But It couldn't last. She discovered the truth. Of the genocides that lead to the creation of humanity. She feared humanity would face the same. So she prepared to the best of her capabilities. But she failed. I must not make the same mistakes. He has grown bitter, grown tired. I fear what is to come. All I have is her knowledge. And her blade. I hope it's enough.

I watched with sorrow as yet another city burned, its inhabitants screaming out as the flame reduced them to naught but ash. It was far from the first city that had burned in the years since Cunable itself had gone up in flames. But with each one, I found myself feeling more and more towards the suffering people.

It was a dangerous proposition. To be divine was to be separate from mere mortality. To care for them was to reconnect to my severed humanity, eroding at the foundations of my divinity.

But under Angelica’s prodding, both gentle and passionate, I found the echoes of mortality within me growing.

I found myself reaching out, yearning to take those scared souls into my arms, and reassure them that it was alright, before I remembered myself and snatched my will back.

Intervention was only to be resorted to at the gravest of time, and only with those brushing upon divinity themselves.

Angelica at my side let out a low growl, and I felt the anger and frustration radiate out of her with shocking intensity. I turned to her with explanations already on my lip, but she turned around and left without another word.

I let out a sigh. After years of being together, it was the one thing we could never agree on. She wanted me to intervene, to stop the endless cycle of violence and death, but I refused. It was not my place to intervene in the lives of mortals.

Still, our time together had been wondrous. We lived on the earth and we danced in the stars. And we created miracles. My power and her purity. Layers upon layers of meaning draped over the creations I had once believed to be perfect. Stars shone not only with inner light but also the concept of light itself. Blood carries not only nutrients but also life itself. The physical began to grow less physical, more conceptual. And the possibilities abounded.

She was my light in a dark universe, unveiling the path forward.

Everything was perfect, except for one thing.

I had given her no children.

I knew I was tempting fate by playing with such a mortal desire, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to see what we could create together. Who we could create together.

But I could not. Over the years I had begun to discover love, but I had not reached that point Adam had achieved so long ago.

That point of creating a new soul.

I was still pondering the issue when she stormed back into the cabin and took a seat across the table from me, glancing at me with an expectant look.

“Angelica,” I started, “I’m sorry. But I cannot intervene on such a scale. It would undermine everything I have built so far, and ever hope I have for them. I just… I cannot. It goes against what I am.”

She was silent, and I found myself looking everywhere but her as she gathered her thoughts. This was an old argument, and I knew exactly what she was going to say.

Our cabin, I still got a strange thrill out of the our part, was small but cozy, with a simple one room structure and a thatched roof. It was strange living in a cabin when I could have manifested a towering castle with a thought, but I enjoyed it all the same.

“My love, we cannot just leave those people to die. The world is on fire, and you could put it out with a thought. So why do you do nothing!”

Stolen novel; please report.

She was red faced when she finished, her passion rippling through the room in angry waves.

“It's not my way, Angelica. I am separate from mortal sensibilities. To express them, is to taint my very being.”

Her voice was low and dangerous.”Am I tainting you then? A stain on your perfection.”

I choose my next words carefully. “You are different. You aren’t-”

“-quiet mortal. Yes, I’ve heard. And yet, I still consider those people my people. Perhaps you should try the same.”

When I didn’t say anything, she threw her arms up and stormed out once more, the force of her anger threatening to render the cabin asunder.

With her gone, I was once more stuck pondering the issue of our children. It was painfully obvious that our relationship was being strained by the wars raging through the mortal world. I thought back to what I had observed from mortal couples. Strangely enough, It seemed that the need for true love to produce children was fading, the mechanism integrating itself into humanity as a whole. Those children had weaker souls than those born of love, but they had human souls nonetheless. Those that sired children of love seemed to have one thing in common.

Trust. Trust and honesty.

They told each other everything, and that trust fostered love.

Should I tell her the rest of my story then? Such a thing would once more be surrendering to mortal sensibilities, but I could see no other way to strengthen our relationship to the necessary extent. But I worried what she would think of it. What she would think of me when she realized what I had done.

I was still struggling with the problem when Anglica returned once more and wrapped her arms around my neck. I was in my mortal form at the moment, and the gesture warded off a cold I had not even realized existed till that moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in my ear, “I know you're getting better. I’m just… worried.”

As I felt her warmth, the heartfelt apology radiating from every inch of her being, I made my decision.

“Angelica,” I said, “I need to talk to you.”

She lifted her head curiously, “Yes?”

I got up and turned to her, holding out a hand. “First, may I have this dance.”

Smiling, she grabbed my hand and we danced as once had.

Then it was over, and we were once more floating in space, with me having shed my mortal form. The stars glimmered around us, a tapestry of light and dark, punctuated by streaks of distance comments and misshapen nebulas.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “I want to tell you the rest of my story.”

She nodded at me, and brushed her hair out of her ears, preparing to listen with all her being, only reaffirming my commitment to tell her.

I reached out with my essence, and resumed the story from where we had last left off, on the day we first met.

I closed my eyes, unable to look upon her, and told her the story of life.

Of the first creator, and its subsequent destruction. Of the myriad of other creatures I had birthed on my quest to create beings capable of ascension. I told her of failure after failure, and genocide after genocide, all in the pursuit of my apex creation. I told of the tipping point, and the perfection my rage had wrought. The lives of Adam and his children came pouring out. Of the things they taught me and the paths they forged. I vocalized my hopes of one day gaining a peer and my hopes of humanity living up to its full potential.

When I was done, I finally looked over at Angelica. Her face was bone white, and she was shivering. I stiffened for a second, wondering if I had made a grave mistake in telling her. I knew she likely wouldn’t be happy with what I had done in pursuit of life, but all the creatures I had purged were barely souled. Barely even worthy of being considered “alive”.

I began to fall into a spiral of what-ifs, before forcefully stabilizing myself. No, this was Angelica. I knew her. She would get over this.

“Are you ok dear?” I questioned.

She didn’t respond, only shivering harder. When I floated over to hold her, she flinched back. It felt like having a knife driven into my divine chest, and I clumsily withdrew my hands.

We floated in silence for what seemed like eternity, before she finally spoke. “What…What” she whispered “What happens if humanity doesn't live up to your hopes? What happens if we fail you?”

She looked up at me with desperate eyes. Fear spilled out of her in waves. I didn’t know what to say, but I remember thinking that honesty was still necessary for trust. I should have lied.

“I would start again” I answered simply.

Her fear vanished in an instant, replaced by a soft smile. I could tell something was wrong, but the feeling was faint.

“Let's go home.” she said.

We went home.