Page 30 of Laced in Longing

I am not attached to this place. It is merely a structure of necessity—a collection of spaces I have inhabited for the majority of my existence. The only thing I have ever truly attached myself to is her. Maven. My flower.

My counterbalance.

The missing piece of myself that has wandered lost in the mortal realm for too long.

She could ask for anything, and I would cross realms to secure it for her. Mountains moved and oceans drained. Stars rearranged in the night sky—damn the Bright Gods—to spell the chapters of her favorite book. Nothing is beyond my power when it comes to her happiness. Her comfort and desires are my own.

When I reach my study, my gaze drops to the books strewn across the table before me. Bound in leather the color of midnight, their pages yellowed with age.

Some volumes show more wear than others, but each holds equal importance. Each represents a piece of the elaborate puzzle that is Maven’s soul, a fragment of the whole I seek to claim.

A thunderous rumble shakes the palace foundation, vibrating the floor beneath my feet and sending tremors through the delicate stems of the flowers I’ve been examining. Someone waits at my door, demanding entrance with all the subtlety of an earthquake.

I sigh, frustration tightening my jaw. I have no desire for visitors. The only arrival I would welcome is Maven herself, as she crosses the threshold into my realm. But that day has not yet come, and whoever pounds at my door now is most certainly not her.

Still, better to address this intrusion quickly and return to my preparations. Tonight is not just another dream visitation. Tonight I will speak to her in the waking world and make her realize I exist beyond her sleep.

I leave the chamber, shifting through corridors that lengthen and contract according to my needs rather than any fixed architectural principle. The foyer awaits, a vast space of polished obsidian that reflects the ever-twilight sky visible through high windows. The doors—tall enough that three mortals standing on each other’s shoulders could not reach the top—remain closed, though they tremor slightly under the visitor’s continued pounding.

With a thought, I open them.

The figure standing on my threshold makes me pause. For a moment, I nearly demand to know how a mortal has found their way to my domain. The man appears human at first glance—average height, unremarkable build, dressed in clothing that would not draw a second look in Maven’s world. But then my vision adjusts, and I recognize the face of the Nameless God.

Seyr. Though I will forget that name the moment he departs, as all who encounter him do.

This particular god has always irritated me with his ability to simply vanish from memory. The moment he removes himself from one’s sight, his name and face become smoke, impossible to grasp no matter how tightly one might clutch at the recollection. Even we, his fellow Dark Gods, refer to him as the Nameless God in his absence because none can recall his true identity once he has retreated.

I study my visitor with narrowed eyes. His appearance shifts subtly from moment to moment, features never quite settling into a fixed arrangement. His eyes are deep-set and dark, surrounded by hair that might be brown or black or no color at all. His height fluctuates by imperceptible degrees, making him seem at once taller and shorter than myself.

The effect is disorienting by design. He exists in the spaces between—the seconds between heartbeats, the pause between sentences. He is the hesitance before a crucial decision and the breath held while waiting for life-altering news. The Nameless God feeds on potential—on all the endless possibilities that exist in any given instant before choice collapses them into a single reality.

He steps inside without invitation, hands tucked into the pockets of what now appears to be a perfectly ordinary suit. “Your palace grows more intimidating every century,” he remarks, voice carrying the slight melodic quality of rushing water. “Compensating for something, are we?”

“Seyr,” I acknowledge, the name already beginning to slip from my grasp even as I speak it. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

He wanders past me, trailing fingers along a wall that wrinkles from his touch. “Can’t a god drop by to see an old friend? It’s been, what, three hundred years? Four?”

“Two hundred seventeen,” I correct, closing the doors with a thought. “Since the incident with Acherin and the plague in Europe.”

“Ah, yes.” He smiles, an expression that never reaches his constantly shifting eyes. “He was quite annoyed when the mortals developed better sanitation. Less despair to feed on. How tragic.”

I follow him into the receiving hall as my tongue runs across my teeth. “I doubt you’ve come simply to reminisce about our colleague’s dietary disappointments.”

“Direct as ever, Aakanksh.” He drops into a chair that forms itself from the darkness at his approach. “Very well. I’ve been wondering about your soul. Have you found her yet?”

The question strikes me as so absurd that I study his face for signs of mockery. Finding none, my head tilts. “Found her? I’ve known Maven’s location in every one of her lifetimes. Her longing calls to me across worlds—a beacon I could follow blindfolded through the void.”

Seyr’s expression flickers with something that might be embarrassment, if such an emotion could touch a being like him. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten you were the only one who knew your soul from the beginning. The rest of us spent years searching. Some still search.”

Including himself, I realize. The Nameless God has yet to locate the soul promised to him by the Bright Gods after the Great War. His counterbalance remains lost somewhere in the mortal realm, perhaps not yet born, perhaps not recognizing the pull toward their destined other half.

A twinge of sympathy coats my tongue despite our complicated relationship. How frustrating it must be to know your completion exists but be unable to find it. Though I’m not certain if that would be worse than my own situation—having found Maven in her first incarnation, having watched over her through a thousand lives, yet never being permitted to claim her.

Never able to touch or court her properly, in the way she deserves.

I shake my head. No, that thought isn’t true. Despite the pain of repeated rejection, I remain honored to have known every version of Maven, and to have witnessed each life she has lived. Each rejection may wound me and leave its mark on my immortal spirit, but I would not trade a moment of my observation for the oblivion of not knowing her at all.

“Not all of us have your particular…advantages,” Seyr continues, either missing or choosing to ignore my momentary distraction. “The ability to sense longing across worlds must make your search considerably easier.”