Page 58 of Touch

Punishment of this nature is an uncommon event. All deities-in-training have been instructed to witness Wonder’s introduction to pain. Love has been ordered to sharpen the blade and hand it to Envy. Instead of shackles, Sorrow restrains Wonder’s left arm and gawks at Wonder’s bloody knuckles. Anger secures Wonder’s right arm and stares blankly ahead, his expression militant.

His earlier words slice through Love’s mind.

What happens to one of us, happens to all of us.

Crew members are responsible for each other’s punishment. In private, Love had caught the haggard look in Envy’s eyes, though he’s concealing it in public now. No deity is bred to cower.

Before his hand comes down on Wonder again, her arms shake. “Please,” she begs, her face as shriveled as a dying flower. “Sto—”

“Stop!” Love hurls herself toward the goddess, shielding her from another blow. “Stop!”

The members of The Court regard Love with tapered eyes and ominous expressions. Anger gets to Love before any of their shamed Guides can. He seizes her by the shoulders and hauls her kicking and screaming from the scene, loose feathers scattering from her wings. The last thing she sees is Wonder’s wrist twitching in her direction, attempting to reach out for her.

The Court orders Love stripped and locked in a pitch-black room with no tastes or sounds or smells. The days blur together. She curls her plumage inward, using the panels to shield her nudity.

Amid the haze, Anger’s hand slips beneath the door crack, illuminated in a sudden gray sheen. Love is insulted. It’s not lecturing words or empty pity that she wants. What she wants is a fucking blanket to cover herself.

“I’m naked,” she warns him.

Anger pauses, his wrist suffusing with color. “Why the eternal fuck do I bother?” he vents.

The god’s hand disappears. She cackles at how easy it is to harass him.

Then those cackles turn into sobs. Love realizes a fact she’d been too delirious and impulsive to register a second ago—the kind of touch she longs for. Anger had just offered it to her.

She thrusts her fingers under the door, grasping only air, then scratching the ground, making contact with nothing, wishing he would come back.

***

Silence at archery practice.

Envy lacks his usual swagger.

Sorrow studies the grass more than her target.

Anger looses one arrow after the other, not sparing Love another glance.

Wonder winces as she polishes her longbow with a cloth, her hands too bruised to do it right.

***

Time to go. The others have already left. It’s Love’s turn now.

The Court has agreed. If remnants of her radical nature exist, solitude and matchmaking will stifle it. A few centuries of that, and she will be desperate for a deity to fuck her.

Love wants and doesn’t want to leave. She will miss her Guides and safe haven in The Dark Fates. She shouldn’t miss her crew, since they’ve gone back to mocking her whims—well, except Wonder—but belonging to others is better than being alone.

“Remember,” Wonder’s Guide instructs. “Humans are sacred so long as they can’t see deities. It’s unheard of, but don’t let your guard down. Eyes open, always.”

Anger’s Guide adds, “Your weapon is a part of you. Your power, your breath. As you have magic, it has magic.”

Sorrow’s Guide presents Love with a black dress. Envy’s Guide thinks it should be shorter.

***

She likes it in the mortal world. However, the years alone eventually alter Love’s perspective on benevolence and lower her tolerance for monotony. Soon enough, the selfishness of herkind rubs off on her. From then on, she finds naughty ways to occupy her time and complete her tasks, matching humans while also toying with their courtships, their actions, and their desires. So long as she does her job efficiently, the end justifies the means.

Millions of hearts shatter from the strikes of her arrows. However, it’s still not enough. Because of her wings and taste for touching, Love is less of a deity than all others. And in all ways, she shall never be human.

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