Yomi paced the room, chewing on her fourth piece of nailbark that hour. It tasted like thick parchment coated in vinegar, and it took an overwhelming amount of clawing to free it from the tree. Her bandaged throbbing fingertips were a testament to that. But it was one of the few options in Nyarlothep that gradually restored [Energy] and could be found without traveling far. Speckles of blood dotted the white linen, and she’d had to be careful when feeding Ruyah. The kitten liked biting on anything that came within an inch of her mouth.

This is better than the dreams, Yomi repeated to herself. Just stay awake.

Saoirse had infected her sleep like a sickness. Every night, her golden mask burned into Yomi’s vision; her voice etched into her ears. “Confess.”

Yomi had no one she could confide in. No one to tell her how to make the dreams stop.

She’d sold her house on San Island and moved to a small, unnamed outpost outside of Ronona in the hopes of escaping her memories. It was a population of catgirls that had made outcasts of themselves one way or another. Some of them talked about it—like Nimbus, the thief who’d invited Yomi there in the first place. Others, like Yomi, kept quiet. As Nimbus said, they all shared the same quiet disposition and air of solitude. The two-bedroom cottage was more than enough room for Yomi and Ruyah, and Nimbus was a convincing salesman.

But no matter how far she ran or how many Bells she spent, Saoirse followed her. Mornings began when she woke up screaming and sweating as if riddled with the same fevers as her pregnancy. She never slept for more than a few hours each night. It was to the point where her secretive neighbors asked about the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pallid face.

Yomi snapped another piece of the bark between her teeth.

In the other room, Ruyah slept soundly in her cradle, swathed in warm blankets, cuddling a stuffed rabbit. Yomi had seen them in shops around San Island, and Ruyah took to the toy immediately—as if it were her familiar.

Stay awake for Ruyah. Stay alive for Ruyah.

“Yomi,” a deep voice called behind her.

Yomi leaped backward into a corner with a hiss, grabbing her staff from its resting place and thrusting it forward. She spent the majority of her time in [Combat Mode], refusing to bow down to Saoirse in the waking world without a fight.

“Yomi,” Belial repeated and stepped forward.

Yomi lowered her staff and rubbed her eyes against the back of her arm. “I didn’t summon you.”

“No. But I have been watching,” Belial replied. He reached forward, then hesitated. “I…”

“You what?” She carefully replaced her staff against the wall. The chimes hummed pleasantly as they collided.

“I fear for you, Yomi of Nyarlea,” Belial said.

A gurgle of giggles sputtered from her lips before she could stop them. “I—haha—I must be dreaming again,” she managed. “You’re worried for me?”

“Yes.”

The laughter continued. Yomi couldn’t stop. Tears pooled in her eyes, and the nailbark cut the inside of her cheek. The goddess of Nyarlea demanded that she confess. A demon that never should have been hers to call worried for her health. “I—I can’t—” she couldn’t breathe. The tears turned to sobs, wracking her chest as she battled for air. “I can’t.”

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Belial closed the distance between them in three swift steps, catching Yomi before she hit her knees. He sunk to the floor, scooping her into his lap. She leaned her head against his chest and let the grief take her.

The trouble was Yomi had begun to believe Saoirse. That she’d be better off dead, and Ruyah could be properly raised by nyannies. What Yomi had done was unforgivable, but turning herself in would stain Ruyah’s life. Ruyah would forever be known as the child of a blasphemous criminal.

But each night that Saoirse appeared, a sliver of Yomi’s conscience believed her. All would be forgiven should she simply confess to her misdeeds.

I won’t see Ruyah grow up. I won’t be here to teach her how to survive in Nyarlea. She… she wouldn’t remember me.

Yomi choked on her cries and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to wake Ruyah. Her daughter couldn’t see her like this. She couldn’t see Belial like this.

Belial rested his hand on Yomi’s head, then slowly stroked her hair. It was strangely human and oddly comforting. The dark fur on his chest grew damp with her tears, but he never so much as flinched. He simply waited.

When her cries quieted, he nuzzled his mouth between her ears. “Who is this ‘Saoirse’ you call out to at night?”

“You’ve watched me sleep?” Yomi murmured. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

Belial huffed a noncommittal growl.

“S-she’s the goddess of Nyarlea. All things are designed by her hand,” Yomi explained. “At least, that’s what we’re told.”

“Mm.” Belial twined his hands and rested them around Yomi’s side. He’s so warm. “You have only one goddess?”

“So far as I know. She’s the only one haunting my dreams, anyway,” Yomi said. The words sounded as bitter as they tasted.

“I see.” He paused, and Yomi listened to his heartbeat until he continued. “Dreams are a powerful medium. They are a canvas upon which demons and deities rest their brushes.”

“Why’s that?” she wondered aloud.

“To coerce and manipulate. Teach and rebuke. We cannot force the dreamer to acknowledge the call. But as you seem to be experiencing, resistance can be chiseled down with enough power.”

“Why in dreams? Why not appear in person?” Yomi distantly recalled hearing tales of Saoirse appearing to catgirls in Nyarlothep and bestowing gifts.

“It is difficult to explain.” He coiled his tail around his body, resting the fluffed end in Yomi’s lap.

She picked it up and caressed the soft hair without a thought. It was still one of her favorite aspects about Belial. Does he enjoy me touching it? “Try?”

“Hmm. All mortals exist on a single plane, separate from gods and demons. However, when you sleep, it opens a small gateway to other planes.” A low purring emitted from his chest as Yomi stroked his tail. “It requires immense pools of magic to enter a mortal’s dream—lesser eternal beings are not fit for the task. But to torment the dreams of one mortal for so long? Your goddess—this Saoirse—seems…” His words trailed.

“Seems what?” Yomi reached one hand up and stroked the side of Belial’s face, memorizing the strong lines of his long muzzle.

“Cruel.”

“It’s because of what I did to Matt,” Yomi whispered. “The same act you said deserved eternal damnation.”

Belial was silent for a time, the only sound his purring with Yomi’s touch.

At last, he replied. “Our pact grants me a say on your soul’s final resting place, Yomi of Nyarlea. I have borne witness to your sorrow and experienced your regret as if it were my own. I understand my forgiveness is not what you require, but I believe you feel true remorse for what you have done.”

Silent tears dripped down Yomi’s cheeks. “I do,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t realize how badly she’d needed to hear Belial’s words. “Why can’t Saoirse believe that?”

Belial shook his head. “That is not something I can answer for you.”

“Of course.” Her hands shook as she wiped the streaks from her face. “Belial.”

“Yes?”

“Do you worry about everyone you’ve made pacts with like this?”

His nose touched the tip of her ear, and his breath was hot against her hair. “No.”

Warmth spread through Yomi’s chest and into her limbs. Her lids felt heavy, and her breathing steadied. I need more nailbark. But it was too far away and outside of Belial’s embrace.

“Sleep, Yomi of Nyarlea. I will guard your dreams tonight.”

She wanted to protest. Ask how he could possibly stand against the goddess. But the last shreds of her [Energy] faded away.

For the first time in weeks, Yomi fell into a dreamless slumber.

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