom where her servants take care of her every whim until she is clean and her demands are met. She emerged from it fully clothed in silk white robes, bejeweled in gold and diamonds, doe eyed beauty she returns. Her days she spent like this, on a swing accurately placed on a veranda in her home. The veranda overlooks the mortal realm and is positioned in such a way that she can pull her fireball of a sun across the sky and the stars and moon to brighten the black night skies. A room so named, the sun room. The swing is gloriously decorated with an array of flora. Roses, violets and vines blanket it. She sits upon the floral utopia solemnly.


She rocked back and forth stroking the gentle blossoms, watching in awe as the flames consumed the flowers, deeply lost in her thoughts. Incapable of human contact, her touch ending the lives of the ones she held dear. She retracted her hands from the new bud and rested them in her lap, reflecting on the lives that her curse had taken. Trying to see the bright side, she resides in the fact that what she did was for the best of that person. She killed yes, but they live better because of it. Their souls find peace as her own struggles though an eternal life of guilt plaguing her.


A servant enters," my goddess of fire."


She looks at the loving servant, her depression indenting itself upon herself on her face. She tried to hide it with a smile but the effort was futile, the servant continues.


"The gods have arrived."


"Why?"


Panic and stress found their way from her gut to her eyes as she speaks for the first time that day.


"To enquire on your well being."


"Have I not said a million times before I'm fine?"


Her anger grows as a red glow infests her brown complexion.


"They insist,” The servant replies.


Her red glow fades back into normalcy. She sits back on her swing and finally surrenders.


"Bring them in."


The servant backs away summoning the unwanted guests to the sun room. They walk into the room as the day enters high noon. Two gods enter and are blinded by the brilliance of her sun.


"High noon has come," one speaks.


God of time, his brown hair wavy and flowing behind him, the wind of the room brushing over his soft and normally saddened facial features, he walks in with robes of black and a gold medallion of time like a garland around his neck.


"Why do you bother me, Charles?"


She recoils on her swing like a cobra entranced to strike.


"Dim has encompasses the gods as well as the mortals these last few days. We've come to see your state."


"We?"


She looked up as she extinguished the initial flame from a new rose bud leaving the black tips of the red rose to bloom. A face came from the new shadows in her seemingly lightened house. The shadows came together to form a person. Black hair over a pale face dug in features and blue green eyes capable of seeing all. He walked forward and bowed his head at her respectful pace in the pantheon. So enters the god of life and death. She resumes her act of grooming the rose with flames as the gods take a seat on either side of her swing. She brushes the petals of the flowers back from its center using flames, engulfing the fatal blossom on its soon ending quest for more.


"How have you weathered Fiona?"


The god of life and death tries to pierce her thoughts with his eyes but ends up at a blockade. Fiona's delicate fingers press into a new flower and like a match it ignites. Her eyes fill from loss and she replies.


"I have weathered. Life on earth has sustained. Is that not enough?"


Arrogance in her voice arose, anger was evident. Yet her glow was yet to be seen, she had yet to be provoked.


"Fiona, you’re hurt. Share your pain. Let us in."


"Into what Charles? My Thoughts, my mind? Charles, my sorrow comes from not one but many things. My sadness is a longing."


"Longing for what?"


The god of life and death interjects himself.


"Paul," She sighs. "A longing for freedom."


Her rocking slows and her hands rest on her sides, her legs dangling from the swing.


"You have nights to do with as you please servants to tend to your every command in the day, and even days when Reina (the goddess of the Rain) takes your place. What more freedom do you require, Fiona?"


"Charles, Paul,'' She began.


She moves from her swing to the ledge of the sun room, where every mortal could be seen and continued.


"The mortals rely on us for everything, yet upon whom do we rely? Loneliness has just taken me I suppose."


She walks with a young child's defeated steps.


"I'll do my job alone."


She sits on her swing and her sun weakens to evening set.


"Will you stay for dinner? I'm sure a feast is being prepared as we speak."


"You deviate from the subject," Paul speaks.


"Companionship keeps you from your job? Keeps the moon dim and the stars invisible? Mortals are beginning to think you have deserted them. Has your sadness overshadowed your precious humans?"


He sees no point in the creation of mortals; they were a waste of time and space for him.


“I care for my mortals. I care for all the life whether it is on earth or here, I do still care."


“Then why treat them the way you have? Why torture them? "


“Mortals have other mortals to fill their voids. They make friends and marry. Do we? There was never a god wedding preformed in history."


Charles sat quietly observing the conversation that was slowly rising in volume and angst.


"Do you want a mortal? Some inferior being to argue with and tease?"


Her red glow became prominent as she gripped and slowly burned though the ropes of her swing.


"You know what I want? I want a person, god or mortal, with whom to spend my days."


Paul could now see though her. He saw her soul pierced and distraught, similar to his own. But he would never willingly admit that. She regained her composure, her glow slowly leaving her body and her shaking grip jolting away from the half eaten vine that was the rope of her swing. Fiona's eyes glanced from side to side at the two and rose.


"Dinner is prepared," she again spoke and walked away.


"What have you seen," Charles addressed Paul.


"She has realized her missing piece she longs for another."


Paul rose and prepared himself to follow in her footsteps.


"What are we to do?" Charles inquired.


"I'll return," he proclaimed. "I'll fix it and help her."


Realizing that Paul had already come up with a plan to rehabilitate Fiona and he ushered him inside. The two gods entered the dining hall to find a feast spread over the table. Candles were lit all around to room and a dim light resided over the food as well as the ones who were about to partake. The three ate in silence. The spread was bountiful, mutton; fruit, vegetables, and drink were given in plentiful amounts.


"Entertainment?" Fiona spoke.


The two looked up dumbfounded by her question. She got up and signaled toward the door and a set of beautiful women similar to herself, brown in complexion with their hair tied in pony tails, danced into the room. Their outfits were small, halter tops holding up large breasts and slits cut at a slant and hemmed with bells. Their every gyration sent jingling jovial sounds into the silent air that was once suffocating the three. They danced and twirled around the men. The god of time accepted this gesture with great pleasure as Fiona watched Charles dance and enjoy himself. Her getting lost in his joy. Paul graciously denied, taking this opportunity to further assess her problems. The scene stayed this way for the night.


"May I offer you a place to