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Surrounded by the soft breathing of a teen cleric and a newborn god, Kalina stared at the sleeping, barely substantiated form of Bakarath, cradled on Buddy Dawn’s chest, and finally had to admit it: taking care of a baby god and a teenager really sucked.
Yes, she was independent and no longer bound to another as a familiar.
Yes, she could easily control the both of them, rather than having to bow to her master’s will or otherwise manipulate the goddess to walk the path she wanted.
But just thinking about how, if everyone hadn’t overreacted to a few careless words she’d said, Kalina wouldn’t have to wrestle with Buddy’s rage whenever he failed to suppress negative emotions brought to bursting point, or coax a god that was terminally short on words… really made her throat tighten and her palms start to itch.
(Kalina already had a long rest and a couple of healing spells cast on her, but sometimes it was like the rage shatter-stars that had impaled her palms manifested there as pure fire whenever she felt the anger rise up.
…If she went back, could this mystery be solved?)
They had been through so many things. The creation of Kalina as a cat familiar companion for a lonely witch-goddess, the minor family spats with Galicaea and Sol turned major power struggles due to follower disagreements, the era of the Nightmare King… Whatever title her goddexx had, whatever pronoun They wanted to use…
A certain amount of flux and confusion was only to be expected when one served a goddess (sometimes goddexx) of mystery, night, and magic, but Kalina knew how to read the stars and the movement of shadows. They were a perfect match.
Yet now…
Her former master was no doubt currently ensconced in domestic bliss with Their newly reunited wife, Ankarna, the paladin half-devil she’d picked up by luck, and that. Flake. Kristen Applebees.
Kristen got to fuck around, outsource her faith to a simulacrum , and only consistently bring in (generously) a follower per year to a goddess teetering on the brink, while Kalina, ever-faithful, got—!
No, the tabaxi thought, savagely brushing aside the wave of anger that made it harder to think and had only grown the more she was in proximity to a rage god. This isn’t helping.
Even if it was because of someone else’s curse that she was like this.
Perhaps another person would’ve gone begging back to their master in hopes that said master’s wife would kindly dissipate the curse, but…
Memories of all the times they had argued, over Kalina’s methods, over what Cassandra needed, over Ankarna’s growing bloodlust and desire for subjugation flashed before her eyes. She had been corrupted by her followers, yes, but the annoyance and contempt for Kalina had already been there beforehand.
Even if Ankarna was willing to act the benevolent master-in-law and help… she couldn’t go back.
Couldn’t face a desolate Cassandra whose last interaction with her was shrimp flying through the air and a knife to the throat.
But with Buddy, former-Helioic-cleric-turned-Bakarathian-paladin, and the nascent rage god himself… all the cards were in Kalina’s hands. Everyone knew Sol and Helio were close, and there was no way Ankarna could ever again claim the domain of rage if another god held it. And in the meantime…
I’ll just show Her how much I support the Her unconnected to the Nightmare King, the cat vowed. She’ll see that words are just words.
Whew, Cassandra thought as she removed her helmet and wiped the sweat off her brow. It’s really been a while, huh? She couldn’t help but smile as she replayed the magical ride with her wife (she could say that again! And not be restricted by obliviati mori ! And she could bask in Ankarna’s presence anytime she wanted now!). The fiery horses had really missed them, and it was good to make use of Ruvina’s bridle of frost.
The day had been so perfect. Maybe that was why, as Cassandra phased out of her riding outfit back into her usual t-shirt and shorts combo, keeping the boots as a memento… she didn’t think anything of the sunflower-shaped flame flowers that suddenly blossomed before her.
It was her domain. The surroundings changing with her mood and thoughts happened all the time.
“Wow, that’s adorable!” Cassandra said as she watched a purple trail form before her. Purple, the color of mystery and twilight, mixed with Ankarna’s summer heat… She loved seeing affirmations of her marriage.
The flowers didn’t answer (they were flowers, after all), but they did seem to glow brighter at her words, like they were blushing.
She followed the flowers all the way, and when they stopped, Cassandra allowed her hand to mimic the texture of fire enough to pick one up, resolving to collect the seeds later… and found herself staring at a cute cottage seemingly made of mirrors, reflecting light and her wide-eyed expression before her.
It looked exactly like the sanctum she had before becoming the Nightmare King.
A single second’s lapse in concentration was all it took for the flower to naturally explode in her hand, seeds scattering everywhere. But Cassandra was too lost in shock and horror to have the presence of mind to either shield herself from the (minor) damage or pick them up.
“I don’t remember this being in my realm…” she muttered, glancing around and back the way she came. There had been no twinge of danger, but… this didn’t feel like a gift Ankarna would give her. They were in the second honeymoon phase, not the “joke about the times you and I were evil” phase. And honestly, after the cottage had been turned into a curse that trapped angels and fed on their power… Cassandra was sorry for the centaurs that had worked so hard on it, but the very concept was just tainted to her now.
“ I liked you better as the Nightmare King, ” whispered a voice she didn’t want to remember.
Cassandra shook her head, but couldn’t banish the idea from her thoughts. Was this some tactic by an admirer of the Nightmare King? A cold feeling gripped her heart at the thought of being forced to transform for a third time. She needed to tell someone. Ankarna. Kristen.
Reaching out with her telepathic sense, Cassandra paused.
Is being a dependent all you can do? hissed a voice that sounded too much like hers for comfort. Always the damsel that needs saving. Always the goddexx leaning so hard on your cleric that she blocks you, ghosts you, does anything to not listen!
But Kristen and I are good now! Cassandra argued back, feeling a little insane for talking to, essentially, another figment of herself. And when the pantheon takes off and I get more worshippers, we’ll have an even better relationship!
“Good”? sneered the voice. She only reaches out when she needs you, and the pantheon only came about because you’re too much, too needy by yourself! Did you forget what happened when you tried to lean too hard on her?!
Subconsciously, Cassandra flashed back to Kristen’s flinch and horrified expression in the synod when she wanted to explain her anger.
Well, I have my wife back! Cassandra retorted. She can give me emotional support!
Even if… Ankarna was still recovering from the fugue state her past followers had put her in while trying to corrupt her into a goddess of rage, conquest, and fire… Maybe her inner voice was right and Cassandra should stand more on her own two feet…?
Undecided, the goddess took a step forward nonetheless. This was her realm. She might not have had many followers, but she was a deity. Her domain was mystery, it was late at night, and she could see through most any type of magic. There was nothing to be afraid of, Cassandra told herself, and stepped forward, hand outstretched for a Remove Curse.
Nothing. Well, the cottage she knew was gone, so it couldn’t be the same house. Just a recreation… which was creepy in and of itself.
As if to emphasize the creepy factor, the door creaked open.
It’s not cursed. The Identify spell says the cottage as a combination spell of Magnificent Mansion and Private Sanctum, which means this is the inside of a portal that nothing can planar shift or teleport out anyway.
You can do this , Cassandra told herself, and stepped inside.
…Only to be ambushed by a dancing sexy rat in… a servant’s costume? The goddexx’s lip twitched as she beheld the visage of the same rats Fig had used when investigating Ankarna, trying and failing to be tantalizing.
But it was hard to be sexy when you were missing a skeleton. She had said they were dancing, but due to not having the internal support, the rats were really just flopping around. It honestly felt more like a threat that this could happen to her too, considering her ‘conversation’ before she entered.
Glancing around, Cassandra tried not to make direct eye contact with the van (also dressed in servant’s garb) that inexplicably had feet (the mystery of it did make it somewhat holy, but…), its coworker the vulture with an identical outfit (except Union Jack-patterned), or the uniformed unicorn (that she could only tell was one because of the conspicuous bit near its forehead where its horn had clearly been sheared off… why).
It was all odd, but nothing that clearly spelled harm for her, so Cassandra, with the spirit of experimentation, moved out of the entrance and towards the living room.
Where she found Ankarna.
But it wasn’t her.
Though the creator had clearly attempted to disguise its origins, the fake Ankarna was a mannequin styled like Baron from the Baronies, mouth smiling but eyes too matte for the glowing golden of the real Ankarna’s eyes.
The hearth was lit but Cassandra felt chilled to the core.
She had to get out of here.
Turning away, she brushed aside doll versions of Kristen, her sister Ruvina, even the simulacrum K2, as she darted for the front door.
“Don’t leave!” the doll cried out from behind her, its voice a hideous mockery of Ankarna’s regal tones. But Cassandra couldn’t, didn’t listen, and as she exited…
The familiar mists of her realm greeted her, along with the purple flame flowers that had started this whole mess. But instead of the full-sized cottage she had just exited, Cassandra instead found herself holding a smiling shrimp figurine made of the familiar wood of Sylvairan trees.
The goddess dropped to her knees with a loud sob, clutching the shrimp keepsake as if she could cut off the connection it had with the past, the cottage, and the one who had sent this horrible nightmare to her doorstep by squeezing it hard enough.
Cassandra knew her love would want vengeance, would burn down everything if it would make her feel better. But right now, she didn’t want any kind of violent, bloody payback that would make Ankarna regress into that corrupted form.
She just wanted to see her and be held.