#the witch raised her to be a very well trained guard dog instead

[swordmaid]

in my hc the noble houses of menzoberranzan operate similarly to the houses in ice and fire where they’re constantly feuding with each other but instead of trying to take the throne/control of the whole realm they’re all fighting for lolth’s favour instead. and because they can’t outright declare war on each other (forgot the reason for why they can’t exactly do that but iirc lolth doesn’t like it?? she loves the drama I guess) and if they rise too quickly lolth casts them down so they have to be cunning about it. not to mention if they stay too long in power and do nothing about it that also displeases the spider queen so the nobility’s game of intrigue is constantly moving and working both for self gain and for self preservation.

shri’iia also plays the game but more of a pawn than a player. she’s not born from any noble house (she’s actually a commoner). the only reason why she has any foot in the game is that she’s taken in by the matriarch of faen tlabbar - one of the houses who fervently worships lolth to the point of zealotry - when they’ve heard word that she—a commoner—have managed to succeed lolth’s trials and gained her blessing. lolth blessings are rare to come and making someone a paladin is even more rare so for a zealot house, that’s a a sign they can’t pass up. so, the house matriarch takes her in and keeps in a tower where she’s supposed to pray and train to lolth day and night. the paladin oath that shri’iia swears is both for lolth and her matriarch; she swears to punish the enemies of her mistresses and forever keep her loyalty to them. her matriarch’s word is an extension to lolth’s will, so to disobey her will be disobeying lolth herself.

and ofc shri’iia being born poor with everything to give and nothing to lose, who thought that there is more to her life than a merchant’s daughter, to be known by the goddess she worship and noticed by one of the most influential houses in the city, swears herself to that oath. she never regretted that choice not even when she’s kept in that tower in complete isolation with her matriarch being the only person she could interact with.

[ginger-danica-snapps]

WIP Wednesday. A snip from my back in time, fix it Jonsa story and my Ned marries Cersei instead of Catelyn AU.

"Here,” the child said and while Sansa was kneeling another person slipped from between the trees. This time a woman in a long flowing, tan dress, but her hair looked like the bark of the weirwood. She held something in her hands.

Jon watched as Sansa realized what it was and began to stand and protest, but Jon placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her kneeling.

“þú eru dawninn bringer, protector ór fólk,inn móðir ór allr hverr eru eigi dauðr. Vargr dróttning fran Norðririnn,” the child intoned as the woman came to stand before and raised a crown of weirdwood branches somehow petrified into a glistening, smooth crown with wild branches reaching to the moonlight.

Old tongue again, Jon realized and began to work through the translation, suddenly more grateful to his time among the freefolk.

“You are the dawnbringer, Protector of the People, Mother of All who are not dead. Wolf Queen from the North,” he murmured quietly, but kept his hand on her shoulder when she immediately began to protest.

The crown was nestled onto her head and Jon was moving to the front, pulling Dark Sister from sheath again and laying her tip down onto the ground with his head bowed.

“I swear to be the sword that guards you till there is no breath left in my body. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no other to wife, hold no lands that are not yours as well, and father no children that do not call you mother. You are the queen I choose. You are my queen, now and always.”

It was a cold morning when Cersei Lannister pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped out of her room. Melara and Jeyne already waited for her patiently and she slipped past them without a word of greeting. They followed silently as Cersei expertly navigated her way outside of Casterly Rock without running into nary a servant or soldier who would scamper off to tattle.

They reached the woods without speaking and Cersei turned with a sharp grin. She held her hands out to the two girls and they smiled back and reached out to clasp hands. Turning they ran into the forest, laughing, as Cersei led them to the small creek.

“Where did you say she was?” Cersei asked as they cautiously stepped onto slick rocks, never letting go of each other.

“A good walk down the creek and even longer into the dark of the woods. Cersei, are you sure we should do this?” Melara whispered.

“Of course,” Cersei answered automatically and turned to go deeper into the woods while tugging at their hands.

“Your father, Cersei, we would be in so much trouble,” Jeyne added as she slightly resisted.

Cersei sighed. What use was having companions if they weren’t willing to take chances? As always Cersei struggled with the idea that these were her childhood friends, but that they were first put in place by her Aunt Genna and likely reported much of her adventures. She was still pretty convinced that it was Jeyne who had reported Cersei and Jaime switching places every other day in his training.

She missed the physical exertion of swords play and the way she was able to hit the mark every time she released her bow string.

Still, it was her responsibility to soothe her companions when fearful.

“You will almost always be the highest ranking woman in the room, Cersei. One day, you will marry a Prince of Dorne if all goes as planned and only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her daughters, and the wife of the Prince will outrank you. You need to always be the calming presence for your ladies. They must never see your fear, because then they will remain calm and know all is well,” Joanna Lannister brushed Cersei’s hair back from her face in soft, strong strokes.

Her mother was always soft and strong. Cersei wanted to be just like her when she married and took over her own household.

“I heard father say he wished me to marry Prince Rhaegar, Mother,” Cersei answered quietly.

Her mother’s hands froze for a second, but then she began her strokes anew.

“Your father thinks he can sway Aerys, yes, but I fear, little light, that Aerys will only seek to enrage your father. Lions were not meant to marry Dragons, my daughter. Remember that, if you remember nothing else. We may work in service, even be close in friendship as I was once to Queen Rhaella, but we must never join with the dragon,” Joanna whispered, “I would not have my little light burned by a dragon’s fire.”

Cersei spun around again and squeezed her companion’s hands.

“You need not fear my father, Jeyne,” Cersei assured her, though she also felt her very heart tremble at the idea of being caught.

They continued into the forest, following the stream till it ended in a pretty little waterfall, before tipping deeper into the forest than Cersei had ever traveled. They found Maggy the Frog’s house tucked into a dark clearing, behind a small pond. Moss grew over the old stone and the roof was thatched.

Badly, Cersei noted to herself. There were holes and water gathering in a way that her father would never have allowed Lannisport to weather.

Her mother would have cared about the witch in the wood, but her father would likely burn her out if he realized she was here.

“I…,” Jeyne stuttered and Melara and Cersei turned.

Jeyne wrenched her hand from them and looked around with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei nodded and gave a slight shoulder shrug, “Walk back to the water, Jeyne. Melara, go with her. I will speak to this Maggy the Frog and come meet you.”

Jeyne barely dipped a slight curtsy to her liege’s daughter, before lifting her skirts and running back the way they came. Melara gave Cersei a concerned look and Cersei thought she could see real concern. She motioned her away.

She waited till both girls were gone and turned back and set her shoulders with determination and marched up and knocked on the door. If her companion’s had stayed, Cersei would perhaps have marched in with no regard to the owner just to show her seniority on her father’s land.

“A humble lady will always garner more loyalty among her compatriots than a prideful one,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear.

“The lion does not lay down and sleep with the sheep,” her father followed.

“Come in, little lion child,” a voice called out and Cersei opened the door and softly stepped in, her boots already ruined from the walk.

“Are you Maggy the Frog?” she asked, forcing strength into her tone.

The woman cocked her head and Cersei was at least glad to find the woman did not resemble anything like a scary monster. In fact, she was quite boring.

“We wanted to see the monster,” Oberyn Martell said and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Everyone wanted to see her little imp of a brother.

“He’s just a baby. An ugly baby, but a baby,” Elia added and Cersei resisted the urge to snap back with a cutting remark.

He might be the curse upon her life, but he was her little brother and no one else was allowed to speak ill of a Lannister.

No one understood that Tyrion was a monster because he killed her mother, not because he was a misshapen little thing.

“Often go into your thoughts, girlie? I’m the one you call Maggy the Frog and I assume you’ve come to hear your future?” the woman said.

Cersei’s eyes widened. That, however, was not boring.

“Yes. I have. My father and aunt say I am to marry Prince Rhaeger, but my mother wished me to marry Prince Oberyn, though my father refused the Princess of Dorne. I want to know if I am to marry the prince and one day be Queen? How many children will I have?” Cersei eagerly stepped forward.

She would love her children and they would love her. They would never fear to whisper their secrets, hopes, and fears.

Maggy the Frog tilted her head and stared at her before reaching down and pulling a small dagger from beside her. Cersei took a step back, fear dogging at her step, before forcing herself to stand tall again.

“This is my father’s land and if you harm a hair on my head then he will gouge your eyes out and you will not see any future again, certainly not your own,” Cersei said coldly and startled when Maggy tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

“Oh, little lion girlie, you are quite the opposite of what I saw for today as it is. Let us see what else has changed. A little taste of your blood girl to be able to see what is going to happen. To see if gold crowns and cold shrouds no longer lay across the lion spawn,” the woman explained and held the knife hilt out.

Cersei took a deep breath and stepped forward to take it. She laid it down easily onto her thumb and gave a slight whimper when it cut into her skin and blood welled to the top. She went to hold the knife back out, but found herself being yanked forward and her finger in the witches mouth.

Cersei had barely had time to react before she was released and she cupped her hand to her chest.

“Three questions, girlie, but most do not like my answ…” the woman made a sudden sharp noise and gripped at her head, gasping for breath, and Cersei started to move forward to help her.

The woman suddenly sat up and completely still, eyes shut, and back ramrod straight.

“Maggy?” Cersei whispered, fear starting to creep into her.

Maggy’s eyes flew open and Cersei gasped at the milky white expanse that existed where muddy, dark brown eyes had.

“The song of fire and ice comes, and nothing will stop the stag from killing the dragon. The wolf brother of the stag will help without knowing, without seeing. The wolf’s sister will die so their son may live. The gods give another choice not given before, eyes were open, but could not see. Winter comes, winter comes, and the wolves must live. A Queen she shall not make, but a mother of a King she shall be. Remember, learn, live, and roar. The Lioness will triumph if the last dragon son thrives,” Maggy gasped and then she collapsed.

[imtryingsomething]

The Journey

A/N- So this is part of the request that I got, I know that this isn't exactly what was asked yet. I got kinda carried away. And I felt the need to establish some stuff. Yes I made up a character, I thought that she would help show the type of person Y/N is. I promise that I'll get to more of the actual request next 'chapter'. Other than that hope this is decent enough for now. As always please reblog and like. And dont under any circumstances repost or copy.

Characters- Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon, Tommen Lannister, Joffrey Lannister, Myrcella Lannister, Jaimie Lannister, (female) Y/N Baratheon, and (OC) Rosa.

Warnings- none really, maybe ooc Cersei..., didn't really proof read

Honey wafted throughout the room, carried by a warm breeze. But the silk sheets were still cool to the touch. They felt like water against your skin. In your dream you were dancing. Dancing to a beautifully played violin, like the one that played at your 14th name day. Your feet floated above the grassy forest floor. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting gold over your skin.

"Y/N, Sweetie! Get up!" An old voice interrupted your golden dream.

You let out a groan, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over your head.

"Come up now! You have to pack, you're leaving tomorrow!" A firm hand came down on your thigh.

"I could have you thrown in the dungeon for laying hands on a princess..." You halfheartedly murmured into the pillow.

"You say that every morning. Now come on get up and put on some decent clothes. You need to eat something." Follwed by some rustling in the corner.

"What I need is some more sleep!"

"Now it's not my fault you stayed up until dawn." The sheet covering you was pulled off.

"Mean." Squinting against the bright room you saw now that your surrogate mother, Rosa, had laid out a gold dress for you to put on.

"I don't want to wear that it's too hot out. What about the pale purple one?"

"Very well but then you have to go down and eat something, then pack."

"Why can't someone else pack for me?" You grumbled, climbing out of bed.

"Because the last time someone else pack for you, you didn't like anything that they packed. And you declared that you would do all your own packing." She helped you into the light purple cover.

"A mistake." You finished tieing the front belt. "Thank you Rosa."

The walk to the dining hall was accompanied by the clanking of armor. The irritating sound came from the guard that followed her everywhere. Though it never seemed to be the same guard.

Entering the hall you saw that almost all your family was seated. All for your Uncle Tyrion.

You almost skipped over to your mother kissing her on the cheek, "Morning mother!"

"You're late." She responded with a raised eyebrow.

"Morning father!" You leaned over to the head of the table to give him a kiss as well.

"Darling! Come sit and eat!" He basically shouted, you could still smell a bit of wine on him from the night before.

You slid into the seat to your father's left, your mother sat across from you. Joffrey sat on your right stabbing a sausage with a knife. Tommen and Myrcella sat next to mother, Tommen playfully pushed at Myrcella's shoulder pointing at a lady bug on the flowers in the center of the table.

You stuck a sausage from the large plate putting it on your own, along with some melon. Like you were taught you cut the sausage into small parts. Though if it were just you, you'd do as your father taught you to do which was to try and eat it as quickly as possible.

"Uncle Jamie why don't you ever eat with us?" You asked him as he stood behind your father.

"That's because he was stupid enough to join the Kings Guard!" Robert burst forth answering for him, "Isn't that right King Slayer?"

"Yes, your Grace." Jamie answered obediently, giving you a small smile.

"Mother, what time are we leaving for the north tomorrow?"

"Later in the day, my love." Cersei said, side eyeing your father.

They all knew he'd be passed out all morning. He would drink heavily tonight to celebrate the journey.

Breakfast ended when Tommen and Myrcella started to get too antsy for the table. You excused yourself after that, giving Robert a hug before leaving. You ran back to your room, leaving the guard behind. You laughed the whole way back because you could hear the hurried clanking of the guards armor.

Rosa was still in your room. She sat at a table working on some embroidery piece, looking over her shoulder you saw it was a proud stag.

"I feel as if you've made hundreds of those."

"Perhaps I have but I know you keep all of them."

"You don't know anything." You flopped back onto the large bed.

"Get up, you need to pack." She commented without looking up from her work.

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, "Why don't you have to pack?"

"That would be because I'm not going north."

"Then I'm not going!"

"Of course you are."

"That's very easy for you to say because you're not going. It'll be months of travel without you."

"You will survive. And you love to ride."

"Rosa!" You whined.

"Princesses do not whine!" She said sternly while getting up to grab the bag you must pack.

"You are my best friend! I cannot survive without you!"

"Don't say that. Don't say an old woman is your best friend. Now come on. You're a princess, act like it. You will need to learn how to go on without me." She pushed the bag into your chest.

"Why do you say it like that, so harshly?"

"Because you are a woman nearly grown. Now stop whining and pack your bag."

"Fine!"

After the bags were packed Rosa disappeared to attend other duties. Which left you sitting on the balcony watching two birds circle around one another. You caught a glimpse of your bow leaning in the corner. Reaching over you grabbed an arrow that had been thrown on the ground instead of in the quiver. You spun the shaft around your fingers mulling over the thought of going on a hunt. Stopping to inspect the arrow head. Running your thumb along the edge, it was dull. No hunt today. There'd be plenty of time on the road to hunt so the disappointment wasn't overwhelming.

Grabbing the quiver and bow you waltzed out of the room. Following the familiar corridors towards the armory. The rest of the day would be filled with watching the head blacksmith sharpen the arrow head and make new ones.

--------‐-----------------------------------

Cersei expertly moved the brush through your hair. You both watched the sky turn from orange to blue. Unlike your father you both liked to get up early to watch the sunrise. It was one of the few things that you shared.

"How come I'm so different? My hair isn't golden yellow. It's brown." You asked quietly.

Her hand faltered for a second, "You take after your father more than me."

"Why do I have to go north? It's not me who's asking Lord Stark to be the Hand."

"Because it's what your father wants." She stopped in thought for a moment, "I remember the first time you went north, you loved it. When you came back you spoke about Winterfell, the trip, and the snow for months after. Every morning you would ask when you could go back."

"I hardly remember the trip. Winterfells a blur. I remember beating Robb Stark with a stick after he frightened me and Jon Snow had stood in the corner laughing." You paused to turn towards your mother, "I remember only having fun because of them. It was the only time I wasn't yelled at for rolling in the mud."

"Well you did ruin plenty of dresses by wrestling with the dogs. It was so difficult to get you inside, still is. At least now you're a bit more reasonable." A smile graced her lips.

"Mother do I have to ride in the carriage? It's so cramped and stuffy in there. And my horse is well rested, he'll be able to make the journey." You pleaded, there was no way to use charm on your mother.

She sighed, looking into your stubborn eyes, "Only if you ride in the carriage as we leave the city and enter Winterfell."

You jumped up with glea wrapping your arms around Cersei. She hugged you back tightly not letting go for some time. You smiled into her shoulder. Kissing your cheek she pulled away.

"We should get ready to leave now. Your father is hopefully up."

The journey north would be long and tiring. Your father would drink more then he should. Your mother would glare at him every night. Your brothers and sister would complain about the hard travel. You would miss home and Rosa. But you'd ride fast in front of the train.

Tags

@witch-of-letters (hope it's ok I tagged you, if you dont want to be just tell me)

[burclay]

The Accurate and True Account of Anathema Device Deciding to Fight God

In which Anathema decides that this apocalypse is utterly ridiculous and she'd like to take it up with the Almighty Herself.

AO3

The world is filled with people who would, given the chance, fight God.

Unfortunately, God does not have the time to listen to most of these people, much less fight them.

Anathema Device is different.

For one thing, she has Agnes Nutter’s prophecy book, and has spent her entire life up to this point in training to fill out one of God’s greatest and least effable plans.

For another thing, God rather likes her.

When Anathema was a child, she asked her mother why the prophecies were true.

“They just are,” her mother said. “The same way you always fall back to the ground, no matter how high you jump.”

“But who decided?” Anathema asked. “Did Agnes Nutter?”

“No,” her mother replied. “God decided.”

“God must not be very smart, then,” Anathema said, eyeing prophecy #2,349 (“In the yeare two thousande and eighteen, children will be dancing to the night of fort”).

“Don’t say that where she can hear,” her mother said, and Anathema never brought it up again.

But now there’s under an hour to the end of the world, and Anathema is remembering that day.

There is a part of her that stands by her words.

After all, the fate of the Earth has been left to children, brilliant and sweet children, but children all the same, and no kind and loving God would saddle children with this level of responsibility for the sake of a petty battle between Good and Evil.

And so, as alarms go off around her, Anathema decides: prophecies be damned.

“Fuck this,” she says, and Newt looks up.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m taking this up with God.”

She finds Adam, the sweet kid who’s also the Antichrist. It seems like a good first step.

“Adam,” she says once she finds him on a dreary patch of pavement, ignoring his friends gathered around. “Excuse me. Sorry. Do you have any idea how I could contact God?”

“How would I know?” Adam asks, and crosses his arms. His dog barks. Anathema falters.

“I just thought you might,” she says.

“Actually, you could try praying,” one of his friends says. Anathema tries to remember his name— Wesley or something like that. “If a God does exist, They might be able to hear you.”

It’s not a bad idea, really.

“Thank you,” Anathema says. “I’ll be going now.”

She stands in the middle of the air base, in the middle of the most open patch of grass she can find. It feels like the sort of place for prayer. Or maybe it’s just that it’ll be easier for God to see her if there aren’t any roofs or trees or anything in the way.

Assuming God is above, of course, but she can’t imagine any almighty deity wanting to live underground in the dark.

She’s never really been the praying sort. Having thousands of prophecies memorized means that she’s never had much use for hope or faith or anything else founded in uncertainty. She doesn’t really know how to begin.

She looks up.

“Get down here and face me!” she yells.

Nothing happens.

“Amen!” she adds.

There’s a sort of rumble around her. At first she thinks it’s thunder, but the storm that almost tore her cottage apart earlier has almost entirely subsided. After a moment, she realizes it’s laughter, a great, cosmic laughter that is felt rather than heard. Another moment, and she is no longer on Earth.

She looks around. She has, in the space of a split second, been transported to what looks like it might be Heaven— her feet are on clouds, blue skies abound above her, and there are great gold gates just in front of her.

They’re open. Unguarded.

Anathema only hesitates a moment before walking through.

Given the almost cartoonish version of Heaven she’s in, with the puffy cotton-ball clouds and gilded gates, she’s expecting to see a giant throne and an old man, larger than life, with a trailing beard and white robes.

She’s right about the white robes.

Not so much the giant throne.

God, or a figure Anathema can only assume is God, is sprawled across an armchair, reading a book. The overall effect is alarmingly human, despite the white robes. As Anathema approaches, God glances up.

“Oh, hello.” God’s voice seems to reverberate in Anathema’s mind.

“You’re a woman,” Anathema blurts out. It’s not how she planned to open, but to be fair, she was caught off guard.

“I’m the Almighty,” God says, sounding almost offended. “Do not assume I have a gender.”

“Everyone on Earth assumes You’re a man,” Anathema says.

God’s laughter shakes the clouds.

“One of My favorite jokes,” She says. “But this isn’t why you came.”

“No, it is not,” Anathema says. “I came to tell You that this apocalypse thing is ridiculous, and it needs to stop.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” God says, her voice velvety and smooth.

“You sound like a child,” Anathema replies. “I’d know, given that I’ve met some lovely  children recently who are being forced to do Your job while You sit up here and act like one of them.”

“This is a battle between Heaven and Hell,” God says. “Good and Evil. I’m only a spectator.”

“So the Earth is going to be destroyed for your battle?” Anathema asks. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“There’s no law saying I have to be fair,” God says.

“Then make one,” Anathema retorts.

God laughs again.

“You always have been one of My favorites,” She says. “Raised to follow My prophecies, but always wanting to argue. Very human of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m human,” Anathema says. “And I’d like to know why You’re letting this happen. Your angels are involved, aren’t they?”

“They’re hardly My angels, these days,” God says. “Anyway, this is all a test.”

Anathema falters. She doesn’t feel particularly tested yet— only angry. Although possibly actively seeking a fight with God is a symptom of being tested. There’s only one way to find out.

“For whom?” she asks.

“The angels, of course,” God says. “I haven’t spoken to them in years. My fault, to be fair. But I fear some of them have strayed.”

“Strayed?” Anathema asks.

“Away from seeking My will and towards pettier concerns.”

“Pettier concerns,” Anathema repeats. “Like the apocalypse.”

“You’re getting it,” God says.

“Surely there’s a better way to do this,” Anathema says.

“Don’t worry,” God says. “I have reason to believe the Earth will come to no harm. An insurance policy, if you will. But it’s very complicated, and it relies, in part, on you being in your place.”

“People are dying,” Anathema persists.

“Trust in Me,” God says.

“If the world ends,” Anathema says, “I’m going to rip You a new one.”

“If the world ends,” God says, “I’ll be sure to expect you.”

Anathema blinks, and then she’s back in the room with all the computers and flashing light and Newt. It doesn’t look like much time has passed, if any, which is good, if she’s meant to be stopping an apocalypse.

“Did you manage it?” Newt asks.

“What?”

“Taking it up with God,” Newt clarifies.

“Oh,” Anathema says. “Sort of.” She looks at the bank of the computers. Pulls out a few prophecy cards. “Suppose we’d better avert this apocalypse.”

The world doesn’t end.

The world doesn’t end, and Anathema has a boyfriend now, which isn’t what she expected. But she had sex with him, and saved the world with him, and surely that means something.

But the next morning, she leaves Newt alone in her cottage and rides her bike to the air force base. Unfortunately, she has forgotten that the world has basically gone back to normal, including the guards pointing guns at any un-uniformed stranger biking up.

“Sorry,” she calls, and immediately turns her bike around. She goes to an open field instead, leaves her bike lying at the edge, and walks into the middle.

“Fine,” she says to the sky. “You know what You’re doing.” She pauses, then adds, “Amen.”

She blinks, and when she opens her eyes she’s back in front of God, who has gotten considerably further in her book.

“Hello again, Anathema,” God says. “I take it you are not here to rip Me a new one?”

“I just wanted to say—” Anathema pauses. What does she want to say? “How did the test turn out?”

“Mixed results,” God says. “I will be keeping a closer eye on My angels.”

“What happened to the horsemen?” Anathema asks.

“They have gone back to their lives,” God says. “Everything, for the most part, is continuing as normal.”

“I should go back, too, then,” Anathema says. “Agnes’s book is over. I can have a life now.”

“May I make a suggestion?” God asks. “One thing to do in your new life?”

“If you like,” Anathema says.

“Dump him,” God says.

Anathema blinks in surprise.

“Sorry, what?” she asks, but she’s already back in the field.

Later that day, a second prophecy book is delivered.

Anathema burns it with Newt, trying not to think about what God said. She is going to have a new life, after all. It’s her choice what to do with it.

A week later, she decides that her choice aligns with God’s advice. She really rushed into that whole relationship too fast, after all, and she’s realizing now that her attraction was based more on heat-of-the-moment-the-world-is-ending adrenaline than an actual attachment.

Besides, Newt snores.

He takes it well enough. Goes back home. Promises not to go back to his old witch-hunting ways.

And Anathema is alone.

She goes back to the field.

“You were right,” she says. “Again.”

When there’s no response, she sighs.

“Really?” she asks. “Going to make me say it? Amen.”

She is not transported.

Instead, God’s voice echoes in her head.

“You’re welcome.”

The grass ripples in the wind.

A strange warmth spreading in her chest, Anathema rides her bike home.