And her sister.
The Goddess of Darkness:Asbu. Myrkr. Tenebrae.Adorned in ashy lace. A sable crown of obsidian, tourmaline, hematite. Her face hidden by inky tulle.
Behind them, vermillion fire blazes. The bronze scones flanking the altar burn with the same eternal flame, their warmth soft. The fire is always lit, tended by the temple’s priestess—a dualist mage, exiled from the Arcane district for worshipping both Goddesses.
At this early hour, the temple is empty. Serene. Quiet enough to hear a breath. A thought. The soft crackle of flames is the only sound. A true place of solace.
Jasmine drinks it all in. The towering vaulted ceilings, the stained glass windows etched with ancient, intricate scenes, and the scarlet candles glowing atop tall brass candelabras.
“I come here sometimes,” I tell her, settling onto an oak pew near the back. “To think. To breathe.”
She stays in my lap, nestled close, and I hold her like she’s something sacred, because she is. I pray she doesn’t ask me to let go.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmurs, awe and wonder lacing her voice as she gazes up at the ceiling again.
An abstract fresco sprawls above us, depicting the creation of the realms.
Dark, Light, and Earth.
No Fae Realm.
“I mean, I’ve seen pictures of temples online, in films. But never one like this,” she whispers, eyes drifting back to the towering statues. “Or maybe I have…” Her voice trails off, the awe giving way to contemplation. “In a hundred years… I must’ve seen a lot.”
I study her, admire her. The way the early-morning light spills through the stained glass, washing her in bloodred and gold, how it dances over her pale skin.
She could replace any figure on this temple’s ceiling and make it more divine.
But she’s so still, so deep in thought, like a breath held too long.
“We will show you everything,” I promise softly. “There are so many places we want to take you, so many things we want you to see.” I pause, considering my next words. “Part of me wishes the barrier were already down…”
She turns to me, eyes meeting mine. “And the other part?”
I smile, slow and wry. “Wishes to keep you here. Trapped. With us.”
I hear her pulse quicken. “Even if…” she starts, then falters, gaze dropping.
I reach out, cupping her jaw and guiding her back to me.
“You never need to hide from me, mon âme,” I murmur, thumb brushing the delicate curve of her cheekbone. “Tell me what thoughts plague you.”
Her breath shudders out. “You don’t know me.Idon’t even know me.”
I want desperately to protest. To tell her I do know her. That she is brave and selfless, fierce and kind. Fire and starlight. That her touch stills the storming tempests, and her glare could bring armies to their knees.
But she’s choosing to speak, baring her soul, and I owe her my silence.
“I thought I knew who I was,” she says. “Sure, I didn’t remember what happened to me, but after five years at The Inferno…” She exhales shakily. “I learned to live with the not-knowing, and I made a new life. Made myself into… something. But now…” She shakes her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If I don’t know what I was, how can I know who I am now?”
She doesn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the temple walls.
I hate how far away she feels, even though she’s in my arms.
“Do you remember our talk about my past life?” It takes her a moment to re-surface from her thoughts, but she blinks and nods. “How there were many versions of myself, versions I disliked. Abhorred.”
That gets her attention. Her head turns to face me fully, brows drawn together, ready to protest my self-hatred.
“People are meant to change,” I say quickly, keeping my voice steady. “What matters is not who we were, but who we choose to be now.”
