When the first of Autumns birthed the death of Spring, and when the leaves of creation fell, from the divine soil sprouted a sylvan Goddess, young and beauteous. Her hair was hewn like branches of a weeping tree with hues of gold and red leaves.
Her cries ushered the halting of creation, the stillness that comes between seasons, the quiet before great change. And held in the arms of a Goddess of Old, she found comfort.
In the coming ages, she would grow, and as the goddess who held her passed, she was placed amongst beings much older than she. A Godling, with not but an inkling of her station in eternity. Unrealistic expectations thrust upon the unknowing, a tale as old as time. But she had a tongue and a voice that could cut as deep as any weapon.
On one day, whilst the first autumn fell upon Empyrean and the trees blazed a deep crimson, she stood amongst them admiring the display. The trees swayed and danced in her presence, and on the wind she could hear their voices. “Nature speaks… to those who listen,” words she remembered from one much wiser than she, but as the woodlands sang praises of thanks, she could help only but to smile.
“Is this… your doing?”
Her head twisted quickly at the sound of crackling leaves underfoot. A much older God approached, clad in darkness; his cold voice caused even the trees to shiver.
“My doing?” She asked, her leaf-woven locks falling gracefully atop her shoulders.
“I mean no insult,” he smiled, “It’s quite beautiful is all.”
“You’d be the only one to think so…” She snapped.
“Save for you?” He questioned.
The wind blew across her leaves as she eyed him; his hollow voice echoed with every word. “Your voice chills the very air—if you mean no insult, then please leave. You make the world fear its end.”
“You know who I am?”
“You’re Death, are you not?” she said.
“Xenon,” he answered. The sound of his name stilled the breeze.
The Sylvan Goddess breathed deeply. “If you will not leave, I must ask why you stay.”
He stepped closer, emerging into the sunlight and removing his hood. His hair, like molten silver, lay pulled back along his nape, and his skin itself seemed to glisten in the sun, as pale as summer clouds. “I had heard your laughter from a ways away; the trees sang of your dance… I had hoped to see such joy for myself.”
In some ways, his voice was humble and comforting despite its hollow tone. “You hear them too?”
“All living things must meet me one day,” he said. “I must be able to hear their voices… wherever they are, however quiet.” He held his arms in front of himself awkwardly.
She looked away.
“I have made you uncomfortable,” he bowed politely, “I shall take my leave then.” The god turned but paused. “Might I… ask your name, Goddess?”
“Senna,” she said.
“It was lovely to meet you, Senna… Perhaps we may meet again.”
She said not a word, and after a few moments, footsteps faded in the distance, and the wind picked up once more. She forgot about him as the trees began to sing again, the darkness which gripped their joy having finally departed, that was all that mattered.
When the leaves began to fall and the first winter loomed, a council convened, one that called her from the woodlands. Out of her comfort, she sat upon cold stone amidst unwelcoming eyes… the last of leaves beginning to fall from her hair.
“I bid you all welcome…” the chief deity spoke, a tall god of deep brown hair presiding over the council. She recognized him as the God King Zyphor. His stern voice caught every ear. “As of now, you all know why we are here.”
All eyes fell on her, singled out of the many gathered, their divine gazes fixed on Goddess.
“Child,” Zyphor said.
“I am no child,” she retorted. “Younger than you, yes, but no child.”
“Yes, well,” he said, frustrated. “You have brought a sort of Armageddon to us, wouldn’t you say?”
With eyes still glaring upon her, she spoke, “I do not know what you speak of.”
“The leaves burn!” He said loudly, “Like an inferno they rage, carrying on the wind and falling upon every street, every corner, every crevice.”
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“It is unbecoming of a great kingdom such as this,” another deity spoke up, his appearance like that of Zyphor’s. “Very unbecoming indeed.”
She glared back at him, her eyes cutting like daggers.
“It is as my son said, unbecoming. Do you all not agree?”
Many at the table nodded, clapping at the Godking’s words.
“I think it's beautiful.” Another Goddess said, sat from afar, two of her four arms on one side raised up in disagreement. Senna glared at this goddess, meant with one more intense than her own. But they softened upon meeting.
“Quiet yourself, sister!” another deity whispered, jabbing her with a steel-clad elbow.
“Be silent, the two of you!” Zyphor shouted. “Death is not beautiful!”
Another deity cleared his throat; she recognized the figure shrouded in darkness. “Might we watch our words… brother.” Xenon met the Godking with a disapproving scowl. “For what it is worth, I think it is beautiful as well.” He smiled at Senna.
She looked away despite his kind words; her glance fell to the Goddess Caranex, whispering to the armored young God next to her. Their eyes met for only a moment before Senna sunk into herself.
“As do I,” another deity said. She was around Senna’s age, a beautiful goddess whose dark hair was adorned with a crown of roses; her voice reminded Senna of the songs of the trees.
Zyphor’s face grew rage-filled. “This is not a debate; we have convened to decide punishment, and I shall hear nothing short of suggestions.”
A silence befell the table, with looks of naught but disgust. Not a deity in attendance raised a hand.
“A punishment for what reason?” Senna asked. “Do you not listen? The land here sings of this change.”
“Sings?” Zyphor asked.
“Like a symphony.” Xenon stated.
“I hear it as well,” the rose-crowned Goddess said, “Nature rejoices at Senna’s presence.”
Some whispers took the table between other deities; perhaps others had heard it as they did.
“This is the Eternal City, Empyrean!” Zyphor slammed his fist on the table. “It changes and evolves when and if I will it! Not you, little Goddess.”
The other deities quieted, shifting in their seats.
“I have willed nothing!” she shouted back, some gasps being heard around her. “It is, as it is! Nature does as it pleases, whether you will it or not!”
“Enough!” he slams, cracking the length of the council table. “Impudence!”
She crossed her arms in protest of his display.
“Brother!” Xenon said.
“Silence yourself, Xenon!” The Godking yelled, directing his attention back to Senna, “You… Goddess of Change as it may be, there is no room for you in Empyrean. I push for your immediate exile!”
“Exile! That is out of the question!” The Death God burst from his seat. “We are not… this is not…”
“You will be seated!” Zyphor says, but as soon as Xenon sat, Senna stood. “What do you think you are doing?” he shouted.
With fire in her eyes, she spoke. “You think yourself a king, but your words are as fruitless as your title is a lie. Shortsighted and blind; if once I had respect for you, I can see it was misplaced.”
“You speak out of turn, chi… Goddess,” he stuttered. “Be seated this instant.”
She turned to leave, ignoring Zyphor’s words.
In defiance, the other gods stood as well, departing the hall one by one.
“Must you always make a fool of yourself, brother? You cling too tightly to your station… It will be the death of you one day.” Xenon states, following suit with the other.
In his throne, the Godking sat alone, his demands unmet and rule questioned. He stewed in his fury with heavy breaths, and once the doors closed, he stood slowly… departing for his quarters.
However, within her woodland home, Senna sat once again among the sorrowful whispers of her friends. They creaked and swayed in the chill breeze.
“You don’t have to comfort me; I’ll be okay.” She said to the trees. Even the breeze seemed to caress her cheek with care. A tear fell down her cheek.
“Hello!” A voice echoed through the creaking trees, followed by another, “Senna… Are you out here?”
She breathed deeply, her brow furrowing in frustration as the trees quieted. “What is it?” she muttered.
Two figures emerged from the thicket behind her.
“Alethia… Caranex?” She said, “Why have you come?”
“How did you know?” Caranex asked.
Senna remained silent.
“It seems you have found a friend within the environment in Empyrean,” Alethia said, her voice silken and melodious. “I’m afraid I don’t share that trait.”
Senna turned to look at the Goddess. “You hear them too? Are you like me?”
“In some ways… but less than you may think.”
“And you?” Senna turned her attention to Caranex. “Are you like us?”
“Me?” The four-armed goddess pointed to herself. “No, no… not at all,” she laughed. “War is my calling.”
“A War God?” Senna questioned.
“No, that’s my brother!”
Senna chuckled at Caranex’s words. “But a war goddess all the same?” she asked.
“Of course,” the War Goddess smiled, pushing her blonde hair across her brow.
“Well,” Alethia stepped in. “We wished to see if you were alright. Zyphor can be…”
“A Nuisance.” Caranex said matter-of-factly.
“Aptly put,” Alethia said, clutching her hands together.
“He does not bother me,” she lied, wiping the tear from her eye. “I cannot say I have a high opinion of him either, though.”
“Many feel the same,” Caranex said. Her rugged voice was comforting. Senna stood from her seat and approached them.
“I appreciate the both of you, but I would like to be left alone.”
“Oh, well, of course, we didn’t mean to intrude,” Alethia apologized.
Another presence emerged from the thicket, followed by a familiar cold chill. He stopped suddenly upon seeing the three of them. “Pardon me,” he said, pulling his hood down, “I hope I am not interrupting…”
“No…” Caranex said, “We were just leaving.”
Xenon nodded.
Alethia’s eyes seemed fixed on the God of Death.
“Unless, of course, you’d like us to stay, Senna?” Caranex asked.
She thought for a moment, “No, I’ll be alright.”
The War Goddess gave a polite nod. “Come, Alethia,” she said, snapping the other Goddess out of her trance.
“Apologies,” Alethia said, “We’ll leave you both… It was nice talking to you, Senna.”
The two goddesses departed, Caranex’s eyes falling upon Senna’s once more until they disappeared into the woods.
Senna shifted her gaze to the God of Death, who stood awkwardly. “Xenon…”
“Hello, Lady Senna.” He said, clutching his hands together. “I had hoped to make sure you were well after my brother’s… foolish display.”
Senna sighed, “It seems a great many people feel my business is theirs.”
“… I am intruding, aren’t I?” He questioned.
“If you must know, I am well. The words of a false king mean little to me.”
“I would… apologize then, for my brother’s heavy-handed judgments. He is shortsighted.”
“Yes,” she said solemnly.
A brief silence fell between them as the wind picked up, carrying whispers of sorrow along Senna’s ears. “He is right about one thing, though…”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“I don’t belong here.”
What do we think of Senna
