Yomi lived an eternity between Latali arriving at her bedside and when she fully woke next. Erratic scenes flashed before her like blurred paintings intertwined with pitch-black nothingness.

She couldn’t decide which was worse—the unpredictable moments of awareness or the long stretches of silent solitude.

Any time Yomi resurfaced from the depths of unconsciousness, a sharp, searing pain flared below her navel and branched across her lower abdomen. Her fever raged, making it hard to draw breath, and her throat was too dry to scream. Any sound that did manage to escape her lips was a hoarse moan, muffled beneath the whispers of attending nyannies.

But between the fever dreams and hallucinations was the cold, dark silence. She’d never been trapped in anything like it before. Most people didn’t remember falling asleep until they woke up the following day. And yet, Yomi experienced every second she spent in that tenebrous space, blinking rapidly in hopes of finding even one speck of light to latch on to, only to find nothing. Every limb and digit was numb as if all that existed was her head in a black box. More than once, she’d wondered if she were dead—then, eventually, she’d open her eyes and return to the fever.

It was during one of these prolonged periods of darkness that She appeared.

A brilliantly blinding light that cleaved through the shadows like a thousand sharpened daggers. Yomi fell to her knees, holding her arms over her head as the glowing figure approached.

“Stand, Yomi.” Her voice rang in Yomi’s ears and burned her chest. Despite the lack of walls, her timbre echoed as if they stood in a cavernous expanse.

Yomi pushed herself to her feet, squinting her eyes to get a better look at the dazzling form.

Ivory hair trailed to the woman’s hips, just above two full tails that swept up the gentle curve of her back. Narrow white ears rotated toward Yomi as she turned, tiny feathers breaking from the edges of her fur and vanishing outside of her aura. Multiple layers of white and sky-blue silk draped over her alabaster skin, hanging loose from her shoulders, hugging her waist, and flowing around her ankles. Thin chains of gold punctuated by dozens of sapphires dripped from her hair, around her neck, her wrists, her thighs.

The most striking piece of all was her mask. A magnificent work of art crafted of pure gold, with intricate swirls and reliefs carved into the metal. A large sapphire was set between where her eyes would be. It covered the upper half of her porcelain face, leaving only her ruby-red lips bared.

“Saoirse,” Yomi whispered. She’d only ever seen the goddess’ likeness in the Temple of Nyarlothep and a few scatterings of sketches. [Priest]s and [Bishop]s held their tomes close, refusing to share them with outsiders. Especially those who practiced outside of Saoirse’s teachings. Now I must be dead. “Are you here to condemn me?”

The corners of Saoirse’s perfect lips dipped into a frown. “Your immortal soul is no longer mine to judge, Yomi of Nyarlea.” She pointed to Yomi’s midsection, her clawed fingers longer than any catgirl Yomi had ever known.

The runic symbol around Yomi’s navel awakened in a pale, violet glow. She dropped her stare and quickly covered herself with her hands, realizing that she stood naked before the revered goddess.

“You are… intimately familiar with your masters,” Saoirse said, dropping her hand. “You turned your trust from me long ago.”

Belial… Yomi hugged her arms tighter around herself, wrapping her tail over her thighs. “What is it that you want from me?”

Saoirse stepped forward, her feline-like feet and toes clicking against the ground with her advance. “To help free you from your guilt.” She touched Yomi’s chin, lifting her eyes upward. “You may have forsaken me, but I am more forgiving than the denizens of hell.”

A comforting warmth rocketed through Yomi’s veins at the advent of the goddess’ touch, flowing from her face to her toes. A dozen fond memories triggered simultaneously: wrapping up inside a soft blanket in front of her fireplace, the many nights spent laughing with Ravyn, the safety of sleeping next to Finn. Image after image flashed fervently across her eyes while tears fell down her cheeks. She stepped back, yanking her face from Saoirse’s fingers, and furiously wiped at her eyes.

“You mistake forgiveness for torture,” Yomi murmured, sniffing back sobs.

“Granting you comfort is torture?” Saoirse’s twin tails flicked behind her with irritation. “You would prefer to see all that you regret?”

“I’d prefer to wake up from this dream.” Yomi shook her head. “From this nightmare.”

“Yomi of Nyarlea, you deny my existence at every opportunity. Do you not desire freedom from your shame? Absolution of your sins?” Saoirse waved her hand, and behind it trailed another of Yomi’s memories—hanging in the air for all to see. Yomi hiking over the beaches and clawing through the forests of Ni Island, only to be rejected by Matt once she found him.

“He won’t forgive me. There is no freedom,” Yomi bit back, averting her eyes from the scene.

“There is, child.” Saoirse wiped the air clean, resting her arm at her side. “You must confess.”

The flickers of warmth left by Saoirse’s touch vanished, leaving behind the cold stillness Yomi had come to associate with this place. She swallowed, then repeated, “Confess?”

“Yes. In doing this, you put the needs of others before your own. Help Nyarlothep understand the sanctity of a union.” Saoirse steepled her fingers, the gold chains around her wrists swinging languidly with the motion. “Do not allow the future men to suffer as Matt has.”

“You suggest freedom in death?” Yomi trembled. Her once numb body went weak with fear, and she fell to her knees. Her teeth chattered, and she squeezed her eyes closed. This is just a nightmare. That’s all it is. I just have to wake up. “They will kill me.”

“Yomi, this is—” Saoirse began once more.

“I can’t leave Ruyah alone!” Yomi cried, shaking fingers clutched around her arms. She didn’t know if Ruyah had lived through the birth or whether she was still in the clinic. But she had to hold on, had to believe… “This isn’t real!”

“Your impudent denial has been your undoing, child,” Saoirse murmured, her words sharper than a dagger against Yomi’s skin.

“Go away!” Yomi screamed. “Leave me alone!”

Saoirse shook her head, then vanished, leaving only a burned outline in Yomi’s vision. Yomi screamed again.

—

“Miss Yomi, I’m right here,” a familiar voice beckoned from Yomi’s bedside. “You’re going to be all right.”

Yomi blinked a half-dozen times, gasping for air as she slowly awoke. As her vision focused, she recognized Latali, the [Hermetic] that had seen her on the first night, and a fretting Jesna at the edge of the bed.

“Your fever broke, and your breathing is steady,” Latali said, holding a cool cloth to Yomi’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

The pain in her abdomen had subsided, leaving only a dull, throbbing ache that echoed in her lower back. She was covered in sweat, fatigued, and her mouth was drier than the Ichi deserts, but she was alive.

“Ruyah… Where is she?” Yomi moved to sit up, and Latali placed a hand on her shoulder and fluffed the pillows on the bed.

Glancing over to Jesna, Latali jerked her chin toward the hallway. “Jesna?”

“O-oh! Of course! Miss Miral!” Jesna called. “She’s awake!”

The silver-haired [Priest]’s footsteps sounded down the hall, then she stepped inside the room, cradling a small, sleeping bundle in her arms. “Little Ruyah is a sound sleeper, dear. That’s a lucky sign.” Miral smiled wide, then carefully handed the swaddled kitten to Yomi.

Yomi pulled her kitten close, tears welling in her eyes. Ruyah had silver hair tipped with a brilliant red. The kitten yawned wide, then blinked sleepy, heterochromatic eyes at her mother. Green and brown—one color from each parent. Her tiny ears flickered toward Yomi with curiosity, and she cooed something unintelligible.

“Congratulations, Yomi.” Latali rubbed Yomi’s back, smiling at Ruyah. “You did well.”

Kissing Ruyah on the forehead, Yomi held her daughter to her breast, letting the tears flow free.