“It was easy. I mean… well, not easy, but you know? Simple, I guess? I knew what choice I had to make, and it was easy.”

Does that even make sense?

I took another sip of my coffee, staring down at the ice cubes clinking against the glass. “You know, I was never a coffee person,” I said, mostly to myself. “But this—” I held the cup up slightly, letting the light catch the condensation—“this is good stuff.”

The man across from me chuckled, a low, easy sound. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying… the drink,” he said, his voice smooth and measured. “But what I don’t understand is why you people have always been so… violent.”

I paused mid-sip, glancing up at him over the rim of my cup. “What do you mean, ‘you people’?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.

He gestured loosely with his hand, an almost casual wave in my direction. “Humans. Mortals. Whatever you want to call yourselves. You know what I mean.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting the coffee rest on the table between us. “Violent? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” I replied, crossing my arms. “I mean, sure, we’ve had our wars, and maybe some skirmishes here and there, but—”

“Skirmishes?” he interrupted, leaning forward. “You call entire civilizations burning to ash ‘skirmishes’? Genocide? Crusades? Petty rivalries turned into bloody conflicts that span generations?”

I shrugged, feeling my defenses rise. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad.”

“It is bad,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head. “But I suppose that’s just who you are, isn’t it? Conflict. Choice. Violence. You can’t seem to help yourselves.”

I frowned, his words digging under my skin. “And what would you have us do, huh? Just… hold hands and sing songs? The world doesn’t work like that.”

“No,” he said, his tone suddenly sharp. “It doesn’t. And that’s the problem.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I picked up my cup again, taking a slow sip as I studied him. There was something about him that didn’t quite fit. His clothes were simple—a crisp white shirt, black slacks—but they seemed too clean, too perfect, like they’d never known a single wrinkle. His face, sharp and angular, was almost too symmetrical, too polished to belong to someone…human.

“What’s your point?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My point,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “is that the choice you made—the one you keep calling ‘easy’—might not be as simple as you think.”

I thought about it for a second, letting his words hang in the air. Then I shrugged, leaned forward, and said, “Nah, it was easy. It was always gonna be easy.”

His expression shifted, a mix of bafflement and amusement. He chuckled, shaking his head like I’d just told him the punchline to a joke he didn’t quite get. “Explain it to me,” he said, his tone both curious and incredulous.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I took another slow sip of my coffee, the ice clinking softly in the glass. Then, I set it down and looked him dead in the eye. “Have you ever been in love?”

That wiped the smirk off his face. For the first time, he seemed caught off guard, his carefully crafted composure faltering just slightly.

“Love?” he repeated, as though the word itself was foreign to him.

“Yeah, love,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “The kind that makes you feel like you can’t breathe without them. The kind that keeps you awake at night, not because of what you’ve done but because of what you’re afraid you’ll lose. That kind of love.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied me, his sharp eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out if I was serious—or just messing with him.

Finally, he said, “I don’t see what that has to do with your choice.”

I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “That’s because you’ve never been in love,” I said, shaking my head. “If you had, you wouldn’t need me to explain it.”

He leaned forward then, his gaze intense. “So, enlighten me. What does love have to do with it?”

I didn’t flinch under his stare. I didn’t back down. Instead, I smiled, faintly but genuinely, as I answered. “Because when you love someone, truly love them, you don’t hesitate. You don’t calculate. You don’t weigh the pros and cons. You just do whatever it takes. And that makes the choice easy.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table as if he were turning my words over in his mind.

“So, you’re saying you killed 38 people…” he said finally, his voice calm but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.

He paused, studying me, then leaned forward slightly. “Correction. Forty people. Two of them finally died in the hospital.” He let that hang in the air for a moment before asking, almost incredulously, “Forty people… for love?”

I smiled. Not a big smile, not a grin—just a quiet, knowing smile. “I told you,” I said, setting the cup down, my fingers tracing the rim absently. “It was an easy choice. It was either them or her, and it’s always going to be her. No matter what.”

He blinked, his face unreadable again. “Forty people,” he repeated, as if saying it out loud would make it make sense.

I shrugged. “Forty, four hundred—it doesn’t matter. If it’s her or anyone else, it’s always going to be her.”

“And that’s why it was easy?” he asked, his tone heavy with disbelief.

“That’s why it was easy,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “And I’d do it again.”

“Easy,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder, “And yet, look where it brought you.”

I shrugged, giving a faint smile. “Well, we all end up here one day, I guess. But I know she’s safe, so I’m alright with it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting as he studied me. “And how do you know she’s safe?”

That question threw me. I frowned, the words hanging in the air.

He interrupted, nodding slowly, like he’d just uncovered something he hadn’t thought of. “Ah, right. The forty,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He met my eyes with a faint smirk, the kind that didn’t bring comfort.

I stared at him, my confusion growing. “It’s weird that you don’t understand, you know, with your history of slauuuuughteriinnnng…” I said, trailing off, the words catching in my throat.

And then it clicked.

The realization hit me like a freight train, a sudden, chilling certainty that made my chest tighten. I leaned forward, my voice dropping. “You don’t understand because you can’t.”

His silence confirmed it.

“To think,” I continued, leaning back now, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips, “the all-mighty God couldn’t kill. Well, this is very interesting.”

His face twitched. Just for a moment. He hid it well—better than most—but not well enough. I saw it, clear as day. Shock.

“Huh,” I said, the confusion in my own voice catching me off guard. I sat back further, studying him like I was trying to piece together a puzzle that had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated.

“You can’t kill,” I repeated, more to myself than to him, my mind spinning. “But… why? I mean, you’re God. You made everything, right? You have power over all of it. So why—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he interrupted, his voice low and controlled, but there was a crack in it. A hint of something he didn’t want me to see.

“No,” I said quickly, cutting him off, the words tumbling out of my mouth now. “I think I do. You can’t kill. That’s why you don’t understand. That’s why you’re so baffled by my choice. Because you’ve never had to make one like it.”

He stared at me, his expression unreadable again, but this time I could tell it wasn’t because he was calm. It was because he was trying to mask something—something that ran deep.

“This whole time,” I said, my voice quieter now, almost a whisper, “you’ve been trying to figure me out. Trying to understand why I did what I did. But you can’t, can you? Because you’ve never been there. You’ve never had to choose between someone you love and… everything else.”

His silence was louder than any answer he could’ve given me.

I laughed then, a short, bitter sound that even surprised me. “God can’t kill,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Well, that explains a lot.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his composure slipping just enough for me to see the frustration brewing beneath it. “You think you understand me?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “No,” I said simply. “But I understand this. And you don’t.”

As he waved his hand dismissively, like I was an annoying fly, and turned to walk away, I couldn’t help myself. The words just spilled out.

“You should ask him. He’d make the same decision I did.”

I blinked—and suddenly, he was back in the chair across from me. Only now, he was closer. Too close. The table was gone. The coffee was gone. It was just him and me in an endless, suffocating void.

“Think about your next words wisely,” he said, his voice low and cold, every syllable carrying the weight of a threat. “Or else…”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing, the kind of laugh you can’t stop even though you know it’s a bad idea. “Or else you’ll kill me?” I blurted out between chuckles. “Sorry, sorry, I had to.” I waved a hand in mock apology, still grinning. “But seriously. You should ask him. He’d understand.”

The air shifted, heavier now. His face didn’t move, but something in his eyes sharpened, the weight of them pressing against me like a blade to my throat.

“HOW DO YOU…” he began, his voice rising, a tremor of something raw—something almost desperate—lurking just beneath the surface.

The words cut off, hanging there, unfinished, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say them.

“It’s love,” I said, simply smiling, leaning back as though the answer had always been obvious. I thought to myself—it wasn’t hard to guess, unconventional maybe, but not difficult.

His face froze for a moment, then his finger snapped, sharp and deliberate.

And I was gone.

Well, I was there but… gone. The endless void wrapped tighter, like the space itself had decided to fold inward, erasing me piece by piece.

“Last chance,” his voice boomed, not loud but resonant, the kind that reverberated through your soul. “Speak wisely.”

I didn’t flinch. Instead, I smiled wider and said, “If you were human, you’d be just like her. Precious. Beautiful.” I paused for a beat, watching as his jaw tightened. “But you’d need someone like me. Someone to protect you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. He wasn’t just angry—he was livid. No, that wasn’t right.

She was angry.

The shift hit me like a tidal wave. For the briefest moment, his figure flickered, warped, until I wasn’t looking at him anymore. It was her—her face, her presence, her rage. Her beauty.