𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝕳𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘

Chapter 1

This is a vile thing to do.

Good morality's voice tries to warn Celine. Tries to remind her that no deity of the Tuatha Dé Danann would harm an innocent soul. But caution can't be heard over the screeches tearing through the night.

When the war was won, she should have celebrated with the other gods - danced across the battlefield to return to utopia, the Otherworld. However, there she was, screaming grievously in a cave by a corpse who used to be a friend a lover hers.

In the little clarity that heartbreak allowed, Celine realized that the nearest male fomorian body had been a dirty secret and father of an even dirtier one; the patterned newborn that dared to hold an uncanny resemblance to Mi-Yeong.

If the world weren't crumbling and crushing Celine's soul beneath the debris, she would have known better. She would have done better.

But it was and she didn't.

Wailing in blind rage, she flings the monstrous infant a godly distance. Away from the cradle of dead arms - the parents killed by both fomorians for their treachery after found hiding from the battle.

If Celine could hear anything other than her hoarse howls, she would have heard the splash and saved the baby - mortified that she caused the need for a baby be saved.

But she couldn't so she didn't.

Chapter 2

"Why is this happening mother?"

Zoey asked that question a lot. She was a curious selkie pup, even for the mundane events. Her little brain was a machine fuelled by information and only outputted more interest.

That hunger for knowledge was usually brushed off as an exasperating nosiness. However, this time, her mother finds herself also wanting to know.

Bemused, Min stares in disbelief.

Moments ago, a fomorian baby girl had crashed into the peaceful ocean like a meteorite. Before any surrounding beings could help, aquatic draíocht intervened. Engulfing the child by rushing bubbles until familiar blubber could be seen, albeit covered in sparkling patterns.

Clapping her flippers and spinning, Zoey suddenly answers her own question with a squeal of excitement.

"She's becoming one of us!"

Chapter 3

"Oh damnit, this is where I die, isn't it?" No one answers Mira but she takes the eery humming as a vehement confirmation.

Officially, she has gone insane. A melodic call rang in her ears constantly but it got muffled beneath booming verbal abuse and comfort's sterile absence. When she finally snapped and ran away, she madly ran towards the music. That impulsive flight landed Mira seventeen hours away from -home- -jail- -hell- Korea.

Standing alone within an Irish forest, she squints distrustfully at the glowing rings of a tree stump. No luggage, no more money, not even a clue. Internally, she questions if she'd insanely accepted an invitation to her own magical execution and arrived completely unprepared.

But as she gingerly steps onto the otherworldly platform, this feels right.

The right feeling becomes euphoria when Mira's stiff feet are suddenly treading warm water. Feeling breathless despite the bubble that encased her head acting as an oxygen tank, she floats weightlessly in a vivid sea.

Two humanoid seals dance around Mira - one freckled and one patterned, both beautiful.

If Mira could do anything other than harmonize with their siren song, she would muse that "Maybe I was killed and this is heaven".

But she couldn't so she didn't.

She just grins as two hands pull her out of the sea and onto a kaleidoscopic land that already felt how she'd always dreamed a home would.

The Afrocate embodies the counterproductive impression that Black women are superior, powerful, flawless and brave warriors for the greater good.

It's an expectation that dismisses the fact that black women are normal people who deserve to have normal people difficulties, feelings and lives without fighting for it.

This isn't to say that black women can't be powerful or brave but it's against the idea that we are inherently a force opposing evil. That we are everyone's bodyguards. That we aren't regular folk who are under constant threat and are exhausted by having to fight for everyone against everyone.

The Afrocate isn't even known by her real, personal name because she's just seen as a the Black girlboss.

During a march, the Afrocate collapses and breaks down, finally at her maximum.

I'm struggling with what happens after that. People reach out but what race are they and what do they say? I'm black myself but I'm also young so I want more perspective.

Originally, I was thinking a white woman apologises for her ignorant, misplaced support and promises to actually educate herself instead of expecting the Afrocate to act like her tireless teacher. But I'm unsure if that's too much white saviour vibes.

Then I wondered if another woc would be better. Relating her own experience, her own suffering, but acknowledging that she'd been using the Afrocate as a shield.

I know the obvious thought seems other Black women but the point is we already know all this, we know that we're the Afrocate and all the pain that comes with it. It's not our lesson to learn or to teach.

Additionally, I'm wondering if I should fit men into this? I'm very much against the way many white feminists completely disregard the struggles of non white men. But the story is a bout the struggles of being both Black AND a woman - something only we can truly understand. So, any ideas where there place is in all this?

Oh yeah, it'd end simply with someone asking "What's your name?" "Lelise." because she's finally being seen as herself, not a black woman, not the Afrocate, not the hero or anything else, just herself.

Anyway, input from anyone would be appreciated! Obviously looking for the opinions of black women, then poc but also open to hearing white people's thoughts on this.