LUNA IS CHESHIRE

I opened my eyes… I feel like I’d been doing that a lot recently. Who knew death was just a series of me opening my eyes to some new situation. This time, unlike all the others, I wasn’t in some sort of nigh-incomprehensible liminal space but a cluttered old office. Although just like every other time I opened my eyes, there was someone in front of me, someone who I could immediately tell was a god. Unlike the last time, I actually had an idea of which god… well goddess this was. When I learned I would be meeting Mortella, the mysterious goddess of life and death, I had expected… actually I had no idea what to expect beyond robe and scythe. What I saw in front of me was decidedly not that. She was a tall hawkish woman who, if she were in a pencil skirt, I would immediately assume to be the stereotypical strict schoolteacher, or dominatrix librarian. Though she was dressed more like… I wasn’t quite sure. She was wearing a studded leather jacket, in the style of a cardigan. She was wearing tight jeans, and dainty shoes. She wore a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, in the style of some prim reading glasses. Right before I placed exactly what she looked like, she moved. She pulled something out of her pocket, raised it to her lips and… blew. It was one of those obnoxious roll-out party blowers, that at this moment occurred to me that I didn’t actually know the name of. The high-pitched, slightly grating, noise cutting through the silence like a knife through… something. I was too distracted to come up with an analogy.

“Happy birthday!” Mortella said, after spitting the thing that I neither could remember the name of nor was I sure that it even had one, out onto the floor. “What?” I said, confusion finally reaching critical mass and triggering the emergency release system to spray it from my mouth. Mortella reached out holding… a present. It was about a foot long, wrapped in colorful wrapping paper and had a bow on top. I took it, not knowing what else to do. I looked down at the box in my hands, it felt like wood under the wrapping paper. Then I looked back up at the smiling death goddess. I gingerly begun unwrapping it, peeling away the paper to find it was a long wooden box. I opened it to reveal… a celery stick. I looked back up at Mortella and made a plaintive noise as the confusion flooded the part of my brain responsible for making coherent words, clearly the pressure wasn’t being released fast enough. Mortella got a thoughtful look on her face, then snapped her fingers, the celery stick, wrapping paper and box vanishing. “Sorry, wrong universe,” she said. Then reached into the pocket of her jacket and began rummaging around. She pulled out a smart phone, a ■■■■■■■■■■■■■, a brick of gold, some lint, a limited edition My Little Pony Pinkie Pie figurine (mint in box), and finally, a crystal in the shape of a cube with a yellow glowing core. She sat it down on the desk. “There, that’s probably something a mortal would like,” she said, possibly half to herself. “What is it?” I asked. She looked at it then at me.

I took it in my hands. It was warm, and seemed to shudder slightly as I touched it, though it was so faint I couldn't tell if it was my imagination, or if it had actually happened. I got the distinct impression that this was… alive. Even though it was an inanimate object, I could somehow tell that there was a spark of consciousness inside of it. “What… what is this?” I asked again, holding it very carefully, a small amount of reverence in my voice. “It’s a soul,” Mortella said. A soul… a soul…. It was a soul. I gently rubbed at its surface. Looking into the glowing core. “Who’s soul, is it?” I asked. “Technically, it’s yours. Until you put it into something, then it will be its own being,” Mortella said. “What do you mean, put it into something?” “Exactly what it sounds like. Put it into an inanimate object and it’ll become… animate. This soul is bound to yours so don’t worry about creating some random creature that’ll fly off the second you leave it alone.” I looked back down at the soul in my hands, I smiled. “Hello,” I said softly to it. I felt a warm, curious feeling pushed into me from the soul in my hands. I could feel its exact meaning. It wasn’t a language, not really, but I could understand it perfectly. It spoke with feelings, to a part of me that wasn’t conscious, or analytical. Not like my brain. It was… my soul. It was talking to my soul. I tried to talk back, I sent it, not a friendly greeting, but the concept, the idea, of a friendly greeting. We began talking… and immediately I understood this being on a level I had never understood any other being in the world, and I felt myself understood to the same degree in turn. It was soul to soul communication. It was communication without some… weight imposed by reality, by saying things aloud in a world that would judge you. I felt I could comfortably share anything, and the person I was speaking to would understand my perspective perfectly.

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed where we were in our own world. Mortella smiled at me. “You were talking for about two and a half seconds,” she said. “Really? It felt… so much longer than that.” She smiled. “Soul communication is very fast,” she said. I nodded. “Where did she come from?” I asked. Mortella arched an eyebrow. “She?” I shrugged. “She doesn’t really have a gender, but when we were talking about them, she said she wanted the same one as me,” I explained. Mortella nodded. “Well, to put it the short way, when you died, your soul was taken by the ether. When that happened, it was automatically catalogued and processed. When Umbra asked me to bring you back, I recreated your soul using mostly original components, but in killing a soul some parts break off. Normally this is fine, but since I was bringing you back to life, I had to replace those parts. The remnants however needed to be put somewhere, so…” Mortella gestured towards the soul in my hands. “Soul bound,” she finished. “How did my soul get damaged?” I asked. “Well, someone shoved a massive glowing sword into your head, before splattering the contents across a city block. If that didn’t give you some deep-rooted soul trauma, then I don’t know what would.” “So… we’re soulmates?” I said. “No, you’re way more than that. Soulmates require at least .01% soul similarity and 3% soul compatibility. You have 22.3% soul similarity and 99.987% soul compatibility.” “99.987 huh? That sounds… high… actually what does all that even mean?” Mortella just shrugged her shoulder and said. “Doesn’t matter.”

“On to why I am here in the first place. There are a few things that you need to know about being reincarnated.” “Reincarnated? Like an Isekai?” “No, this is the same world, you’d need a different one for it to be a true Isekai. And also, don’t interrupt, this is important. You’ve been brought back into the body of a young dark elf by the name of Luna Sang; (At that I glanced down at myself, noting that I was, in fact, a dark elf.) once I leave, I will place her memories into your head, so that you have her knowledge. Though It’s unimportant to impersonate her, as she wasn’t particularly close to anyone, not even her assistant outside this room, whom I’ve placed into a trance so that we are not bothered. Any other details relating to Luna’s situation, which is now your situation, can be attained through the viewing of the memories. Next, you have died and been brought back upon the direct request of the goddess Umbra. (Hearing this was a little odd coming from Mortella, Umbra’s status as a being of supreme power to be worshipped suddenly felt more… valid.) When you die again, I expect her to make that request a second time but know this.” Mortella paused in her speech to lean in, she also lowered her glasses to fix me with her direct gaze. I felt every hair on my body stand on end, I felt my heartrate increase, every muscle tensed ready for action, it was as if any wrong move, any twitch of the eye, or flick of the finger would get me killed, I felt like I was standing tip toed on on the edge of a cliff, one foot extended out over the drop, I felt like I was driving down a highway at 400 miles per hour on a motorcycle, weaving back and forth between lanes and cars with milliseconds to spare, I felt like I was delivering news to the Queen of Hearts, having to expediently choose each word with extreme care. I felt like… I felt like I was staring death in the eyes, as it, no, as she stared right back. A rivulet of sweat rolled down my face, as I swallowed into my suddenly dry throat. I felt like my vision was going dark at the edges, pulling my focus into those eyes, they glowed with an otherworldly power, radiating orange lights piercing into my very core. When Mortella spoke again, she spoke slowly and deliberately, like a mason carving words into stone. “You may only be brought back, thrice. It’s already happened once. Meaning when you die, twice more. That’s it. Do not look for a way out of this. If you are brought back again after your third death, I will personally find you, and personally end you. Do you understand?” “Y-yes,” I said voice so feint I wasn’t sure I even spoke aloud. “Good,” she said, holding me in her gaze for what felt like eons and may well have been. All I knew was by the time she fixed those, thankfully shaded, lenses back in place, I had given up hope of ever seeing the world again. I collapsed back into the chair I was sitting in, gasping for air. Mortella stood there, oh so close to me, making me feel like I was precariously within scything range, and patiently waited for me to collect myself.

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“I’m sorry I had to put you though that,” she said, voice different from what I’d heard before up until now. Not the overly friendly, slightly quirky Mortella who offered me the celery stick, not the grim reaper who had held my very soul betwixt her eyes, but something else. She sounded… remorseful… maybe? It was hard to tell, but her voice had this… weight to it. “I find that it’s best to give this little demonstration to anyone who I bring back. It prevents exploitation. Humans aren’t meant to be brought back from the dead, and in so doing, a part of their soul is irrevocably destroyed. Every time this happens, they become a little more… other. If you die too many times and are brought back too many times, at a certain point, you won’t be able to die anymore. And believe me when I tell you, that afflicting someone with immortality is the worst thing you could possibly do to them,” she said, said with the gravity of someone with an incurable disease, saying they wouldn’t wish it on their worst enemy. “I will leave you now, as I understand you are no longer comfortable in my presence. Text me if you have any concerns, my number is in your phone,” she said, before vanishing into rotten golden light. And she was right, I wasn’t comfortable, I couldn’t get the feeling of looking her in the eyes out of my head. But I now think I understood what her voice sounded like.

I sat in silence for several minutes, my gaze fixed on the soul on the desk… well I guess it was my desk now, just as this was now my office. I looked around the room, it wasn’t particularly big, but not small either. On the right-hand side there was a mini fridge, gently humming away into the room a printer sat atop it, and next to it were a few boxed reams of paper. On the left was a messy white bord, and a filing cabinet. Lastly on the far wall was a large mirror, reflecting the desk, and the woman behind it back to me. As well as the window behind me. I stood and was about to cross to the mirror, when I suddenly realized something. I was short. I wasn’t particularly tall before, but now… I was very short. I quickly scampered over to the mirror and looked at my new reflection. Oh… great… I look like a child. Scanning through Luna’s memories I find the answer. Luna died at age 26, elves age and develop much slower than humans, meaning I am in the body of what looks like an eleven-year-old. My skin is a dark grey, my hair is short and black, my chest is a literal washboard, and my eyes are a piercing blood red. Actually, I quite like my eyes. When I tilt my head, just so, they catch the sunlight from the window and are set ablaze making them seem like glowing infernos of pure malice. I strike several poses of varying embarrassment. Cool. I stride over to my desk and snatch up the soul…. “You really need a name,” I comment idly. “Spvhanha,” she replies almost instantly. “That was fast.” “Well, I had to do something while you were over there making muscles at yourself.” “I was not making muscles at myself!” “Fine then, while you were over there looking at little girls,” Spvhanha said. I blew a reflexive raspberry. “What the fuck! You’re absolutely demented!” “Hey, I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em,” she said smugly. “Just for that I’m sticking you in a tampon.” “Oh no, what are you planning on doing with me after! Pervert!” “Gods above, I can’t win this, can I?” “Heh, nope, not even close.” I just grumbled, looking around for something to stick her in. “Well, now that we’ve established who wears the pants in our relationship. (“You motherfu….”) Let’s figure out what exactly we can put me in. First, text Mortella and ask if I can be taken out of something after you put me in, or if it’s more permanent.”

I hummed my ascent and grabbed my phone. I punched in my password, and it was wrong. Right… this was Luna’s phone. I quickly scanned her memories, grabbed her passcode and punched it in, mentally noting how her muscle memory helped me put it in quicker than I would otherwise be able. Her phone opened to the default wallpaper. I opened up her contacts and scrolled through. There weren’t very many. There were several names that Luna barely remembered, and her assistant, a woman by the name of Chanelle. I mentally pictured her. She was tall, just shy of six feet, had dirty platinum blonde hair, a permanent vicious scowl, and enough piercings to, if melted down, form an iron bar big enough to bash in a skull. Not important, what I was looking for was the only name that didn’t appear in Luna’s memories. Mortella. The picture added with the profile was… a cicada. I stared into the bug-eyed bug with no small amount of confusion. Why a cicada? You know what, never mind. I looked at the inputted number, what was the mystical magical phone number that anyone could call and be connected directly to the goddess of death? It was… 9. That was it, no area code, no… any other numbers, just 9. Shouldn’t it be four? Didn’t for represent death? Whatever, Iquickly punched in a text and paused… the apprehension still lingering, the image of her eyes seemingly burned into my memory. I shook myself and the second I hit send, I got a reply. “Spvhanha can be removed from any object if the object is destroyed, or when you die.” “Okay, so, we can take you out of something, but it’ll have to be destroyed.” “Destroyed huh? Did she say if it would hurt?” “No.” “Yeah, let’s just choose wisely then. What constitutes an object? Like if you put me into a set of matryoshka dolls, would I be just one of the dolls, one of the halves that split, or the full set?” “That’s a good question. I’ll ask.” I texted Mortella and again got an instant reply. “Okay, looks like it’ll be the whole set. You’ll always be the full set of anything, like if I put you into a set of throwing knives, you would be the full set of knives. But this doesn’t work with things that are societally linked, like if I put you into a fork and knife, you’d be either the fork or the knife, but not both.” “I see, I see. So, what are our candidates?” I scrounged through the desk briefly and found several moderately interesting items. “We have scissors,” I say. “Overused.” “A fountain pen.” “Has potential.” “A handgun.” “Pfft, no.” “A stack of hundred-dollar bills.” I quickly scroll through them. “$6,800 in total.” “As much as I like the idea of being a swarm of papercuts, we’d need to scrounge up another hundred for optimum performance.” I paused for a second, letting her joke shrivel up and die in the awkwardness. “A stapler.” “No.” “And… this… thing.” “Eww. Why are you even suggesting this chick’s hysteria-curing wand?” “Mostly as revenge.” “Oh, so you’re making a play for the pants, are ya? Well, I’ll have you know that, that is now your hysteria-curing wand, and therefore I can reuse my tampon dig, but oh, so much better.” I burst out laughing, as I dig through the drawers. I find an ornate wooden box I grab it and open it. “Oh…” “Huh? What are they?” “They look like… claws?” Inside the box were a set of ten metal claws, each appearing to be designed to attach to one finger. Half of them were black while the others were white. As I ran a finger over one of the blades, I could feel the enchantment in them. “Okay, I want those,” Spvhanha said. “Say no more.”

I jolted awake at my desk and immediately felt a headache pulse at my cranium. I looked at the clock. 7:40 p.m. I sighed, stood, and stretched; I felt my back crack. It was unusual for me to fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon. I grabbed the file on my desk. It needed Luna’s signature, and I was feeling too lazy to forge it like I usually do, might as well have her sign shit herself at least once or twice. I walked to the door to her office, rapped twice, then entered. I found Luna standing over her desk with that box full of overpriced ornamental claws she bought off of eBay last week. She was holding a weird crystal in one hand and spoke in a tone of voice I’d never heard from her before. “Say no more,” she said enthusiastically, before shoving the crystal at the claws. There was a flash of silver light, and a loud sound I could only compare to a thunderclap. It left my ears ringing. The folder fell to the ground as I clapped my hands over my ears in vein, “What the hell are you doing in here?” I shouted at her before fixing her with a practiced glare. She looked up at me, I saw several emotions cross her face in quick succession. shock, fear, recognition, relief, fear and finally a deliberate attempt to mask her expression. Odd. Usually Luna’s face remains placid, and irritated, while also sizing me up for a fight. She never wears her heart on her sleeve like this. Is she drunk? “Chanelle, hi how’s it going?” she said. Her voice wasn’t slurred so that ruled out drunk, she was also being… overly friendly. Was she high on something? But why? Luna was always big on not sampling the product as it were. “I’m fine, how are you?” I asked, pushing the conversation back on her. The bast way to get information from someone is to just let them talk. “Hey, so… Chanelle, right?” I narrowed my eyes. “You know my name.” “Yeah, but like here’s the thing… full disclosure… I have no idea who the fuck you are, and I’m not Luna.”