Page 31 of Laced in Longing

“It has its uses,” I concede, lowering into the seat opposite him. The shadows swirl around us, responsive to my mood as all things in my domain are. “Though it comes with its own complications.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, face suddenly intent and focused. “Such as?”

I consider how much to share. The Nameless God and I have never been close confidants, but there is a certain camaraderie among the dark gods that transcends personal affinity. We are few, after all, and our experiences remain incomprehensible to most other beings.

“Longing is…intimate,” I explain, searching for words to describe what I feel when I sense Maven’s desire—not just for me, but for everything her soul lacks. “To know what someone wants most deeply, what absence hollows them from within…it creates a connection that can be as painful as it is powerful.”

“And yet you refuse to feed on her longing.” It’s not a question. All the Dark Gods know of my abstinence, my refusal to ease Maven’s suffering through the same methods I use on other mortals.

“I want her to choose me understanding exactly what I am,” I say, the words heavy in my mouth. “Not because I’ve manipulated her emotions or eased her pain to make myself seem a savior.”

Seyr’s bolstering laugh rings through the chamber, sharp as broken glass. “Noble sentiments from a Dark God, indeed. The Bright ones would be so proud.”

My fingers tighten on the arms of my chair. “Mock if you wish, but my methods remain my own.”

“Peace, Aakanksh.” His palms raise while his head bows. “I meant no offense. In fact, I somewhat envy your conviction. When—if—I find my own soul, I doubt I’ll have your restraint.”

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. I suppose that is understandable. “You will find them.” The words carry more certainty than I feel. “The Bright Gods may be manipulative, but they would not break a promise of such magnitude.”

Seyr’s form blurs at the edges, features becoming momentarily indistinct before resolving once more. “Perhaps. Or perhaps they knew exactly what they were doing when they sent our counterbalances to mortal wombs. What better way to keep the Dark Gods in check than to make us dependent on creatures who fear and reject us by nature?”

The thought has occurred to me more than once over the centuries. The timing of the ‘error’ was suspiciously convenient, coming just as the Bright Gods sought to establish new boundaries between our realms after the Great War. What better insurance against future conflict than ensuring each Dark God’s happiness depended on a mortal soul’s willing embrace, and forcing us to find them?

“It changes nothing,” I say aloud, pushing the conspiracy from my mind. “Whatever their motivations, Maven is mine. Has always been mine. I just need to help her remember that truth be⁠—”

“And how many lifetimes has that plan taken so far? A hundred? More?”

I stand abruptly, shadows swirling in agitation around my feet. They’re not sentient beings, nothing here truly is, though it does not stop things from reacting to my emotions in unnatural ways. “Was there some purpose to your visit beyond reminding me of my failures?”

Seyr rises as well, his height still impossible to fix precisely in my perception. “Merely curiosity. And perhaps a warning.”

“A warning?” The palace trembles slightly as my pulse increases. “About what?”

“The Bright Gods are restless. There are…rumors. Concerns about boundaries being crossed. About Dark Gods spending too much time in the mortal realm.” His eyes, now decidedly pale, fix on mine. “About certain gods appearing physically to their claimed souls.”

My blood chills. “What do you know?”

“Nothing specific.” He adjusts his cuffs, a bizarre, mortal gesture from a being who exists beyond physical constraints. “Just whispers, but I thought you should be aware. The Bright ones do so hate when we don’t follow their rules.”

Before I can demand clarification, he steps backward, blending with the shadows until his outline becomes indistinct, then vanishes altogether. His voice lingers a moment after his body has gone, a final thought delivered from the void.

“Good luck with your Maven, Aakanksh. May she finally see the truth of her nature.”

And then he is gone, leaving me alone in the vast chamber with only his warning echoing in my mind. Already I struggle to recall his features, his name slipping from my grasp like water through fingers.

The Bright Ones are watching. Of course, they are. They have always kept their eyes fixed on the rest of us, fearful of what we might do if left unchecked. But their concern suggests they know something—perhaps about my attempts to manifest physically in Maven’s presence.

Abilities I should not possess in the mortal realm, but want all the same.

I will need to be careful…more than I have been. But I cannot—will not—stop visiting her. Not when she is finally beginning to sense my reality beyond her dreams.

I return to my chamber, to the books strewn across the table. My fingers trace the spines, seeking the volume that chronicles number 638.

I open the book to the preserved specimen—a peony with dusky pink at the tips, fading toward the center. Perfect in its preserved state, exactly as it was the day I plucked it from the garden after watching her sit for hours writing in a journal.

Its darkness is exquisite.

This is the flower I will bring her tonight. A connection to a past she doesn’t remember, a life she has forgotten.