Saka Era 727 (Circa 805-806 AD); Udipi, Karnataka, India
She'd been waiting there for Govinda, fetchingly recumbent on his expansive bed, bookishly poring over the Bhagadvad Gita with great interest. The sun had set over the Arabian Sea quite a few hours ago, but Govinda had arrived late and was preparing himself for her.
It mattered little to her. She was actually rather intrigued by the idea of having him directly from his travels, dusty and sweat-slick with muscles strained and tight from riding all day. But Govinda wouldn't have it - he insisted that she deserved him only at his best, his freshest, his most appealing.
She shrugged to herself, turning the page of the text. It wasn't worth arguing, really. She didn't care that much.
Besides, she never minded waiting at his Udipi home. It was very pleasing to her, just on the coast, with many books to read. The people in the palatial building were so very pleasant, especially the women, who seemed to very much enjoy applying kohl to her eyes and swathing her in the finest of fabrics. She enjoyed spending time with them; the ones in the kitchen as they cooked, the courtesans, who were intricately and comprehensively trained in the arts, cooking, sewing, politics, dance, conversation, and, of course, love; the noble ladies were a bit of a mixed bag. They could, some of them, be the most brilliant, educated, witty women one could imagine. Others were grating and noxious and malignant creatures, unctuous and false and trying.
Nyx loved Udipi. She had come and gone as she'd pleased, visiting Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, and other cities on the sub-continent at her leisure, learning their culture and their religion. She had met their gods and gurus alike, and she found herself quite fond of many of them.
It would have been foolish to pretend she didn't miss Erebos... that when the last rays of the sun had long since passed and he fell over everything, something in her didn't clench up and hurt.
But she had to do what she had to do... and so did he.
That she had been expecting it would, that she had known it would happen did not prepare her for when it really did. Not at all.
And of course, there was that he did it at night.
Her body remained in Karnataka, but her consciousness seared over continents against her will to just where he was with her. Bound without a throat or mouth or breath of air, her essence and awareness watched it all, heard it all, and in India, as though overtaken by a vision, she choked silently, as he touched her, His Other one.
First, she mechanically rose from the bed, carefully closing the book and placing it at the foot of it. Then, she walked to the facilities, and promptly vomited. She could not remove her mind from England until it was over - and she truly did want to. But what was done was done, and there it was.
Passing cool, steady hands over her form, she was again fresh as a night bloom, and she went to the central courtyard of the palace. Starting slowly, but with rapidly increasing force, every living thing was pushed out of the palace, at first by suggestion, then by compulsion, and then, finally, by invisible, physical force. That she was on the grounds was forgotten from the minds of all those who dwelt there as they wandered into the city, down to the sea, and into the night.
The saree she was wearing was instantly exchanged for a less formal, more functional, midnight salwar kameez. The gadaa she bore was atypical. Such clubs were usually large and brutal and fit for a man's hands. This one was more slender, refined even, and pure white. Tossing it from one hand to the other, she surveyed the courtyard. Casually, she approached a statue at the center of it, and drew back the gadaa in both hands, winding back and slamming into it with all her might. Obviously, divinity worked to her advantage, since despite her diminutive size, she summoned strength enough to shatter the piece utterly.
That was satisfying. For a start.
Twirling the club in one dainty hand, she whistled, re-entering the palace, setting the very bricks of the courtyard aflame without a backward glance. She evaluated the main corridor, decorated with delicate, priceless vases. Every vase in the hall floated over to her, hovering about club's length from her. Her muscles bunched up, pulling the club up again, and with a graceful twirl that had the weight of a hundred elephants behind it, she extended the club, practically disintegrating the gorgeous, ancient art. Having done that, her bare feet crunched across the shards of paper thin porcelain toward the living quarters. Nyx paid no mind to the damage she was doing to herself, nor the pain that she couldn't even feel for the Other pain, which was much more pressing. Turning around though, she noticed ichor footprints on the floor, and set those aflame.
It was actually quite lovely, in its way, the sight of those little islands of almost white-hot fire on the tile.
The little goddess traveled on, careless of the shards embedded deeply into her feet. The library was first; texts from floor to ceiling - manuscripts, ancient, irreplacable works, some of them. There was a moment of cool consideration - then some, precious few, simply disappeared, transported to another place. The gandaa had turned into a sholi, a sword-like weapon with which she began slashing paper everywhere. She started methodically, but soon was caught up in a frenzy, her movements so quick and wild that they were generating heat. Soon, the paper was sparking, and not long after that, the entire library was on fire, flame licking up the walls ravenously.
A little calmer after that outburst, Nyx made her way to the bedchamber she sometimes shared with Govinda. He'd had it decorated and constructed specifically to her taste, much like the rest of this palace. It was the most beautiful room Nyx had ever physically been in on the mortal plane. There were always fresh vases of fragrant, night-blooming flowers placed throughout the room. There was an armoire and an infinite selection of gorgeous, elegant clothing for her to choose from. There was a shelf within arm's reach of the bed specifically for whatever she was reading at the moment.
And of course, there was the bed.
With a smooth mid-air somersault, she was kneeling in its center, and raised the sholi high above her head. Then, she stabbed it down so hard, just between her open legs, that it pierced through the mattress and the platform on which it stood, becoming embedded in the floor. Like it were nothing, she pulled it back out, and stabbed again. And again. And again.
Another frenzy overtook her, this one more dangerous. Every fibre of her being went into the destruction of that bed. The fury was emanating from her palpably. Carelessly, she slashed herself in the process of eviscerating the bed, mindlessly cutting her legs, thighs, even her arms in the twirling, feverish, deranged dance.
The fire was spreading from the library. The flames had reached the hallway. There was nothing recognizable left of the bed, or even most of the bedroom; silks and linens were slashed to ribbon, bed-stuffing was everywhere, along with a great deal of the blood of a goddess. Noting the fire's approach, and her handiwork, Nyx sprang out the window, and walked invisibly to the beach.
Behind her, the palace was quickly becoming engulfed in flames, because she wished it so. It blazed bright, shedding light upon her back, but shadowing her face in darkness.
When she arrived at the shoreline, she stabbed the sholi into the sand with some finality, and sat down, watching the waves crash against the beach. She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled, bending her lacerated legs and resting her extended, bleeding arms on her knees.
It mattered little to her. She was actually rather intrigued by the idea of having him directly from his travels, dusty and sweat-slick with muscles strained and tight from riding all day. But Govinda wouldn't have it - he insisted that she deserved him only at his best, his freshest, his most appealing.
She shrugged to herself, turning the page of the text. It wasn't worth arguing, really. She didn't care that much.
Besides, she never minded waiting at his Udipi home. It was very pleasing to her, just on the coast, with many books to read. The people in the palatial building were so very pleasant, especially the women, who seemed to very much enjoy applying kohl to her eyes and swathing her in the finest of fabrics. She enjoyed spending time with them; the ones in the kitchen as they cooked, the courtesans, who were intricately and comprehensively trained in the arts, cooking, sewing, politics, dance, conversation, and, of course, love; the noble ladies were a bit of a mixed bag. They could, some of them, be the most brilliant, educated, witty women one could imagine. Others were grating and noxious and malignant creatures, unctuous and false and trying.
Nyx loved Udipi. She had come and gone as she'd pleased, visiting Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, and other cities on the sub-continent at her leisure, learning their culture and their religion. She had met their gods and gurus alike, and she found herself quite fond of many of them.
It would have been foolish to pretend she didn't miss Erebos... that when the last rays of the sun had long since passed and he fell over everything, something in her didn't clench up and hurt.
But she had to do what she had to do... and so did he.
That she had been expecting it would, that she had known it would happen did not prepare her for when it really did. Not at all.
And of course, there was that he did it at night.
Her body remained in Karnataka, but her consciousness seared over continents against her will to just where he was with her. Bound without a throat or mouth or breath of air, her essence and awareness watched it all, heard it all, and in India, as though overtaken by a vision, she choked silently, as he touched her, His Other one.
First, she mechanically rose from the bed, carefully closing the book and placing it at the foot of it. Then, she walked to the facilities, and promptly vomited. She could not remove her mind from England until it was over - and she truly did want to. But what was done was done, and there it was.
Passing cool, steady hands over her form, she was again fresh as a night bloom, and she went to the central courtyard of the palace. Starting slowly, but with rapidly increasing force, every living thing was pushed out of the palace, at first by suggestion, then by compulsion, and then, finally, by invisible, physical force. That she was on the grounds was forgotten from the minds of all those who dwelt there as they wandered into the city, down to the sea, and into the night.
The saree she was wearing was instantly exchanged for a less formal, more functional, midnight salwar kameez. The gadaa she bore was atypical. Such clubs were usually large and brutal and fit for a man's hands. This one was more slender, refined even, and pure white. Tossing it from one hand to the other, she surveyed the courtyard. Casually, she approached a statue at the center of it, and drew back the gadaa in both hands, winding back and slamming into it with all her might. Obviously, divinity worked to her advantage, since despite her diminutive size, she summoned strength enough to shatter the piece utterly.
That was satisfying. For a start.
Twirling the club in one dainty hand, she whistled, re-entering the palace, setting the very bricks of the courtyard aflame without a backward glance. She evaluated the main corridor, decorated with delicate, priceless vases. Every vase in the hall floated over to her, hovering about club's length from her. Her muscles bunched up, pulling the club up again, and with a graceful twirl that had the weight of a hundred elephants behind it, she extended the club, practically disintegrating the gorgeous, ancient art. Having done that, her bare feet crunched across the shards of paper thin porcelain toward the living quarters. Nyx paid no mind to the damage she was doing to herself, nor the pain that she couldn't even feel for the Other pain, which was much more pressing. Turning around though, she noticed ichor footprints on the floor, and set those aflame.
It was actually quite lovely, in its way, the sight of those little islands of almost white-hot fire on the tile.
The little goddess traveled on, careless of the shards embedded deeply into her feet. The library was first; texts from floor to ceiling - manuscripts, ancient, irreplacable works, some of them. There was a moment of cool consideration - then some, precious few, simply disappeared, transported to another place. The gandaa had turned into a sholi, a sword-like weapon with which she began slashing paper everywhere. She started methodically, but soon was caught up in a frenzy, her movements so quick and wild that they were generating heat. Soon, the paper was sparking, and not long after that, the entire library was on fire, flame licking up the walls ravenously.
A little calmer after that outburst, Nyx made her way to the bedchamber she sometimes shared with Govinda. He'd had it decorated and constructed specifically to her taste, much like the rest of this palace. It was the most beautiful room Nyx had ever physically been in on the mortal plane. There were always fresh vases of fragrant, night-blooming flowers placed throughout the room. There was an armoire and an infinite selection of gorgeous, elegant clothing for her to choose from. There was a shelf within arm's reach of the bed specifically for whatever she was reading at the moment.
And of course, there was the bed.
With a smooth mid-air somersault, she was kneeling in its center, and raised the sholi high above her head. Then, she stabbed it down so hard, just between her open legs, that it pierced through the mattress and the platform on which it stood, becoming embedded in the floor. Like it were nothing, she pulled it back out, and stabbed again. And again. And again.
Another frenzy overtook her, this one more dangerous. Every fibre of her being went into the destruction of that bed. The fury was emanating from her palpably. Carelessly, she slashed herself in the process of eviscerating the bed, mindlessly cutting her legs, thighs, even her arms in the twirling, feverish, deranged dance.
The fire was spreading from the library. The flames had reached the hallway. There was nothing recognizable left of the bed, or even most of the bedroom; silks and linens were slashed to ribbon, bed-stuffing was everywhere, along with a great deal of the blood of a goddess. Noting the fire's approach, and her handiwork, Nyx sprang out the window, and walked invisibly to the beach.
Behind her, the palace was quickly becoming engulfed in flames, because she wished it so. It blazed bright, shedding light upon her back, but shadowing her face in darkness.
When she arrived at the shoreline, she stabbed the sholi into the sand with some finality, and sat down, watching the waves crash against the beach. She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled, bending her lacerated legs and resting her extended, bleeding arms on her knees.