My new bed had quilts and a mattress that was stuffed with goose feathers. The uncomfortable lump no longer existed, and it didn’t smell like unwashed hay and dirt. Jasmine was even kind enough to throw in a pillow.

  It was spring so it was plenty warm, but with the insulation in the house – and having a window in my bedroom! – I got the benefits of both; fresh air and a warm house. Mirchie had flopped her cute self on the bed with me, and I grabbed her to cuddle. She squeaked in protest, and her furry legs thumped against my chest to no effect.

  I nuzzled my face into her fur and closed my eyes.

  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

  Mirchie chirped in surprise, kicking my face to scamper away. I rubbed the bruise and got up, hearing more knocking. I looked outside to see the moon above, and checked the world clock to see it was after midnight.

  I groaned and got up, wearing nothing more than my undergarments. The darkness of the house was intoxicating, and my body instinctively went to the farthest edge and went down the ladder.

  There was a wall. My groggy head turned to the side to see the bedroom door and just acknowledge I had a bedroom, and not just one giant space. I yawned again, opening the door, and then walked down a small staircase to the main lobby, and then the entrance. I opened the door.

  Ophelia peered upwards, before her eyes locked with mine. She then looked down at me, and the rest of my body. “Lady Hart, if you are to live in an abode like this one, it is customary to wear more than…” she gestured over my undergarments. “...this.”

  I yawned again and looked down. “I don’ see what’s wrong with it? I bathed and changed into somethin’ clean rather than wearin’ my old work clothes.”

  “...We will get you proper sleepwear soon then. I am, however, impressed at your abode. Did you do all of this?”

  “Nah, Jazzy did most of it. I was helpin’. She wouldn’t even let me build outta bone nails.”

  She snickered and still waited at the threshold. I looked down and then up at her. “You comin’ in, or do I have to invite ya? I don’t recall readin’ about that though.”

  “I can come in. It is, however, rude to be–”

  “Ophelia, you are my best friend, and I trust you with my life. Literally,” I pointed at the emerald resting against her neck. “You can just walk in whenever.”

  “I will need to be put on the access list of your abode,” Ophelia said, walking past me and entering the small cottage.

  “I.. don’ have an access list. I can give ya the key, since you will have to maintain this place and make sure Mirchie plants the seeds over the spring and maybe the summer.”

  “Am I not coming with you to Flowers-By-The-River, Lady Hart?” her tone was neutral and uncharged, and I couldn’t hear a lick of accusation or annoyance.

  “No, I need you to get the Hawthorne Manor in place, and… uh… more importantly, I have one task I require.”

  Ophelia grinned, before looking at the staircase upwards. “Knowing you, mistress, this is something completely inane, is it not?”

  “Nah. I know you’ll take care of the crops and have Jasmine sell them because that’s important to me. But what I’m asking of you is something more important.” I began.

  Ophelia turned around to study my face. Her eyes scanned over mine, and I could see them twitch. She looked down at my body too, before returning to look at my eyes.

  “I’ll look after Ms. Carnwich for you.”

  “I’m that easy to read?” I was glad I didn’t have to explain everything, but still…

  “I come back to your hovel rebuilt into a proper abode, I can sense the basement is properly hidden and not just a hole in the back, and there’s something gravely Necromantic coming from upstairs. This is not farming, and you have admitted Ms. Carnwich helped you with this.”

  “I think it’s actually Mrs. Carn… Wait, what is Nathaniel’s last name?”

  “I do not care, Lady Hart,” Ophelia continued. “And from what I understand, you view Jasmine as your sister, and if you are not in town with me, you are with her. I am already professionally invested in my young protegé, but any member of the Hart Family is kin to the Hawthorne’s as well.”

  “Protegé? What? Wait, you said something necromantic is upstairs?”

  Ophelia nodded and turned back to the stairs. “Yes, I can sense it. Aren’t you attuned with the din of the dead and dying? And, yes, she is my protegé. I will teach her to talk less and carry herself like a proper seneschal if she is to manage the finances.”

  I ignored her, and turned my attention to the staircase. My eyes focused, and my imbued eye glowed.

  [Soul Sense].

  I was still a [Chirurgeon] as my secondary role. The howling chill of winter spun around like musical notes, tinged with the strong scent of Wood Vinegar. That scent always came to me, and I figured there was something about it I should investigate.

  But upstairs, I could hear… screaming, but it wasn’t screams. It almost sounded like a whirlpool that was devouring the ocean and not just acting as a pressure differential. The sensation was an abyssal sphere that nothing could escape, and I was hearing the screaming of stars for what was both an ephemeral moment and an unending eternity… depending on where I was observing it from.

  I could feel the heat, but also the unmerciful cold. It was a coldness beyond my own. Mine still felt like winter, but what was upstairs felt like the abyss.

  I grabbed Ophelia’s arm. She turned around and pulled me in, her cool body feeling warm. She stroked my hair and nodded. “This way, mistress. I will keep you safe.”

  She led us up the stairs, and the new floorboards did not creak at all! I wanted to be impressed, but there was a new sensation as we came to the landing, one that I should have noticed, but I was trying to sleep.

  Pressure.

  Even with my academic mind, I was unsure of how to describe it outside of that one word. I closed my eyes, and a singular thought came to me.

  I was under the ocean, where Nyla claimed dominion. The water above was black, and the ocean below was darker yet. I was swimming downward, and the water felt like it was crushing me alive.

  I had never once been in the ocean, and I didn’t know how to swim. Yet that experience and thought came from the other goddess.

  Was she watching me too, or did the Goddess of Death know the experience?

  My mind burned with another thought; an answer to my question. I stared at a star, and felt that same pressure as before.

  Gravity.

  That word fell into my brain, though I had no context for what it meant. I stared at the star and felt myself being pulled towards it again.

  This was a completely different sensation.

  Ophelia and I walked past my bedroom and towards the locked door of my study. Before she even opened it, I handed her the keys as well. She could keep them, for all I cared, but I knew Ophelia would make me another set as soon as she could.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  She unlocked the door, and it creaked inwards. I couldn’t see in the dark, but Ophelia’s eyes reflected the scant light like a cat’s—or, given her nature, perhaps a bat’s.

  The door leaked out pale moonlight, but the shadows on the floor were wrong. They stretched towards the door instead of away from the window, as if the light itself was being pulled back in. I saw the Full Moon out the window, in all of its radiant glory.

  Ophelia immediately knelt, her head to the floor and her lips muttering in the language of the dead.

  “Blessed Mother, your gaze rests upon me. I seek thine love and nourishment, for Mother of Monsters, Caretaker of the damned - who else but thee would love a sinner like me?”

  I glanced down at her, and rubbed her head. “Rise, Ophelia. You’re with me. I’ll let you know if Mother needs something.”

  Ophelia stirred, her face looking genuinely uncomfortable. I tugged her up, and she hesitantly got back on her feet. I watched her face, but she was looking anywhere but the full moon.

  I stared at it as well, and The Crone stared back at me.

  The Crone. The most ‘polite’ way to call the moon - to call Rhyvesta in her closest visage. The Astronomers say that Rhyvesta’s planet is actually ‘The Gate’, the ninth planet in the system surrounded by its five moons.

  She is both. They are wrong.

  I shook that thought away from myself and smiled at Mother. The moonlight deepened, and a singular ray continued to rest against the table.

  This version of Rhyvesta was something I could handle. Not the gloom of darkness, not my Ma, but the entity above. I felt like I was meant to bow, but Levan’s voice came in my head too.

  “Rhyvesta does not care for worship in the way other Gods do.”

  She was a Goddess of Action, a Monster of Choice and Decision.

  I suppressed my instinct and walked towards the study itself. It was as clean as I left it, and my library - or I guess, empty bookshelves - were just as barren too.

  That didn’t mean my table was empty though. I had initially moved the workbench Pa had here to act as my table, and put the bigger study table as the centrepiece.

  I didn’t want Jasmine to modify it.

  I had no say when The Crone did.

  Pa’s table had become pitch black, but… natural. It wasn’t the same gray stone I had seen in the Necropolis, but black wood perfectly maintained. The cracks and stains were gone, and everything was just [Divine] - a rank I wasn’t even aware of.

  I had heard of [Legendary] for artifacts. I had suspected the Harvester’s Robe that Rhea had given me was [Legendary] but I never looked too deeply.

  Rhea.

  The table below was awaiting something. Awaiting me. Awaiting an acknowledgement.

  “Rheavis’akinla-ozfa-kmka’ratkl’zil.”

  The name that burned. The Crone’s real name.

  Ophelia screamed, and black blood poured from her eardrums. Her eyes turned, and I could feel that concept again.

  Gravity.

  It was like the pressure of the ocean, but made worse. There was a link between Nyla and Rhea and I didn’t know what it was just yet. But I did know one thing.

  I touched Ophelia’s shoulder. “You. Are. Fine.” I paused, trying to think of what Ophelia would say to comfort me. “I will protect you. You’re safe.”

  Ophelia’s hand rested against mine, and her shaking stopped. The light in the room was becoming crimson.

  The Crone became copper-like, a rare event in Amaril’s Theology that showed a crossing of power. My head burned again.

  This was a natural event when The Crone covered Amaril’s Gaze. The shining remnants would bathe The Crone in red light. The astrologers called it “Amaril’s Blindness”. This would happen at the minimum, once every two years.

  Or more often when The Crone was looking at her Daughter.

  My attention shifted to the table again, and I saw it.

  A black bladed dagger I had thought I took with me out of the crypt. I just assumed I lost it or it went back to… wherever that was, but now, it rested on my table.

  Artifacts had their own Gravity. The Harvester’s Robe was not an artifact.

  This was.

  I could hear the din of stars being eaten, the heat being taken, and the unending chill remaining. At the center of it was this singular weapon, made of a…

  Dead star?

  Stars could die?

  …Were they the first thing to die?

  We are all made of stardust.

  These thoughts wormed into my brain, devouring the boundaries of what I thought I knew. What was stardust?

  I idly reached down to pick up the hilt of the [Abyssal Dagger], and it confirmed what I had thought. This was an Artifact.

  A gift from my Dearest Mother. And I was beginning to understand why.

  I released Ophelia’s hands, but turned around to embrace her. Her body was soft and warm, and while I felt no attraction to her, I felt affection. While I held her, my brain categorized my thoughts.

  Nyla, The Infinite Deluge - The Goddess of Healers, Nurturers, and the Ice Court.

  Rhea, The Abyss - The Goddess of Death, Murderers, and New Life.

  Doctors, the best ones, swore to the Abyss. The average ones swore to the Deluge.

  And I knew both worlds.

  Another word came to me.

  “The Gestalt is this. A Black Hole. A moment of infinite, balanced time. Where death, dying, and living meet.”

  Ophelia stared at the dagger too, and got up. She shook her head. “You are a completely different person when you act like this, Mistress. Where did that thought come from?”

  “I think Madeleine undid something big. If this is the Gestalt of Nyla and Rhea—the union I must pray to when The Cockatrice opens—then what is the Gestalt of Rhea and Amaril?"

  Ophelia looked to the blood moon. “I just realized now how much Amaril’s Blindness looks like the colours of the Phoenix Queen.”

  I nodded. I somehow knew this fact, even if I had never been to the capital. I stroked Ophelia’s face once more, and we walked out of the room.

  The pressure disappeared, and all I felt was… tired.

  “I’m going to bed Ophelia, do you want to join me?” I offered.

  Ophelia followed behind, crossing her arms. “Mayhaps. First, Gestalt. What is that about?”

  I raised my eyes to look at Ophelia, but grabbed her wrist. She didn’t resist, as I pulled her into the bedroom.

  “Gestalts are bad,” I began, as Ophelia looked into my wardrobe. She sighed and shook her head.

  “I will prepare you for sleep, Lady Hart, but I have tasks I must do tonight. If your offer is an open one, in the future? For now, I’ll see if I can find some silk or satin to make you sleepwear.”

  I ignored her, since my head was still spinning. “Rhea and Nyla when they become deadlocked create stasis. Nothing dies, and nothing can be taken care of. Neither of the Goddesses want it, so…”

  “...your job is to break a stasis that does not even exist?” Ophelia questioned.

  “It… does exist, but not in the way you’re thinking, Ophelia. It’s… right now about the idea of preserving life rather than curing. For example, you can move, but you are dead. You belong firmly to Rhyvesta, and Nyla’s Deluge would do nothing to you.”

  “It actively harms me, yes. I am surprised healing magic works on you. I figure that will change soon.”

  Again, I ignored her. “But take the inverse scenario. Someone who is kept unconscious, but is alive. That is the world the Gestalt wants in its compromise.”

  “...Where does that even happen?”

  “In the dreams of those succumbing to Opium or who run away from their problems. Likewise, to… a tumor. Flesh that keeps growing and feeding but refuses to die or serve a purpose. That is what the Gestalt really is. A body that has forgotten how to stop.”

  Ophelia hesitantly nodded. “You are going somewhere with this, I imagine?”

  I nodded again, looking at my reflection in the [Abyssal Dagger]. “A victory for any of the Gods is so that a deadlock is never reached. Rhea would be content with giving the power to Nyla if that would mean…”

  “...They actually cured the addict, rather than just keeping them in a painless slumber forever.”

  I nodded. “I am… under the impression that’s the long term goal. These Gestalts… are the logic of our Gods without the wisdom. Not just the Nyla thing, but the Phoenix Queen as well. I… do not know what the Gestalt of Rhea and Amaril actually implies.”

  Ophelia nodded, and pointed at the bed. “Go to sleep. I’ll make you some new sleepwear in the next days. If you still wish, I will join you tomorrow, Lady Hart.”

  “Please do, Ophelia. I’m going to miss you when I leave,” I began. I heard Ophelia say something in response, but my eyes were immediately closed when my head hit the pillow.

  And then Mirchie, of course, jumped on my face. She could easily ruin any moment, but I snuggled her in.

  She chirped angrily, but settled in.

  Closing question: Do you understand what a Gestalt entity is and why the Gods hate them?