Had martyrdom become reserved for mortals? Was it merely a title for those who staunchly followed faith, who lived and breathed their ideology? Could such a thing be achieved by a creator — by a god?

As she stood before Gaule’s Heavenly Council, her typically grand, cosmoscape body furled in defeat, Night certainly thought it could be. She had always been a god most revered, drawing the day to a close and blanketing their lands in a curtain of stars, each one worth wishing on. She wondered what they would think — what they will think — when they no longer have an astral canopy shielding them from whatever Day’s artificial night would bring.

Her exhaustion was evident when she lifted the weight of her head towards the Council’s attention, her neck straining to hold up the burden without the assistance of her altered gravity. Floor-length tendrils of blue-black hair clung to her as if they too could not bear the weight of their own existence. Her movements were pointedly slow and labored, a sign of her defiance towards Day’s orders.

Gaze as brightly blue as a sunlit sky locked upon hers, his position upon the dais casting his glance down his nose as if she were truly lesser than him. It twisted her already toiling insides. This, however, was a pain she would never let him see. She would never let him think that he had all the power to make this decision. The light warped itself in her void-like eyes, swirling in until it was too far gone to see before circling back into visibility. Those eyes had always carried a nebulous softness, a gaze of nurturing love that countered her otherwise intimidating presence. There would be no room now for weakness. She was the newest victim of Day’s reign of sun-drunk destruction.

“The Council’s consensus is unanimous.” The seraphic god spoke with a stern, admonishing tone. His face was hardened, an expression that was unusual for one who prided himself on his unwavering benevolence, benevolence he wielded like the very sharpest of weapons.

“Your crimes have far exceeded the acceptable limit. Your love of a mortal, your unwillingness to moonset when it is time to sunrise has plagued the natural cycle of balance. A balance cycle that is necessary for the benefit of all Gaule. You have lost control of your duty, you have lost control of your purpose.” Day’s voice was filled with a vitriol that chipped at something more personal, something more egregious between the two. Night could see his plastered altruism begin to crack.

“Your insufferable jealousy will be your demise.” She spat, fueled by her own distaste for his dishonorable behavior. “Does the rest of the Council know?” She asked despite knowing there was no way he would have admitted his own crimes. Night scanned the half-ring of deities, settling upon the comfort of Chaos’ masked and expressionless face. “You did not balk when your appetite found itself stretching into my night’s hours. When you were so hungry you were salivating and gorging yourself until you ached with your fill and slept under the warmth of your sun’s rays, threatening a conflagration of my frail moon!”

An audible gasp fell from the Council in near unison, their hushed whispers stretching into long frequencies of static that felt more comforting in Night’s ears than the chamber’s deafening silence.

Night continued her pressing, peeling back what was left of any semblance of dignity. They wanted her to be the monster. Day wanted her sky to be the scapegoat for them both.

Martyr. She thought, drawing a black tongue behind clenched, pitch teeth. “Do they know you came crawling to me with for a favor? A wish?”

The resounding depth of the word could have cracked the foundation itself.

Day stuttered at the brutal scrutiny.

“He parades offenses before you to veil his own misgivings. This is the only reason he places me on trial practically begging for my Ablation. If I am guilty for my acceptance of a mortal’s affections, if I am guilty for spending more time in this mortal’s presence than I am sanctioned to, and that is to be an undoing damnation, then do take heed of what stains he curtains by doing so.” She took a heavy step forward, the folded tegument of her body loosening with her movement, wings of star-glittering mucosa dragging heavily beside her. Day hadn’t the gall to move back from her.

“You are just as guilty as I am.”

Cold gaze narrowed at her, the god she had known, the god she had laid her balance in was stalwart in his deep, projected hatred. “The consensus is unanimous.” He stated with a bluntness he had never been known for having. “To lie with a mortal is to break the very foundation of our union. To become amorous with one is to break all of Gaule and the very heavens above it — our heavens.”

“You wished. You dared to make a wish upon me and when I refused your right to have it you lost yourself in your own devastation. I owe you nothing. I will always give you nothing!”

Day’s expression was that of a petulant child, confused by the adamant refusal.

Night hissed, her unnerving beauty glinting over her pitch black skin in the form of tiny, undulating stars. “I will take from you. You want your Ablation to rid yourself of competition? You want to strike me down for all to see? You want control of night and day so they can raise their tiny hands to the sky in acclaim for you.” She bore her teeth at him, sharp and dark as they were, they alone appeared a threat.

“Just wait until they cry when their crops shrivel from too much sunlight. When the fields are so dry a single strike of lightning, a solitary magnetic storm could set them aflame. Fields running black with ash and the grief of knowing that they will not survive. When rivers are depleted and your charges are without water.” She spoke to Day directly, her eyes still vacuuming the chamber’s light as she directed her gaze to Harvest. “When they begin to starve to death because there is nothing to gather, nothing to hunt. They will turn on what is left of one another, they will feast on each other’s bones until they are too weak to even pursue a chance of survival. You all well understand the inevitable apocalypse that veils a break in the balance.”

Her lips pulled a thin line as she turned every bit of her rising rage back at Day. “What will you do when their lands flood as the ocean’s waves freely creep upon their lands. Have you thought about what a moonless sky would do?” She doubted he knew the brevity of it at all. “The rot of mass, watery graveyards left behind at low tide—” She trailed off as if to deprive him of the reward of further description. “Wait until their world, your world, crumbles under your control and Chaos has their way.” That same focused glance slid towards the empty-faced composure of Chaos, lingering a moment while she imagined their expression.

“Though I am sure Death will have a wonderful time. That is — unless those heaps of loss do not leave you regaling their spent time, and it is instead a bounty of waste with not one moment to savor. And what purpose will you find then? With nothing but those here to fulfill that duty?. None but those here to love you, to need you?”

Night’s eyes closed as she shrugged the heavy weight upon her shoulders. The exhaustion of the ordeal leaving her closed off to any acceptance of further debate.

“Silence!” Day finally hissed at her, his bravado of serenity finally gone. “I long for nothing from you.”

She couldn’t resist her own need to laugh low, a garbled echo under her mocked breath. “How unfortunate for you, my Darling Day.” Long fingers bloomed opened from fists, reaching to cup the line of his jaw, thumb extending to his cheek in an egregiously confident stroke. “You already made a wish.” Her metallic echo was sing-song. “It was written in my Stars from the moment your heart desired it.” That same hand trailed down his neck to touch just above where a heart would have been for a mortal, her black smile uncanny in its stillness.

His own entity balked at her unexpected touch, one he never would have second-guessed until now. “It has been decided!” Day yelled, the warmth in his natural tone cracking, making his affirmation sound naive and obscure in the weight of its anger. “Prepare her for Ablation!”

Night stood unflinching, her hand still hovering before her even after Day had pulled away. Slowly she withdrew, curling her newly-formed fist towards her chest as the depth of her own heartache returned to her. “When you are being force-fed the most volatile of stars and you beg for your sun’s consideration, remember: you have done this to yourself.”

She spoke no further words as she slumped into the arms of Day’s plaster-painted and winged followers, a river of glistening, ink-black sky trailing in the wake of her final walk. She refused them the pleasure of ambulation.

Night had begun to wonder if waiting had become a part of her punishment, if had Day had come up with some elaborate ceremony to exhaust her. If such was the case, it was working. She had grown exhausted in the emptiness of her holding cell, the very weight of her fabricated burden heavy upon her shoulders.

Like the dark creature she was, she was exposed like an unwanted stain in the glowing room of whites and creams, dappled yellows of light swirling around like translucent specs of dust in an attic. The first step of her preparation — according to Day's transcription of the ancient art of Ablation — was purification. The whole act seemed arbitrary in its execution, though once more, Night wondered if the purpose of such was really a facade for one's forced moments of self reflection.

This part was the most torturous. Water as white as milk lapped at her neck as she stood shoulder deep in the oubliette of a pool, ever-dilated eyes narrowed at the massive intake of pure light that was forced upon her. The whole experience was a barrage of bright sunlight that would have any other day-fond creature luxuriating in its warmth, reveling in the false sense of security that naturally followed the presence of such brightness. Day knew that such a place would cause her discomfort and whether he'd admit such a thing aloud, there had been a reason he had decided to hold her trial within the confines of The Day Chamber.

There was never neutrality with Day — she never expected anything impartial from such a bloated ego. The shining sun, a beacon of light at the fall of long nights had always been the most beloved. It would not matter what choices he made now just has it hadn't then — the mortals they cared for would always be partial to the rise of a morning — they were far too fragile not to.

Now it was Night's own turn to feel fragile. It was something she had little familiarity with and even less comfort. For the first time, her body felt like a cage, like a narrow sliver of the expanse she could stretch. She felt as finite as the pool she stood in, her stars spinning orbits at speeds that made her feel as if she could no longer contain them. She wondered then, what would become of her stars when their mother was nothing more than ash falling from the surface of the sun?

"Whatever he may do to you, he cannot do to your Chamber. He cannot undo all the work you have done."

Night's eyes lifted towards the sound of the familiar voice and though they still remained half-pinched in their discomfort, she was able to discern the masked face of the voice's owner: Chaos. "He would destroy everything if he were to destroy my Oracles." She spoke, her velvet voice low — the room had dissolved what was left of her strength to conjure up the sharpness she felt. "They are the beginning of Gaule's new era — it was agreed upon."

Chaos shook their distinctive head as they knelt down to level themselves with their peer. One set of arms perched upon the edge of the pool, hands gripping the lip while the upper pair simply crossed across their chest — their shape not unlike that of an over-sized mantis. "So was this, I suppose."

The god of absolutely everything and nothing had always been keen to speak so bluntly it numbed one's ability to harp back, or so convoluted one would need days to decipher a single statement's meaning. Here, they did not falter in their identity, speaking to Night like she was the god they had always known her to be — they were uncanny like that. "It was not what I had preferred, of course, I want you to go to your Ablation knowing this."

She grimaced from their attempt at consolation, her form pushing through the opaque liquid to reach the edge of the pool, her shoulders brushing the knuckles of Chaos' large hands. "Does that put you at peace, Disorder? Does that soothe your personal discomfort? Does it ice the burn you have on your hand from your agreement to Days destruction of balance?" She mustered a moment's worth of energy to snap at the wild god as if they were objectively out of line — though who could truly be certain when a god had crossed a line when the lines had be created by their threads alone.

There was a rightful anger within her that Chaos did not try to quell. "I did not come here against Day's will only to tell you things you do not wish to hear." They spoke with a certainty even as they used such a loaded word, their masked face hiding any and all evidence of their obvious amusement.

"Then tell me why that is exactly what you are doing." Night demanded, the use of wish stirring the already restless agitation of her stars, their eagerness to grant what was vocalized pulling and twisting the very threads of her until physical weakness manifested in her lean against pool's edge. She felt deeply at odds with herself, a disconnection between everything she wanted to say and everything she could manage to formulate.

"Because I am here to help you." Chaos spoke, their confidence clearer than any explanation they'd ever give. "Objectively, you broke the ancient agreement you made when you became our beloved wish-granter, the mother of our stars. There is no way to change what you have done, or what must come next. What we can do is preserve what you have created for a future without your guidance."

The masked god's lower pair of hands unclenched the lip of the pool to find closure around Night's body, lifting her from the cleansing liquid. It would have been common to have set her back down upon the ground of Day's preparation room but Chaos was everything but predictable. They held her upright, two long sets of arms making the god look as small as a child's doll. "You have your incubating Oracles, yes? The ones you were cultivating to enact your will and the gifts of the stars?"

Night nodded, the weight of her body sinking into the hold of the other — gravity, without her ability to manipulate it, was still heavy upon her. She was too fragile now and whether that was caused by the forces outside her or her own weakness aiding her destruction, she didn't have the energy to decipher. "As more mortals thrive in Gaule — humans, fae, and everything in between — it has become too arduous to grant all wishes with proper tithes." Her shoulders slumped just some, surprised by the comfort of the other's god's hold in a moment such as this. "And too dangerous to grant without."

"Well, of course. If everyone simply got what they wanted—" Chaos allowed themselves the amusement of trailing off, shrugging their upper pair of arms in their all too-casual manner. "Day would have his hands full."

She almost wished he would. She almost wished that the very act of granting wishes would be Day's burden to bear, heavy with that weight and lacking all skill and power to execute the needs of the people he supposedly loved so much that he'd absorb their very night sky.

She wanted him to suffer.

She wanted him to suffer in a manner so unkind that she would have peeled herself apart to make it happen.

"My Oracles are imbued with my will and blessed with the ability to eat my tithes in return for granted wishes. They are an extension of me, made to serve all Gaule as The Night Order has been bound to do for centuries. Only now, without a mother?" She shook her head, body limp in the cradle of Chaos' arms. "They are but infant stars wrapped in placentas of darkness. More time is needed before they can run the Order in my stead."

There was a silence between them for quite some time, only the ambiguous sounds of warmth and light swirling around each other stopping the room from being utterly sterile. Night felt the press of the mask to the back of her head. She half expected some sort of grand gesture, though nothing came but the rumble of their voice.

"Then make them a mother." They cooed against her, several arms and hands as long as Night's body forcing her onto her feet as if to push her to demand something more of herself before she was to be someone else's feast.

The god turned to face the mask. She was able to feel the pride that burned behind it, reveling in their own perceived brilliance. She would have, under normal circumstances, assured the other of their obvious madness but in this moment, in her own understanding of her upcoming fate, she felt a devious pull of desire that had her drawing inward.

"No." She retorted with a tone so gentle it hardly seemed like a disagreement. "Handmaidens."

Martyrdom required more than just an execution. No matter how Day's purported ceremony would have her, Night knew that if she were to simply become their refection willingly, leaving nothing in her wake, whatever quietus she might gain from the experience would be for nothing. She had not given so much for herself already to leave behind a Night Chamber vulnerable to Day's bursts. She could not let her responsibility turn to ash.

She would let the coward-god have his play at darkness. She hoped the very burden of it, the iron laden weight, would drag him down. No sun could feign the pitch that was required of night and though she could no longer spare what she had curated from its upcoming fate, she could give in to Chaos' plan. She could let discordia run its course. Whatever they did here in this holding chamber was not of her doing — this would be their loophole. This would be their apology.

Chaos would allow Night to continue her guidance right under Day's nose.

"It is a long-term plan." They reminded her, a set of hands folding over her shoulders to keep her upright as they stood behind her.

They felt like a pillar and a wild sense of security washed over Night like a lullaby to a babe's tired ear. She was comforted by this, despite the unknowns that were common when making any deal with the figure whose entire life's purpose was to disrupt the peace and prosperity of all who came into contact with it. But this? This would be martyrdom. This would be the way she continued on.

She would become will itself, an ideology.

"Extrication of your will shall not be easy." Chaos spoke, filling the silence of the room. If there was one thing they could not endure for any length of time it was absolute peace. "In all sense of reality, it should not even be possible."

Night was sure of it now and her head nodded with the weight of her agreement. "I know, Disorder." She cooed, the once thunderous echo of her voice's metallic layers nothing more than a dull hum. "I did not expect it to be but since you are most skilled at making the impossible possible, I hand my body over to your service. Do be kind to it."

The words were spoken not unlike a lover's exchange, a mutual need for trust decalcifying the god's harder edges. "If you can —" She began, letting the back of her head rest against the plane of Chaos' chest, a strange warmth of acceptance blooming from the spot. Stability was found at the weight of the other's lower set of hands curling fully around her waist like an immovable contraption intent on supporting a figure upright for an extended period of time. "Take more than my will. Take my devotion, take my heart, take my rage."

Chaos watched as Night swallowed her upcoming words.

"Take my wish."

The brief silence that followed was palpable as the other god processed the request. Though they were a master at their art of manipulation, deft at twisting one reality into another, they were not a wish-granter. "I shall do what I can." They whispered, the firm touch of their mask brushing against the shell of her ear.

When death was certain, when a millennia of life's work could fall at the decision of another, there was no room for fear, no space to process pain. Was this then, martyrdom's invitation? She made no protest as Chaos' otherwise monstrous fingers plucked a shard of sunlight from a beam, its already aggressive nature making it the perfect tool for extraction. It felt funny to her, at least for a moment, that what would be saved of her would be by Day's own light in the unreliable hands of Chaos.

She peeled back layers of alien membrane, unfurling them from her shoulders like wings at rest. They draped behind her, spilling between the two gods' forms as she remained still, the heart of her cosmos exposed and vulnerable to their only salvation. Like a mother entrusting her children to something better than herself, she took the first nick of the light-knife without flinching — she would not give Day the pleasure.

Under any other circumstances, Chaos would have thoroughly enjoyed wielding such power, but as they split the weakened god from throat to groin, the acrid taste of blasphemy lathered their tongue like they had set it upon an ingot of iron. A shudder of uncertainty reached the hand that wielded the sunshard, masked vision fixating upon the pitch ichor that stained the golden-white weapon. Of course they would have to have been the one to do such a thing, a disordered mutilation of one of their own without ceremony. They were the only one who could not be accounted for, the only one Day could not predict. There was no objection to participating in the Ablation itself — Chaos was not a creature of such reserve that they would pass up a chance to consume the very flesh of a higher power but what they would not disrespect the final wishes of that very same power who granted them the freedom to weave between Gaule's sets and rises.

Night was as steady as her conviction and it was she that pressed the hesitant touch of the other god towards the newly formed gape in her abdomen. None of it was right. None of it was necessary. Both of them knew this and as Chaos' fingers clamped her open, the realization of what Day had drawn them to do become dawning.

She had said she'd pull herself apart to savor one last moment of Day's own anguish. She had committed the thought to mind so forcibly that when Disorder themselves suggested such, she hardly balked. And now! Now she stood, her own arms elbow deep within the cavity of her chest, mother's touch seeking the soft light of her most precious stars, beckoning them from the comfort of their void.

Trawled from her depths, she withdrew a handful of seven stars, perfectly clustered together, their glow gentle and thrumming, a stark contrast to the pitch hand that held them. "My beautiful Seven Sisters. Pleiades." Her voice was calm, heavy with adoration for the constellation that had grown strong within her. "They will be The Night Order's new Handmaidens, a collection of my will — executors. It is they who will now watch over my precious Oracles, my wish-granters."

There was a renewed strength in her that seemed to spark from her determination and though she had been relying on Chaos' hold to keep her upright, she turned towards them, breaking the stabilizing touch. "You will bring them to The Night Chamber then?" She asked, black eyes wider than they had been before, glossed over from the barrage of light that assaulted them.

"It behooves me to do so." Chaos replied in a way that implied honesty from an inherently dishonest creature.

"I will imbue them each with my will." She spoke their decision aloud as if doing so might have made it more real. Without words between the two, they orchestrated a shift, Chaos' lower set of palms opening to cradle the cluster of stars while the other pair awaited further instruction.

Night's eyes sought the other's face, mere concave and convex planes of anonymity that she found more comforting than anything else. Dark hand reached for the sunshard in the other's, sliding from wrist to palm before gripping the tool. She had expected the touch to burn.

Chaos had too, having almost pulled it away from her before finally releasing it into her grip.

"You will benefit from this." She assured them, drawing the shard to her mouth where she sliced an egregious line through black gums. Dark, viscous liquid fell from the splayed corners of her mouth as she twisted and pulled the shard through the space without precision, the very act of it drawing physical discomfort in her willing accomplice. She wondered if they had not expected her to be so brazen — there was too little time to be timid.

It only took moments for the teeth she sought to come loose from the pointed agitation of the shard, spitting them free into the palm of her other hand. Seven were accounted for, seven black teeth from the very maw of their mother ready to be imbued, sat in a pool of fluid that still trailed over Night's lips and down her chin.

Exhaustion had plagued her gaze again as she looked upon them and dropped the handful of teeth into the palm of the other. She remained silent, her mouth nothing more than a swollen gullet, drooling black onto the shimmering, golden floor beneath them. She wanted to spill all over it, parting her lips as her heavy head lolled towards her shoulder only to be stopped by the hold of the other's god's hand.

"And this one —" They paused, a large thumb pulling her lips apart with one touch, smoothing over a sharpened, onyx canine. "for me." The weight in their tone was lustful, as if seeing the god of night so unrefined was something worthy of its own divinity. Disorder could not resist their opportunity to linger in it as long as they could.

She had no strength to protest, and no power to either. Such was a bargain made with Chaos and as she came to terms with what she would give them, she felt the firm grip of a knuckle and pointed nail rip the already loosened canine from its resting place. A soothing press of Chaos' thumb returned to her mouth, circling the inside as if to praise her. They would complete her wish. They would uphold their end of the exchange.

"Just to be sure." They added, holding all the teeth as if the imbuing tokens themselves were as precious as the adolescent stars. "Not that I do not trust that I will get what I want out of this but just in case."

Night could feel the grin in their words, the satisfaction of having taken a piece of her without the rest of the council knowing such. Chaos had always been a creature of self indulgence and it was that same self indulgence that assured her they would uphold her task. To grant them a token of gratitude was more than an easy decision. It was a decision that was even further comforted by the way in which the wild god harbored their plan within them, tucking both stars and tokens away for post-ceremony safe-keeping. There was no jest, no toying with what was now the most precious to her, only the sincerity of a god who had hardly been known to show such capability.

"I find it a shame that I have to share this version of you." They hummed, the playfulness returning to them as they stroked the line of Night's angered mouth, spreading the fluid that had gathered on her lips like paint up the rise of her cheek. "They do not deserve it. He does not deserve it."

"I know." Her agreement was curt, raw and torn from the burden of a mutilated mouth despite lacking any true need for such an appendage.

Day stood at the center of the feasting table, his golden halo radiating a light that would have implied a gathering of comfort, and perhaps in his own mind, this was one of such. It hadn't been known between this set of gods when their pantheon's last Ablation was — if there ever had been one before — but as the others found their places at the over-abundant table, it became clear that none of them were unwilling to pass up the opportunity to devour one of their own.

Between her own self-mutilation and the incapacitating agent she had been given to ease the process — whose process she was easing by consuming had been nondescript — she had nothing more to give the council other than her absolute surrender. She lay on the table where she had been placed, adornments strewn about to pacify the necessity of ceremony. All she could do was watch everything she had worked for be swept away through he own consumption.

And watch she did. She watched as the council of gods, those whom she used to entrust her stars to dove into her like the consumption would grant the first to finish power over the rest. It all seemed a foolish tradition to her and if she could have moved, she would have begun to devour herself just to make a statement. She too would have stuffed herself of her own viscera until she was too-full to keep any down — she’d eat all of herself, all her own, if she could.

They began with parts furthest from her core, as if the act of Ablation was too taboo in itself, that starting with the parts of her they recognized would be too difficult — it was always easier to destroy something without familiar face. She wanted to laugh at the idea, at the understanding of her brethren taking mouthfuls of her wing-like membrane between their teeth and ripping it free for swallowing, the very sound of it squelching between their gnashing.

She wondered if they enjoyed the taste or if the metallic tang of her ozone would burn their tongues, if it would stick between their teeth, her slivers of frustration burrowing into their gums to be fished out by needle-thin bones. Would she roil their innards, burn down the passage of their throats, and leave their tongues dotted with pitch stains? Would the very mass of her oil-slicked innards, not remotely like those of a mortal but not completely unlike either, swell and fill their throats until they choked?

Such was wishful thinking — she could say that now — that they would give up but no matter her flavor, it seemed the power to be gained from the consumption of one of their own was too much intemperance for a simple-minded god to pass up. The more they consumed, the more their fervor rose. The more their fervor rose, the more they consumed. The cycle was an endless one that could not be beaten by the simple thoughts of a defeated scapegoat. No, martyr.

She had deflated, her form sinking into the table like a decomposing corpse, melding and becoming one with the surface upon which death became them. Beneath her, as her form was picked apart by holy vultures, opalescent black liquid seeped into the table’s cloth covering. She became less and less with each, ravenous bite but if the consumption of her would keep day's grasp from the cosmos she had gifted the people of Gaule, it would be worth it. She knew that whatever hand she had played with Chaos would allow her Order to continue — not even Day would dare give up his people's power to wish upon stars.

Day's golden grasp reached further across her than any had before, his slick, and dripping fingertips stained black with gluttony as they sought their next prized piece. He ate with villainous tenacity, fighting off the eager digits of others with each handful of viscous, dark, vitality. What would have been coiled up within the confines of her structure now lay strewn out upon a ceremonial table, thick inky worms of her exposed and draped over the tear in her abdomen, twitching with residual magnetism. Without the true structure of a mortal, there was little left to grasp on to and in his hesitation, Night took her final moment to remind him of what he too, had done.

Black eyes turned their gaze to Day as they had before, slowly, the light falling into their vacuum. She remained transfixed upon him, focused and accusatory. Nothing was spoken, there was no need, but her look upon him was so sharp that she caught his visible grimace of guilt. Shameful it was of him not to accept it but if this brief moment of hesitation was what he would give her, she would take it. He knew what he had done.

"Something wrong, Day?" A muffled voice called out towards the shining god thought it had not been enough to distract him. Night's stare remained ever-vigilant upon him even as it became harder to see.

"No." He retorted in an attempt to brush away his disgust. "She continues to look at me." The god growled through his teeth, frustration audibly onset.

He could not bare to witness the consequences of his own actions. To have the very face of his decision stare back at him as he enacted it was too much. This understanding delighted Night and as she watched the grip of his fingers near her eyes, she pulled a wide and bitter smile for him. She held it until he had taken her vision from her entirely.

Two dark, haunting orbs still consumed the unending light of the room as he held them in his fingers. Many times Day had caught this gaze, this void that could carry everything within, an endless hunger swallowed by an endless stare. They were his now and as they dripped down the lines of his fingers, the same black that already coated him, he stared at them like one would upon a doting lover.

Sounds of the others pulling at pieces of her, the dead-air flopping of membrane falling back onto the table into pools of semi-gelatinous liquid were the chorus to his silent soliloquy. He knew, though he would never speak aloud, that if one wanted to keep something, then one must consume it. She, the ever-starving mother, would now fulfill him.

The starkness of his pink tongue was obscene against the black of Night’s stolen eyes and in his hedonism, he lapped at it, savoring the taste as if it were truly the most succulent part of her. A groan of visceral pleasure fell from him before he set the first upon the center of his tongue and bit into the organ with a cracking sound that set his core aflame.

As if Ablation had been executed to serve his pleasure alone, he pressed the pad of his viscera-soaked thumb to his teeth in mockery of a mortal enjoying a ceremonial meal, before daring to cast a glance down at Night’s corpse upon the table. She was unchanged save for the abyssal divots in her skull, now empty, leaving only tear-like trails of cosmic white in her eyes’ absence.

Somehow, she looked even more reverent than before.

The discordant god was many things, many of which their reputation had been molded by. Their dissidence in Gaule was overlooked by their necessity — without Chaos, there could be no Order. Shameful though, that The Council did not have a warm seat for Order and it had become clear in the hours — the days, the centuries, the ages — post Ablation that Order would belong to whichever one of them would sit upon it first.

Chaos was far too withdrawn from the council's perceived system of politics to acquiesce to an order they did not want to perform. They had, however, kept to their promise made to the god whose most delicious parts intertwined with their own. It was, of course, still self-serving, but was laced with something deeper — Disorder had a developed sense for the unknown, a perception wider than most and were capable of setting future actions in motion.

"You are not supposed to be in here."

They dipped their covered head in respect towards the small creature that floated before them, a creature they had saved from Night's execution with their own four hands. "I come bearing a very special gift." They excused their presence despite the Sister Star's expression of disagreement. "And there is a part of you that knows exactly what that is and why I must do it."

The Handmaiden canted their veiled head at the god's words before drawing her focus down to the undulating, glassy orb they cradled against their chest, one set of arms keeping it in place while another smoothed over the curvature of is surface as if to calm the tumultuous liquid inside. "What does that have to do with the nursery?"

Chaos hadn't waited for a more cordial invitation to step deeper into the space, looming over the small star that kept the infant orb of a future Night Oracle close to their chest, the size of it nearly their whole torso. "Night's Ablation—" They began before kneeling down, an attempt to level their masked face before that of the Sister. "Night could have made it known but she had too much honor. It was not until after we had consumed her that The Council discovered Day had committed the very same act he had punished her for. He wished for it to be him but she refused to grant it. Do you not find that to be unsettling, Sister?"

Pleiades' wide eyes had narrowed. "It is not fallacy then?"

The god shook their head. "No. The mortal's favor preferred Night over Day. He could not process that he had committed such a crime himself for such little reward and enacted a rite none of us had the power to deny." They overturned their hand, the size of it nearly as big as the star themselves, to unveil the black canine that stilled between thumb and index fingertip. "I took this as a gesture of good faith, a little payment for my part of the bargain in extricating you, Seven Sisters. However, I believe that Night deserves better, do you? I believe she deserves to have her wish granted."

"We do." They spoke, their voice a cacophony of all Handmaidens simultaneously, one mind, one will, shared between the seven of them.

Chaos smiled at the hive-mind like one admiring their handiwork before averting their attention to the orb in Pleiades' arms. "Her sharpest mind, her most determined will, and most dangerous of all, her still-beating heart. I will be gentle."

With a brief movement of Pleiades' hand, the orb split open a fracture just large enough to swallow the token that was inserted, the black within swirling and sloshing as it swallowed the token with ardor. They too, watched as the creature within took advantage of the gift with the innocence of any newborn before craning their gaze back towards the discordant god. "It will be another millennia before this one is ready." They warned, small hand stroking over the rounded surface to offer the child comfort.

There seemed to be little concern for timelines in the god's response. "What do you call this one?"

The star's sight fell back to the volatile vacuum within the orb. "Nepenthe."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Still (he/him) is a historian specializing in 18th century France who always imagined what a revolutionary world would look like if creatures more resilient than humans were involved. He is a speculative fiction author who amalgamates historical fiction, fantasy, and sci-fi to express his deep and existentialist views on humanity. He is a Bostonian currently residing in Southern California with his partner and their beloved animals. For more information, please visit baroquet.com.