Eve read a book in Her favorite chair in the Aviary. A delicately curated ecosystem of birds and butterflies surrounded her, Adam's gift to Eve millennia ago. Her private retreat from responsibilities as Holy Mother.

  What did that mean anymore, Eve wondered, glancing up as a stunning butterfly batted its wings. Eve hadn't bled in over a millennium. All Her children were long dead, with Her grandchildren and Her great-grandchildren.

  Now all Her babys' babies looked familiar yet unfamiliar, unnerving and uncanny, each reminding Her of someone else. These days, Her progeny died so quickly Eve could barely remember Her attendants' names. None of them even lived to 100.

  But She remembered their stories. Eve used to tell Her babies stories in bed, around fires, over dinner…

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  They loved Her stories. And when they grew up, they gave Her stories in return.

  This story was one of Eve's favorites. She had read it countless times.

  It always broke her heart.

  The story itself was unremarkable; but always brought to Eve's mind its writer, Her dearest second daughter. Jolene. Her brave, kind, headstrong girl.

  "Eve," a heavenly voice interrupted Her sad reverie.

  Eve looked up to see an angel floating like a beacon of light, covered in silky ruby armor.

  Eve's oldest friend and closest confidant, Sophia.

  Eve ran to Sophia, and they lovingly embraced each other.

  "I brought you a gift," Sophia whispered breathlessly, opening a hand to reveal a platinum chain necklace ornately woven around a large, iridescent black scale.

  Eve looked up, silently beseeching, 'what is it?'

  "Freedom," Sophia answered.

  8 Ezekiel, a Queer Epic Fantasy.

  8 Aegir.