𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 |

78 | 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧

It's in times like these where I understand Desmond, to the point of not wanting to get in the machine, the memories becoming too uncomfortable to bear. But I have to hold on, just a bit longer.

The time on the clock reads 8:13am as I sit in the Animus, Rebecca's sleepy figure sitting in the chair with a huge coffee cup. I requested her to meet me here earlier to delve into more memories in one day, the female fighting me for it but stopping quickly when I told her I would take all her coffee and chugging it in the ocean, the woman not liking it one bit.

"How many do you want to go for?." I sit back and place the monitor cables on my chest, having memorized the routine.

"Three, at least." She sighs as she side eyes me, discomfort in her stance.

"He won't like this, you know?." I settle back, ignoring the female as she starts up a new sequence.

"Okay, Jesus.. starting up Memory 5, Sequence 2. God help me." Is the last thing I hear as the world around me fades, a new scenery coming up.

The grass under my feet is starting to discolor into a lifeless yellow, the sun burning the pastures as the snow that coated our land vanishes to never be seen again. Trees are starting to dry up, their barks becoming easily breakable as water is not present any longer under the ground.

I look away after the sight, trying to pass this drought as temporary as I round the corner of a market stall, the murky forest behind me becoming more like a playground of horror rather than the beautiful landmark it was fourteen years ago.

A stampede of birds, more specifically ravens, start to caw loudly, a few by passers looking up at the animals and cowearring away, not being used to this terrible time we're living in. The old stall vendor comes close to me, his markings pulsating in a strange way, tiredness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Goddess. We have no flowers available, and no fruits to offer other than these Apples." I look down at the fruits, these ones going putrid. My heart clenches as his face holds fright.

"It is quite alright. But what is going on? I understand drought gives us limited options, but for the food to stop growing.." He shrugs as he cleans his forehead, beads of sweat going down ferociously.

"I'm not sure, Demeter doesn't give us any explanations other than 'he doesn't know'. Last we farmers saw him was a week and a half ago." I nod and leave the man alone, wondering why did my grandfather stopped attending the crops.

I walk around more, the heat finally going into my system and making me feel nauseous. An arm catches me as I loose balance momentarily, the person making me walk off quickly beside them.

We arrive at a shade under the remnants of a dying tree and the figure lays me down on the gourd, back to the bark. Liquid of some kind touches my tongue, making me swallow quickly to regain strength.

This is just it, a Goddess needing help to stay upright, what a joke.

The burning sensation in my esophagus makes me regain my senses quickly, opening my eyes to the best of my ability and focusing on the person who helped me.

"Don't die on me yet, Little Lamb." The nickname is enough for me to draw back, strength slowly returning to me as their identity clicks.

"What in Tartarus are you doing here, malàka?." He scoffs as he watches me stand clumsily.

"Obviously, helping you survive a bit longer. You're welcome." I look at him as I focus my vision, his older traits not making him look bad.

His silver skin still has this glow to it, markings making his apparent muscles stand out. His face has aged quite a bit and his hair has been cut down to one side, a rough short beard adorns his face.

He brings up a bottle again and gets it closer to my face, the smell from within making me draw back and look at him with disdain.

"What? As if you haven't had alcohol before." The same whiff comes from his breath as he gets on his knees, the man taking in the swig I just refused.

"Are—are you drunk?." He chuckles with the bottle in this mouth, a pop resonating as he lets it go, spilling the last of the contents inside.

"Never too late for that as of recently." I sit back, not wanting to be close to him.

"Because everything is going downhill. The wife is too clingy for my liking, the offsprings don't look at me.. Aletheia can't leave home. Just.. perfection." He uses magic to conjure another bottle, the man opening it quickly and chugging it too.

"You're.. married?." I can't help but feel a nag of hurt in my chest at knowing he already made a family of his own without me.

He hums and lets a string of alcohol run down the side of his mouth. A tired expression on his face.

"And the news running around lately. All Olympus and Asgard.. and the rest are talking of a marriage coming soon." I look at him as he stares intendedly at the bottle, drunken mind getting lost on his emotions.

"You were there, I do not know why you are acting like this. I saw you." I think back to the set of eyes I caught lurking back in Asgard a few weeks back. He scoffs and drinks more, a malevolent look overtaking him.

"What I saw that day, was my woman being handed off to a lunatic, good for nothing god." I stand as I start to feel uncomfortable by his words. He grabs my hand as he stands and turns me around, pinning me behind the tree, out of sight from everyone.

"At least Týr is a good man who values my interests and words. Not only that, he is the God of Justice, he is bound to be a man of honor." He grabs my face as nothing but good words come from me in favor of Týr.

"What's Justice against Mischief, I wonder? What fun does that man do with you? He prances around all day in meetings and trials, leaving you home to wait at his mercy. While I would take you with me everywhere, I took you from home and brought the moon down with your screams." He comes closer and grinds his crotch against mine, a long forgotten fire erupting within me.

"I know you desire me still, Lamb. All these years were not able to dwindle that flame. And no man, no family will stand in what you want, will they? Because you always get what you want, and I know you want me." He drops the bottle and traps me against the tree, face coming closer to mine to whee I can feel his drunken breath.

"Y—you are drunk. And you h—have a family. I am not a toy you can just toss around." My emotions have been played with and they're resurfacing, the choice for the man in front of me never having changed despite the years.

"You're mine, you always have been. Family means nothing if they don't value you, Lamb. They don't value me, and they sure as Hel don't value you. Your mother threw you aside when you got with Týr, your father is more than happy to not have you at home any longer, your brothers can't even look at you without feeling repulse, they know that you're better than them and they threw you aside, you think he'll be any different?." His hand in my face goes to the back of my head, his brown eyes glistening with alcohol and lust.

"And just like old times, no one needs to know." He kisses me before I'm able to articulate, the feeling of his lips long being forgotten and desired.

He gently bites my lip, drunken eyes having a hint of.. love?.

"I love you, my Lamb. My beautiful, loving Goddess. In this and any other life, know I will always love you." My chest constricts with a pang of happiness at his words, fueling me to kiss him passionately.

I hook my arms around his neck, bringing a leg up to his waist which he so graciously grabs, moving his hand back and gripping my behind like the first time.

I know he's playing with me, a voice in the back of my head screams it so. But I'm finally kissing those lips I adored once, those lips I chose to follow from the sound of his voice to the sound of his labored breaths as we made love under the cold moon.

No matter how much time passes, its redundantly clear..

I choose him.

Not even the covers of the decaying trees are able to hide the scene from a pair of deep blue eyes, their adultery being heavily observed from a distance. The figure inspects the acts being played, sighing heavily and turning back, the smile of a snake growing with each step.