deep in a lake

The man who unstitched me was very honest about what he wanted. There was no false modesty in his answer, and when he answered a question, it was clear and direct. There was no game with him. I liked him for that. But when I asked him why he wanted sons to inherit his legacy, he never gave me a satisfying answer. He would go on about tradition, about rights of succession, about strong bodies versus weak, but if I were to press him on matters of tradition, or strength—if I reminded him that I was a god, and that with my power I could help him change tradition, and give him a child who was strong regardless of how they presented to the world, he would become testy, and ask why I needled him with such pointless questions. I told him I asked him this because my time as a human woman had been a pleasurable one, and the other women I met and spent time with seemed as capable as any man their equal. But this had little impact on him; always the man would find a way to remove himself from the conversation without engaging with me.”

What were they wrong about? you asked.

She shrugged.

“Dances of such strange magicks,” your lola said. “It was the people’s magick. But as the reach of the Throne grew, and the ownership of the power was decided, dancing slowly lost its favor, relegated to the stale corners of tradition. It was dueling that became the way to express oneself…”