The goddess of beauty and music was a shut-in, but she didn’t mean to be. There was simply nothing in either realm that interested her enough to emerge from Grimiere. Her twin brother, the god of history, continuously spoke about the benefits of having friends and seeing more of the world, but Sichor was unconvinced. What would be the point when everything she loved and wanted was right here, within the walls of their home?

Beauty, music, and art… she’d think, playing her flute calmly. That is all I need.

The goddess adored her collection of paintings, and walked the halls of her music room daily, tending to and cleaning each instrument with care and scrutiny. Sometimes her brother would be home, and she’d find him in the study, engrossed in another ancient, brittle text. They would have tea in silence and when Metir was finished reading, he would sit back and regard her with a smile.

“Dear sister,” he’d say. “How was your day?”

“Good, brother. And yours?”

“Ah, I spent the afternoon in The Mortal Realm again. It really is incredible! Did you know that the humans perform plays about us? The gods, I mean. They are mostly full of inaccuracies, but amusing nonetheless. Perhaps, you would accompany me one of these days and we will go see one?”

Sichor blinked.

“I will have to see if my schedule allows it.”

Her brother chuckled, “Your schedule? You mean being alone and playing through every sheet of music in your collection?”

Sichor nodded. Precisely.

Her brother didn’t bring it up again for several weeks, but then one morning when she was walking about, Sichor happened to overhear him talking to the god of love in hushed tones.

“I am worried about her, Kulao… she has never gone outside ever since we were born, and she has no friends-”

“She has you.”

“...not the same-”

Sichor left, but ended up pacing the halls, staring blankly at the paintings on the walls, for once unimpressed by their color.

She wasn’t trying to ignore the rest of the world, and she didn’t mean to worry her brother. Perhaps, it would be best if she could put his mind at ease and try. Just for a few minutes, she could try to be normal.

She told her brother of her plans and he smiled wider than she’d ever seen. He asked if he should accompany her, but she didn’t want to stay very long and told him as such, so he agreed it might be good for her to explore on her own, at her own pace.

“There is a rumor I’ve heard while in The Mortal Realm,” Metir said, smiling slyly.

“About a Princess, a great beauty… the greatest in the world. They say she has the most beautiful singing voice, and the neatest calligraphy, and can even dance! Perhaps, you could investigate if it is true?”

And, because Sichor was only doing this for him, she said;

“Yes, brother.”

The kingdom this Princess was from, Freytide, was nestled in the high, snowy mountains. Sichor donned a mortal disguise, which felt extremely suffocating, and made her way on foot for several days to reach her destination. Most of what she discovered along the way about the humans was that they are very stupid, and have no regard for beauty. Sichor even starts to wonder if the mortals have a concept of beauty at all-

That is, until she sees her.

Princess Lamollie is what Sichor lives and breathes for. She never imagined that this kind of divine beauty could be housed in a mortal body, and for a long time, all she can do is stare from the edge of the crowd.

The Princess had come down to the village that day in order to sing some songs and dance with the commoners, and Sichor finds that not even their grimy, reaching hands and whiskery faces can detract from the Princess’ charm and poise.

Her voice carries over the wind and right into Sichor’s heart, and in those moments all she feels is joy. A sense of purpose washes over her, and in her mind, she curses her brother for convincing her after all these years to do this, when Sichor would never be able to have the object of her desires.

Feeling bereft and unlike herself, she heads home and locks herself in her bedroom. Her brother checks on her every hour but she cannot even rise out of bed and has given up on all her instruments, allowing them to age and gather dust. Sichor stares at the ceiling and remembers that voice, the voice of an angel, and realizes that she would rather die than never be able to hear it again.

Resolved to do whatever she can to win the Princess’ heart, she descends again to The Mortal Realm, this time with her brother, as his worry has only grown. They stay in the village of Freytide and Sichor “enjoys” her brother’s tour and guide to the realm’s customs, while her heart longs for the woman at the top of the highest tower.

Sometimes, when the Princess comes to the village, Sichor will be there. With her she brings music back to the goddess’ heart, and beauty in every form; her visage, her song, and her dance… even her soul, Sichor realizes with a pang, is the most gorgeous thing she has ever seen. To think that such a beauty is mortal, fragile, and not for her to protect and cherish, is the greatest of sins imaginable.

After watching Lamollie from afar for several weeks, Sichor’s brother leaves her with a bid to take care and enjoy her vacation.

That is when the goddess enacts the first part of her plan.

Every god born from Mount Kacia is agender, and their physical sex at birth is either fate, chance, or an unconscious wish their soul makes. Because of this, and their ability to change shape, Sichor creates a new disguise for herself, and then travels to the castle grounds. This time, she hopes she is in a form the Princess can love.

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At the palace gates Sichor is turned away, despite having the image of a well-to-do young man. He tries waiting in the village for Lamollie, and hesitantly approaches the Princess after another beautiful performance for the commoners.

Sichor is so tongue-tied and awe-struck, that when at last he finds Lamollie’s eyes on him, he can only gape and stare. Incredibly rude. He doesn’t fault the Princess one bit for frowning, then turning away without even a farewell.

He tries again, this time in an older, much more handsome form, one that had every woman in the village tripping over their feet as they tried to look back at him. Sichor only cared for one person’s gaze…

He managed to run into the Princess just outside the palace gates, and with a small boost of confidence and no small amount of bravery, Sichor approached her again and bowed low.

“Princess, it is an honor to-”

“Get up.”

“...?”

“I said, stand up-”

Sichor straightened his back and instead of a sweet smile, was met with the Princess’ unyielding glare. Ah, he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, once again…

“I assume you are here to ask my father for my hand, so I will inform you now and save you the time. I am already betrothed, so please, return to wherever it is you are from and spread the word. The Princess of Freytide is taken!”

And with that, Lamollie spun on her heel and ran away. Ran. Sprinted.

Sichor didn’t know how long later it was when she came to, but she had apparently wandered into the forest just outside the village and was in her preferred female form. The rain was coming down hard, or had been, so she was soaking wet. Her mortal body shivered, but Sichor just sat there and let her tears mix with the rain, washing everything away.

Unfortunately, no matter how long she sat, her heart would not go back to the way it was before. Sichor was ruined by this love. She wished she could scrub it off her skin…

A branch snapped under someone’s foot, and then the trickle of rain began to slow. Sichor blinked up at the sky through the trees and wondered why it seemed as if the sun was beginning to peek through the clouds.

“Hello? Are you okay?!”

The goddess froze. It was the Princess!

She hadn’t meant for Lamollie to see her like this, so she panicked and tried to leave, but she must have been sitting there for too long and when she tried to move, her legs crumpled beneath her and Sichor fell to the ground with a frustrated sob.

Despite all her praying, the Princess came closer. Then, despite Sichor’s genuine begging, the beautiful woman knelt, in the mud, and reached out a delicate hand to the goddess’ knee.

Sichor winced. She hadn’t even realized she had scraped it.

“You’re freezing!” Lamollie gasped, stunning Sichor once again by taking off her own cloak and draping it over the shivering goddess’ form.

As if in a dream, Sichor stares blankly and watches the woman check her over for other injuries, fretting and frowning over her twisted ankle and cut lip. Sichor had really not paid any attention to what she was doing on the way through the forest. Somewhere, distantly, she’s surprised it isn’t worse. She likely could have fallen off a cliff and not noticed at all.

“Come with me, darling.” The Princess cooed, helping Sichor to her feet with gentle hands.

“This is no place for you.”

Sichor allowed herself to be led by the girl through the village and up to the palace. When Lamollie took her into the castle, then into a room, Sichor could only gaze at the Princess, completely struck dumb, as the beautiful woman hurried around, muttering something about how Sichor was in need of medical attention, food, and a nice, hot bath.

“...”

She still couldn’t say anything. She tried, but no words would form. Sichor might have sworn that she would never speak again, so content to just listen to and watch Lamollie caring for her tenderly, but then the Princess’ hands were lifting up her dress’ skirts, and Sichor heard her own gasp like it was echoing through her very soul.

Lamollie blinked up at her from the foot of the bed. Sichor hadn’t protested being laid down, nor the tea she was absently sipping, but then the Princess grasped her bare ankle and ran her thumb lightly across the band of bruising, and the goddess no longer felt like she could be contained in her own skin.

“...please, don’t-” she choked out.

Lamollie frowned, but it was softer, more sweet than before.

“Does it hurt a lot? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Sichor wanted to cry again as the Princess treated her wound. She longed to clutch the girl tighter and lay bare her soul, tell her; no, please. I fear if you keep touching me, I will be robbed of something vital when you stop-

Lamollie was too kind. Sichor could not understand why she was doing all of this for her, a stranger, when she had no reason to. Sichor was not even a real resident of the village, nor did she have anything to give back to the woman besides her devotion and undying love. Her care was so undeserved, it nearly made the goddess sick.

Then, Lamollie came back and guided her into another room. It was warmer inside and smelled peaceful and soft. Sichor almost believed that she would be able to sleep here, if not for the sight of the tub of water and the Princess carefully moving to undress her…

“Hhp!” Sichor grabbed the woman’s wrists, but Lamollie only stared at her, a soft teasing smile on her lips as she said;

“What’s wrong? You’re still shivering and your hair is damp, this will help you not catch a cold. Come on, be a good girl. In you go!”

Sichor was unable to speak again, and wholly unable to deny the Princess anything, so she let herself be stripped and set gingerly in the warm water. The feeling of it on her chilled skin made her jump and hiss, but she settled back and tried to hide her blushing face behind her knees while Lamollie moved around behind her and hummed in that goregous voice, the one that made Sichor see stars.

The goddess jerked away and frantically looked at the Princess’ face when she felt her hands stroking through the long strands of her black hair. Lamollie just smiled at her, warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges and making her look younger and sweeter.

Sichor swallowed. What should she say? Was this allowed? Did she actually die from a broken heart earlier and had ended up in some other world where her every wish was fulfilled? That didn’t seem likely. She had never felt more alive.

As Lamollie played with her hair, brushing the tangles from it and washing it with a lilac-smelling soap, Sichor placed her chin on her knee again and wondered why her plan had failed so marvelously, and yet she had still ended up exactly where she wanted to be. Maybe that was fate.

Eventually, Lamollie’s hands slowed and Sichor tilted her head. She saw the Princess out of the corner of her eyes. She was staring at her. She looked happy.

“Why?”

Sichor hadn’t even realized she’d spoken, until Lamollie sat back, thoughtful, and then whispered;

“For you. Because, the way you were crying… I’ve cried like that. I wanted someone to be there with me so much at the time, to tell me that everything would be okay, but no one was. If I can be that person for you, then that makes me happy.”

Sichor nodded slowly, her eyelids drooping. She heard the Princess laugh and then somehow she was being pulled from the bath, dried and dressed and swaddled in a mountain of blankets on the softest bed she’d ever known.

Sichor was half asleep and in the process of trying to come up with something memorable and warm to say in return to Lamollie, but then the candles were extinguished, and the goddess fell asleep faster than she’d fallen in love.