Chapter 71: A Day With Death (Her POV)
October had been a month of chaos and good things but mostly chaos. When your lover is the literal God of it, balance becomes a myth. My glittering madness of a man had made the entire month about himself, as usual. I didn't mind. I loved him for it. The fifth of November arrived with its usual promise. My day with Calavera. When we'd made our agreement, I'd chosen the fifth. Every fifth belonged to Calavera, plus one day of her choosing each month. Malvor owed her one too. In total, Death got two of me and one of him. A fair trade, I thought.
I woke with the sun and tried to kiss my chaos king goodbye. He groaned, caught my face in his hands, and muttered against my lips, "Stay in bed. The world can wait."
"I can't, duty calls."
He sighed dramatically, flinging one arm over his eyes. "Asha, my darling, you should be grateful I love you. I've sacrificed so much for this relationship. Do you know what I suffered the last time I went to Calavera's realm? She made me clean a crypt. I'm fairly certain it was haunted."
"Poor dramatic chaos baby," I teased, brushing his hair back. "Manual labor. How ever did you survive?"
"I bring joy and mischief and pleasure to the realms, not dust and incense! I came back smelling like sanctified despair!" He wailed. Dramatic as always. I laughed, kissed him once more and pulled away before he could drag me back into bed.
With a thought, I opened a shimmering portal and stepped through. One of the many perks of godhood: travel by will alone. I emerged in the Realm of Remembrance, where the air always seemed to hum with silence. The world here existed in shades of peace, soft light, still water, and the faint perfume of marigolds. Over the past months, my visits had become a quiet rhythm in my life. I'd scrubbed altars, tended crypts, burned candles for the forgotten.
Working with her had intertwined beautifully with my sessions with Ahyona and my grounding with Tairochi. Slowly learning how to lay my pain to rest instead of letting it rule me. Malvor liked to claim the crypts were haunted, but they weren't. The Realm of Remembrance didn't trap souls. It released them. Yet there was a constant tension here, like a pulse between light and dark. Life clinging to death. Memory refusing to fade. I crossed the obsidian bridge that arched toward Calavera's castle, the waters below swirling in shades of indigo and black. When I stepped inside, she was waiting on her throne, tall and radiant. Without a word, she rose and gestured for me to follow.
We walked through the echoing halls. Past the grand throne room open to mourners and pilgrims. We passed the vast library I'd spent several visits exploring, its shelves whispering with the voices of remembered souls. She led me deeper, into the quieter parts of the castle. At last, she stopped before a door on the left. Inside, a vast pool shimmered in candlelight. Marigolds floated across the surface, their gold petals glowing like captured sunset. I blinked, confused. "This isn't a crypt."
Calavera smiled, serene and mischievous all at once. "No, dear heart. Today, you rest. You've done enough remembering. It's time to simply be."
She knelt beside the pool, trailing one skeletal finger through the water. The marigolds spiraled around her touch like worshippers drawn to a flame, golden ripples shimmering across the surface. "You know, it's rare for me to enjoy company. Beings tend to arrive here only once, most not by choice."
I smiled faintly. "You do have a certain… reputation."
Her laugh, soft, melodic, ancient enough to echo. Felt like a secret shared between worlds. "True. You come willingly. You don't flinch at silence. You simply… exist beside me."
Her words settled in my chest like a gentle weight. But beneath that warmth, something else stirred. A pulse of grief. I sank to the edge of the pool. Marigolds brushed my fingers, dissolving into gold dust where they touched. The water shifted. My reflection disappeared. In its place was her.
The girl I used to be. The one with smaller dreams and a softer heart, who still thought life might give her gentleness someday. "I miss her," I whispered, before I meant to.
Calavera turned fully toward me. "Who?" she asked gently.
"Me." The words cracked midair. "My humanity. I didn't notice it leaving. I didn't fight it. But somewhere… sometime… I stopped being human." Truth slid from me like a held breath finally allowed to escape. "I don't age. I don't tire the way they do. Hunger is a memory. Death isn't waiting for me anymore. I don't belong with mortals. I don't know if I belong with gods. I'm something between, and I never got to say goodbye to what I was."
Marigolds drifted to my wrists, warm as touch, brushing up my arms like blessings or farewells. Calavera's expression softened, ancient, knowing, almost maternal. "Every being who crosses my threshold mourns themselves at least once. But mourning is not what you came for today."
She rose. "You are standing at your own grave, Asha," she continued, voice taking on a resonance that vibrated through bone and soul. "But this is not a burial." She extended her hand toward the shimmering pool. "It is a coronation." My breath stilled. Her gaze held mine. "A god is born twice. Once in suffering. Once in choice. Today, you choose."
A shiver ran through me. She waited. For me. "I don't want to forget her," I whispered, voice tight.
"You won't forget her. You carry everything she gave you." Calavera brushed a marigold petal from my palm. "But you cannot keep mourning her as though becoming more means she died."
The grief didn't vanish. It transformed. Not a weight, a release. I finally stepped into the pool. The water rose around my waist. Marigolds gathered against me, catching at my skin before drifting away again. I waited for something to leave. Nothing did. The girl in the water remained. So did I.
Calavera stepped beside me. "There," she murmured.
"What?"
"You thought becoming divine required a funeral."
Light stole through the pool, blooming around us in spirals of white and gold. The marigolds spun upward, circling like a crown taking shape. Something shifted in my chest. Clicking into place. The realm responded. Something vast and ancient turned toward me in acknowledgement, as though the universe had finally recognized me as part of its architecture. Calavera saw the shift, felt it, and smiled. She lifted my hand, pressed it to her forehead. A gesture I had never seen her make. Never imagined Death would offer. "Welcome, Asha. Sister."
The word struck through me like sunlight breaking open a locked room. Belonging. Warm and absolute. "There is room for you among us. Not as servant. Not as sacrifice. Not as vessel." Her fingers squeezed mine. "As kin."
The marigold crown dissolved into golden mist, sinking into my skin like starlight. The ritual completed itself in a way I didn't have to understand. Calavera stepped back, the shadows around her glowing with soft reverence. "You don't have to bury her," Calavera said. "Only the grief that says you lost her."
I looked down. The girl was still there in the water. So was the goddess. For the first time, neither felt like a contradiction.