Page 52 of We Were Eternal Once

At last, I feel that I have righted the wrongs from Patras. At last, I am worthy of your love once more, and you are restored as an Elder and a goddess amongst humans and our kind. I do not think of us as lamia, the name falls short of what you are capable of.

My fingers curl into the dirt of my homeland, and I fall asleep to the scent of the temple in my nose.

The Rats Scurry

Theon has not regrown the finger I shriveled. It is too early for celebrating—he may be too weak to heal. He barely even screams anymore, which almost dampens the joy of his punishment.

Almost.

The cup of human blood sits untouched next to him. If he starves, I will have no one to practice on. I grab his chin and force his head back, tilting the cup to dribble the blood into his mouth. He tries to fight, his weak limbs slamming ineffectively against me.

The blood slides down his throat all the same.

“How does it feel to be powerless?” I ask. He doesn’t respond.

Frustrating.

I leave his little prison, pressing my ear to the door to listen for his sobs. He cries often after I leave, and it is just as rewarding as watching him squirm. I press my palm to the door as I listen, but I hear nothing.

Disappointing.

Voices filter down the hallway, hushed and hurried. They bounce off the old walls, some disappearing into the tapestries. I remain crouched, tilting my head toward the sound.

“…privately,” Menodotus says.

“…no evidence,” Zahra’s voice overlaps.

“…keep the gift a secret.” Menodotus again.

I don’t dare move, lest my feet make noise and alert them to my eavesdropping. Is it really eavesdropping if I am only hearing bits and pieces? If they did not wish for someone to hear them speak, they should not speak within the temple.

A gift? For you, I presume. I do not recall how long we have been in Alexandria, or how long it has been since Essemteu confronted us in our courtyard. Days? Years? Decades? Perhaps we are closing in on an anniversary of some sort.

I stay close to the ground, straining to hear.

“…taken you to learn?” Zahra.

“No, and not Ardashir either.” Menodotus.

“Perhaps Essemteu is first,” Zahra says. Their voices are loud and clear now.

“I will not ask him,” Menodotus scoffs.

“I do not trust his truth,” Zahra agrees.

I am at a crossroads. On one path I stand and alert them to my presence, ask what gift must be kept secret. Perhaps I can be included in it?

But why do they not trust Essemteu? And what does he have to do with a secret gift?

I choose the other road, where I sink deeper into the shadows and still myself completely.

You cannot see me, I will silently, praying to the ancient walls of the temple. Maybe one of the old gods still lingers and they will grant me this favor. Or perhaps they will spite me, as I am an intruder in their hallowed halls. I have transformed their abandoned temple into one that worships only you.

You cannot see me, I repeat.

The voices do not grow louder or quieter—they remain the same. Zahra and Menodotus must be in the hallway across from Theon’s prison. Their voices bounce and rebound, but they do not stop speaking.

“Can we call it a gift if it’s never given?” Zahra muses.