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Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing 3

Pairing: Lamb x Narinder/The One Who Waits

Chapter: Chapter 3 | My darling’s fear

Chapter Summary: With open arms, Narinder is accepted into Lamb’s cult. After spending centuries chained up, she’s scared and overwhelmed with her mortal body, as well as full of rage and betrayal. Although she won’t admit it, she is scared of Lamb, to an extent. She struggles to acclimate with Lamb’s flock.

Content Warnings: panic attacks, sensory overload, violence, love-bombing, manipulation, ignoring boundaries

Word Count: 7k

Author’s Note: credit to @maibel-mai for inspiring me to make this fic & giving me permission to post this! this fic is also cross-posted on AO3

Narinder felt herself being transported by the crown. It was magic she was all too familiar with. It was her former magic, which stung her pride. How dare Lamb so easily use the knowledge she taught them against her. She was a God no more. With little grace, she was now in Lamb’s cult, sitting down on a stone. Her stress was high and she was one sudden movement away from attacking. It felt like she was slammed down to the ground with the way her head hurt. There was a cracking within in her skull that muddled her thoughts. Reduced to a mortal with little Godly powers, her mind was weak to the cult’s indoctrination. Although she wasn’t as weak-minded as Lamb’s typical followers, it still wormed its way into her thoughts. Loyalty coiled up inside of her, worming its way between her ribs, going past her lungs, and wrapping itself coldly around her heart. The feeling made her sick. Her betrayal and anger towards Lamb was too strong. She didn’t want it to be reduced to this; she wouldn’t let it.

Everything hurt. Her body was sore and bruised. She had cuts and ichor dripped down from her face, an aftermath from her Eldritch form. Her ribs were aching. The sky was too bright and everything was too colorful. The cult was too loud, bustling with joy and happy to see a new member, proud of the traitor. Narinder was quickly becoming overstimulated from the scenery. Her lungs felt tight and she realized she had to breathe. Lamb approached her and a hiss left her throat. Her fur continued to raise, her tail puffy and pointed straight up. Her claws were bared.

“Greetings, my faithful. Welcome to the cult,” Lamb spoke sweetly. The tight coil of rage that was forming deep in her chest, making her blood boil and bubble, quickly came undone. Narinder snapped. She was quick to bring herself up from the ground, jumping on top of Lamb.

Lamb’s head hit the ground hard and they let out a surprised gasp, dirt from the ground getting into their eyes. The sound of their glorious leader in distress alerted their cult. Followers were quick to rush over, dropping their wood and gardening tools to aid the sheep. It was too late, for Narinder was already doing damage. Her claws wiggled their way underneath their collar, the bell jingling as a hand pressed down on their windpipe firmly. This collar formally bonded Lamb to her, a mark of ownership and later, friendship, and a blossoming romance. Now, Narinder wanted to destroy the collar and snap their neck. Her eyes narrowed, as her free hand was holding Lamb’s hands above their head. She pinned them to the ground with her knee harshly digging into their thigh. Lamb wiggled around, squirming and struggling to break from her grasp. Despite her mortal form, she was still very strong. Lamb’s lungs were beginning to burn slightly and they let out choked whines. She knew she couldn’t kill them or harm them extremely. That wasn’t the point. She was betrayed by someone she loved. She still loved them even now, which disgusted her. Narinder hated herself for it. It made her feel gross. She wanted to cut their pretty head from their neck and yet, also cry into Lamb’s arms. The point of her tantrum was to expel her complicated feelings, to show Lamb the damage they’d done to her psyche. Tears of frustration and fear were beginning to form in her eyes, ichor blocking her vision. Why wasn’t Lamb fighting back? They could get out of her grasp with a bit of resistance. They weren’t hurting her now, though they were fine with killing her minutes ago. She didn’t need their mercy.

Although she resisted at first, Narinder let herself be forced off of Lamb. It took three followers to do so. Coughing and rubbing their throat soothingly, Lamb caught their breath. She was so close to them and it made them happy. Lamb still felt upset, their delusions faltering, though that didn’t stop their idolization of her. Against their flock’s protest, they stepped closer to her.

“Did you get it all out of your system?” they mocked, teasing. They smiled at her, their pointer finger raising her chin up. She let out a hiss in response, moving her body away. “You’ll be living in Ratau’s old living quarters,” they said, quickly moving on as they walked past her. Ratau often praised Lamb for being the benevolent cult leader she could never be. Although Lamb cared not for her, they pretended to. She made them believe they were a good person. That’s all they really wanted, deep down. To not be seen as the monster they truly were when their facade wasn’t being displayed. Ratau’s hut was no longer in use, as she was getting older with time. The travel to Lamb’s cult was tiresome on her pathetic and frail body. Lamb was silently waiting for the old woman to wither away.

It pissed Narinder off, how they were so quick to brush off her attack. Despite this, she followed them further into the compounds to her new house. Followers rushed over to Lamb, asking if they were okay, and they only stared blankly at them back. Lamb didn’t like their special moments with their love being interrupted. It wasn’t usual for them to ignore their followers, though their flock took the hint and retreated. Lamb’s hand rested at the middle of Narinder’s back, hurrying her along. Their touch burned underneath her clothes. Much like when Lamb was resurrected, Narinder had new clothes. It was the standard, slightly frayed and raggedy red tunic all new victims wore. With mocking theatrics, Lamb dipped down, bowing, as they opened the door.

“The furniture is a bit old, though I could get you newer things, if you’d like? Or would you prefer to sleep in my room, my Lord?” That annoying smile was on their face again as Lamb straightened their back. Narinder kissed her teeth, sighing. Her hand pressed against Lamb’s face, pushing them back, annoyed. The thought of sleeping in their bed appealed to her slightly, but she banished the thought quickly. Why leave herself vulnerable to another attack, just for a few moments of comfort?

“Cease,” she demanded, walking past them. She shut the door behind her harshly. She needed time away from them; from everything. Nari quickly closed all the curtains, wanting the room as dark as possible. After this, she laid down on the bed. It had been centuries since she felt the comfort of proper furniture. In her realm, she’d softly stroke Lamb’s wool. It was so soft and warm. Some lambs were killed for their wool when they were rare, close to extinction; it was a luxury then. Narinder found it cruel then, as they could just be sheared, though she wished to do the same to her usurper now. She sighed deeply, wishing Lamb had finished the job. Anything would’ve been better than this, for her to be left in a weakened form with too many feelings to make sense of anything.

Nari was full of rage when her siblings betrayed her. Cowardly things, they feared her power. When Shamura indulged Narinder in controlling life as well as death, it all came to a tipping point. Her siblings argued that mere, foolish mortals shouldn’t be resurrected. They were hypocrites. How was it different, when they revived their lovers, their disciples, or their best workers? The Bishops offered peace, knowledge, strength, and food. Though, how could those compare to Narinder’s gift of life? Her siblings feared she’d let them grow weak, obsolete, as many Gods were rendered before them. Narinder felt hurt by their fear. They were family, siblings, who ascended together. After their struggles of becoming Gods together, of forming cults, of becoming powerful, they still doubted her loyalty to them. Nari was more hurt by them thinking they meant so little to her, than she was hurt by their entrapment of her. Although the Bishops refused to acknowledge it, brushing their mistakes all under a rug, Narinder was the victim. They hurt their sister, the mighty vessel controlling life and death. And, now, Lamb had done the same. Her trust in others was cracking.

A familiar sinking formed in her chest. She clutched her tunic, her claws scratching against her stomach through her clothes. Narinder had planned on courting and proposing to Lamb after she’d been freed. Nari found herself often waiting for their death, just for brief visits. She had to maintain her image of the reaper, though she let it slip around Lamb. Their laugh, their smile, the thoughtful gifts. She’d be a fool to think Lamb didn’t reciprocate her feelings. Bittersweet memories fought their way from the back of her head, although she tried hard not to dwell on it.

Once, Lamb had died by their own blade, their dagger cleanly hitting their heart. Narinder felt bad requesting them to die for her, them usually opting for death by heretics, and the sight made her body jump. Such endless devotion, to pause their fickle life just to visit their God. It surprised her. When Lamb said they’d visit, talking to her through the crown, that wasn’t what she expected. Despite Lamb dying thousands of times and their pain tolerance growing, it still had to hurt. The resistance of flesh, scraping across the ribs, piercing their lungs, dragging into their heart. Narinder’s ears turned down at the choked gasp of pain Lamb let out, as well as their coughing, their injured lung quickly filling with blood. They fell into her realm quickly. Blood staining Lamb’s teeth, mouth, and pretty white wool quickly vanished.

“Lamb,” Narinder started, “although death is of little consequence to you, it seems you come to me too willingly.” Narinder’s face was covered by her veil, though her face would reveal her flattery. She smiled a little.

“Forgive me, my Lord, for my bluntness. I think you enable it, as well. Last week, did you not ask for my company?” Lamb joked, smiling up at their darling. “Given your predicament, I don’t think you’re a rather busy God.” She enjoyed their banter.

Narinder’s chains clinked loudly as she leaned down. As she was tall, Lamb’s full height not even reaching her ankles, Nari often hunched down to speak to her vessel better. “Watch your tongue, my Lamb,” she warned. Her raspy voice seemed dark with danger, though there was a lightness of joking Lamb sensed. It was a side of her she only rarely showed to the kits. Her hand came down to Lamb, her claws reaching between the ground and their feet to carefully lift them up. Now in her palm, Narinder brought them closer to her face. “It’s not often I humor my vessels the way I do with you. Consider yourself special.”

Narinder’s mind reading was never voluntary, though she grew used to it eventually. She learned to tune it out, bored with the mindless hum of her followers. Yet now, she keenly listened for Lamb’s thoughts. It was almost as if Lamb’s heart was trying to break from their ribcage, with the way their heart was beating. Hells below, who do I pray to? they thought. Narinder hummed softly as Lamb thought of petting her. It was sweet. Hesitantly, Lamb stepped closer, near the edge of her palm. Their fingers shook as they lifted up her dark veil slowly, letting the fabric drape over them. Nari’s eyes were wide. Laughing a little, Lamb’s hand softly brushed against their God’s dark fur, petting her, brushing against her sensitive, white whiskers. Narinder would’ve found this to be patronizing with anyone else, cutting their hands of quickly. Lamb wasn’t aware that letting them touch her whiskers was a sign of trust; Narinder wished they knew. Maintaining eye contact, there was such admiration in Lamb’s eyes. They were so close to their God and if Lamb wished to kiss her, she’d might let them.

Narinder willed herself to stop thinking about it. Her thoughts were rapid as she fought off the phantom sensations of their hands on her fur. Warmth bloomed in her chest. And then, heartache. If Lamb had just listened and trusted her, this wouldn’t have happened. Deep down, past the layers of betrayal and anger and hate and fear, Narinder still held feelings for them. She wanted to shut off all her emotions. How could she still love someone who hurt her so bad? Who hurt the kits, who tried again and again to kill her, who trapped her in this miserable form?

Even when they all reached ascension, Narinder was still far bigger than her siblings. She was used to towering over the other Gods, the kits, her followers, and especially Lamb. Nari was accustomed with being able to hold Lamb in her palm, to gently carry them or, now, to squish them like a bug. This body was much smaller and weaker. The discomfort Narinder felt in battle lingered, phantom pains carrying over in her new state, still battered and bruised. Her physical pain and mental anguish all swirled around in her senses, muddling her head. She was now a mortal with Godly feelings and it rendered her scared and overstimulated in her bed. Her body wasn’t used to breathing or blinking. Narinder could feel her tongue pressing against her teeth, her fur attached to her skin, her bones within her body. She felt everything too quickly. Trying to ground herself, Narinder released her grip on her clothes and held her arms up slightly. There was a burning sensation in her body, trickling from her spine into her fingertips, throbbing in her brain. Too much stimulation at once. The sensory deprived God, trapped for centuries, was again overwhelmed with the new world. Her fur rose and her tail puffed up. She wanted to claw the skin off her face. Her face and neck was burning and she wanted to throw up. Everything was too hot and too much.

Tears formed in her eyes. Narinder felt embarrassed, the God of death reduced to a panic attack by sensory issues. She closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe. In and out, in and out, despite the actions feeling foreign. It was uncomfortable. Nari brought her hands to her face, trying to soothe herself, but her fur felt like the wrong texture. It made her feel gross again. The seconds of calm she was slowly achieving all reverted back to panic and disgust. Her stomach hurt and she genuinely wondered if she would throw up. The battle, attacking Lamb, them touching her, this new body, this new realm; it all set her off. They all slowly tipped her towards the edge until, in the privacy of her room, she let herself cry. She wrapped her arms around herself gingerly, her claws digging into her fur, as ichor dripped down her eyes and mouth. Narinder’s skin felt too tight, too snug against her muscles. Despite the current discomfort of touching anything, she still wished to maul Lamb’s face off. Tears, of pain and fear and anger and heartache, mixed with ichor. Her new tunic was beginning to catch wet, dark splotches. Narinder felt defeated and pathetic, now fearful of her vessel. She hoped she’d been emotionally drained enough from her panic attack and crying that she’d fall asleep.

⸻

Ascension had started.

Lamb kissed their teeth, disgusted and upset. They looked in the mirror, their fingers in their mouth, pulling it open. When they ran their tongue over their teeth, they found new ones forming, pressing out of their gums. Fangs. They figured they could whittle their fangs down, but the real issue was their horns. Their horns, once smaller and cute, were now growing, curved and upturned. They were sharp and jutted out of their head. The fangs and horns reflected Lamb’s true, monstrous self and it made their heart sink. All Lamb wanted was to be seen as a good person, to be acknowledged as selfless for all they did for their God’s cause, to be loved by her. They wanted their happy ending that they were robbed of so many centuries ago. They couldn’t control how Godhood changed them, though they wanted it to stop. Their emotions were changing, too. It was like they were forced back into their primal state of fear from being hunted, all those centuries ago. Lamb’s thoughts and feelings were amplified.

A formal woodworker turned traumatized kid, barely twenty-one when killed, moved place to place to prolong the inevitable. They remember coming back from the woods, a mass of trees by their village. Lamb had taken after their father, often carrying wood and handling it for others. Logs in hand, sweaty from their endeavors, they spotted their village burning late into the day. The sun was setting and the sky was painted oranges and pinks. Although the memories were muddy now, Lamb remembered dropping their work and rushing to their house. Just earlier, they had said bye to them. They hadn’t even been gone for a full twenty-four hours yet. They remembered them all eating dinner together yesterday, trying to stay calm despite the hunting plaguing their species. Why did Lamb go to work that day? Maybe they could’ve prevented it. No, they were too weak then. They didn’t even get to say “I love you” one last time. They felt like vomiting, seeing their family’s corpses there. Blood and burnt wood and pillaged belongings flooded their vision. Although it tore them up emotionally, they had to survive. For them. For a few weeks, they hid with others. At first, they were desperate to fill that hole left from their family’s death. After seeing others meet a similar fate, they learned not to become attached. Lamb’s brain was high-wired then, strung up tight, and anxious. Their death would come any day now. Soon, they’d be found. They couldn’t hide forever. Lamb was caught when running. Their legs were aching and their lungs were burning. Every part of them screamed for a break. A break, they got, when they tripped, landing on their stomach. Lamb was grabbed and dragged by the ankle. Scrambling to protect themselves, their hands clawed at the ground. Dirt and mud got under their nails as they were forced to move. Lamb gripped a rock and as they were flipped onto their back, they raised the rock to hit their attacker in the head. However, they hesitated, not used to violence, and their chance was up.

Ascension had made their feelings so much more intense. They were experiencing such big emotions for a body that was so small. The urges and fears Lamb had kept a tight lid on were now bursting. They felt like they were losing their mind, in fight or flight mode. They pressed their palms to their temples, their head aching, and tears of pain and exhaustion pricked up. Lowering their hands, they noticed black liquid staining their fingers. Ichor. That was a new sight and it unsettled them. Lamb’s body and mind ached. All they wanted was to lay down and let these growing pains die down. They were paranoid and terrified to kill someone innocent due to their stressed state. However, their flock needed them. Wiping the ichor away, they moved away from their mirror, to their chest. Their night tunics, as well as sheets, were inside. New, clean, black sheets were ruffled out of the chest. Fall would die down soon and the world would move onto winter. Their beloved would need this, they thought, as they deposited the blankets into the crown’s storage.

Lamb had hoped to make a quick trip to Narinder’s hut before people started asking questions. It was around time for people to wind down from work and start eating, anyways. They realized they’d have to make a speech about Narinder soon. Her earliest and oldest follower, Nana, would soon recognize who she really was. Lamb pushed the thought away as they headed to Ratau’s old hut. They were thankful that no one disturbed them. Lamb knocked softly, though Narinder’s sensitive hearing woke her.

“My Lord, I’ve brought you something. It’s not a peace offering item, per se,” Lamb rambled, “though, if you’d like it to be that way, it can be,” they laughed softly. Lamb thought about their next words carefully. Their heart raced happily when they heard movement inside, Narinder dragging herself near the door. Narinder hummed, barely audibly. Her throat was sore, her eyes were puffy, and her head hurt. She wanted Lamb to leave as soon as possible. “I know you usually run cold, so I thought extra blankets couldn’t hurt.” Lamb’s voice was awkward and light. They felt guilt sinking into their consciousness, careful not to slip and call her Narinder like they did earlier. They no longer felt worthy of calling her that name. The sound of their nervousness and forced laughs stirred up Narinder’s affection for them. It was a soft flame, barely holding on. She put it out as quickly as it came. Narinder heard Lamb softly place the blankets down, then leave.

Lamb was burdened to realize ascension made their feelings for Narinder more intense, as well. The next day, they woke up with ichor pooling out of their mouth and seeping from their horns. Huffing, they wiped it away with their morning tunic. Lamb made themselves presentable, getting ready to start the day. They stopped momentarily to look at their mirror’s reflection. The sight continued to upset them so they quickly turned away. Before their flock would gather for the morning sermon, Lamb was quick to visit Narinder. Lamb wondered how she was holding up today.

“Good morning, my Lord,” Lamb started. Their voice was soft, full of affection and sorrow, “I brought you some fruit. Hopefully they’re to your liking.”

Narinder was at the other side of the door. Her claws softly and slowly dragged down the door. Being called that title wasn’t exactly fitting anymore. Lamb calling her Narinder was personal and she missed it, somewhat. Their voice saying her name always made her happy. She missed that intimacy with them. Her siblings had fallen and the only one who knew it was them. It was their special, shared word. She refused to ask them to address her that way yet. Not when she was still mad and scared. She would not kneel to such foolish, mortal feelings such as love.

They fell into a quick routine of doing this. Lamb would bring her gifts early in the morning, rambling with their soft, apologetic voice that sickened her ears. She’d be at the other side of the door, listening. She’d daydream of killing them and taking back her crown. The gifts wouldn’t be moved. Narinder thought of shredding the blankets or smashing the fruit up, but decided against it. She liked these daily visits. She didn’t want them to be discouraged. It helped ground her into this new world. Her trust for them was still broken, though it was the only piece of familiarity she had. Nari wouldn’t admit it, though she was a bit weak to these gestures. Lamb wasn’t aware of this, of how each gift, each talk, each visit slowly chipped away at her resolve. Narinder wasn’t sure if this was smothering but the part of her that still loved them made her ignore it. She was so starved for familiarity and closeness with others after her siblings betrayal that Lamb had made her fall for them. Although Narinder didn’t mind their hyper and eager feelings for her, her love for them was different; it was built off of genuine attraction, not idolization like Lamb’s. Their romantic feelings now were based off of fear, betrayal, obsession, and loneliness. It was the perfect concoction to make Narinder truly be theirs.

“It took me a few days to have made, but I have a special gift for you,” Lamb spoke softly, at her door in the morning again. Narinder’s breath caught in her throat. The day before, Lamb hadn’t visited her, busy with fishing at Pilgrim’s passage. She was relieved at first but quickly realized she missed them. “I noticed you leave my gifts at the door, which is fine,” they stammered, reassuring her and clarifying for themselves. Lamb sighed before continuing, “but this one is a bit more personal.” By the way their voice sounded, it was like Lamb was confessing to their crush. Well, they were doing that, in a way. Narinder moved her head to the side slightly, keenly listening. She wasn’t sure if it was due to her curiosity or if it was from her missing her lamb, but she opened the door slightly. When Nari peaked out of the door, Lamb felt their heart race. It had been days without seeing her or even hearing her voce. They were happy they weren’t being attacked on sight again. They eagerly shoved the gift towards her. It was too bright outside for the feline’s liking, but she shielded her eyes with one hand and opened the door more with the other as she stepped outside.

Lamb gingerly grabbed one of Narinder’s hands, their fingers brushing against her palm as they coaxed her hand open. The soft sensation made Narinder shiver slightly. She wasn’t sure if she loved or hated it. The gift now in her reach, the cat held it in two hands. It was a neatly folded white robe, with a red stripe down the middle and frayed ends. It was Narinder’s former robes she wore as a God. There was also a diaphanous, black fabric that laid on top of it: a veil. The sight of it made her heart throb. Lamb smiled up at her softly, expectantly. “Do you like it?” Lamb asked. It was in a breathy, nervous tone that made them sound awkward; Narinder loved it.

“Yes,” she mumbled. Lamb got no thanks as she quickly shut the door behind her; it was rather sudden. Lamb pouted at the sight, but quickly bounced back into their cult leader mask. This was progress. She finally accepted one of their gifts, let them touch her, she went outside, and she spoke to them! At the other side of the door, Narinder gripped her chest tightly, her heart pounding excitedly. Blush bloomed over her cheeks and she swallowed nervously. Despite it all, she still loved her usurper.

Although she tried to act indifferent, the gift meant a lot to her. Experimentally, she put the robe on over her tunic. Her room was always dark, so she couldn’t tell what she looked like, but she felt comforted. There was a hood with holes in it for her ears, as well as a slit for her tail. It also smelt like the Lamb, of grass and dirt and flowers. She found herself sniffing it slightly, laying down on her bed. Narinder had a hard time sleeping in this form, as Gods didn’t require sleep. She drank little water and forgot to rest or eat. The familiar clothing and the smell of her beloved calmed her enough to finally get an appropriate amount of sleep.

⸻

Narinder woke up early the next morning due to passing out too soon the night before. Her fur stuck up and she felt more tired than she did yesterday. She took her time cleaning himself, licking the back of her paw to smooth out her face fur and fix her flipped-inward ears. She continued to do so with the rest of her body before she felt clean and satisfied. The black cat soon realized Lamb was late today. No knocking, no gifts, no sweet words that made her sick. Was Lamb busy again? Surely, their former God who gave them life again was more important than their trivial cult duties. Huffing, Narinder smoothed out her robes. She got out of bed and reached to open the door. She was a bit anxious, but she swallowed her nerves as she stepped outside. It was around 5:30 AM, by the way the moon was positioned. The cult grounds was quiet and still, with the only light coming from the kitchen. Her head tilted a bit at the sight. How curious. She wasn’t as tall as she used to be, but her height was still respectable now. Her long legs made the walk further into the cult grounds much easier. She was met with the sight of Lamb and a rabbit, a light purple hare with a pink flower pinned by her ear, preparing a dish. Lamb had a soft smile on their face as the rabbit spoke, cutting up food. By the looks and smell of it, it was a meal consisting of different fish. It made Nari’s pupils widen; it smelt good.

Narinder took in her thoughts, full of admiration and praise for the sheep. They seemed very close. It grossed her out. A specific thought took hold in her brain: could our mighty leader ever fall for me? It set her off. Narinder quickly entered the kitchen, much to Lamb’s and their helper’s surprise. She seemed a bit uneasy, given her appearance. Hooded robe, tall, dark fur, red eyes. However, she didn’t seem very shocked; just intimidated.

“My Lord, what are you doing here?” Lamb questioned. They were very surprised, but happy to see her. Narinder’s jaw locked tightly.

“Your flock knows?” she hissed, seething. The rabbit perked up.

“Only me, as of right now,” she answered.

“Nana,” Lamb warned, their hand on her shoulder. They didn’t want her to get attacked, too. They still had need of her. Nari’s eyes narrowed at the contact. Regardless, she continued.

“I was the first,” Nana elaborated, revealing the golden skull necklace from under her tunic. No wonder they were so close; they’ve been together for centuries. But Narinder was still closer to them. Lamb wouldn’t die just to see her, or give her gifts, or flirt with her. They’d never show their real personality of Lamb, just Lamb, not the cult leader. Never to her, never to anyone else; only her. She took pride in this fact. She quickly tucked it back in her robes, placing the cooked, minced fish into a bowl. “A pleasure to finally meet you, my leader,” she greeted, passing the bowl to Lamb.

“Thanks, Nana,” Lamb spoke, forcing a slight smile on their face. Nana beamed with pride and lowered her head slightly, bowing. “We’ll take our leave now,” Lamb dismissed. They turned to walk away before Nana even had a chance to say goodbye. Her ears flopped down a bit, a little hurt. Narinder was met with the feeling of Lamb’s touch. It was now at the small of her back, lower than before. It made her skin crawl with slight disgust. They weren’t directing her back to her hut, but rather towards the temple. Narinder wondered if Lamb knew or cared how much their touch disgusted her, her tail swishing in annoyance. Once inside the temple, Lamb turned back to Nari, sparkles in their eyes as they smiled. She frowned in response. With the crown’s magic, Lamb revealed their room, showing off their powers. Such trivial magic. It was full of books, relics, tarot cards, string lights, candles, flowers, and crystals.

“Why did you take me here?” she asked, after taking in the sight of their room. Her senses were overwhelmed with the sight and smell of them. Her pulse quickened, mainly from love, though also fear. Lamb brought Narinder’s hood down, which made her hiss, her claws at Lamb’s arms. They made a soothing hush noise to calm her down. Her ears pulled to the back of her head, the tip of her tail hitting Lamb’s ankle as they removed her veil as well.

“I wanted to keep you company until today’s sermon,” Lamb answered. They moved over to their bed with soft red covers, patting the comforter to signal her to sit down as well. Narinder was scared to refuse them. She sat down with a considerable distance from Lamb, with Lamb offering the dish to her. “For you. I remember you liked when I put fish in your offering chest.” She considered it, eyeing the dish.

“Do you intend to poison or drug me, damned traitor?” the cat hissed. Lamb laughed.

“My Lord, of course not. I just figured you haven’t eaten since your arrival. I’d never tamper with your food!” Lamb silently took note of putting something in what she consumed. Hmm. Good idea. Sighing, Narinder took the food and slowly began to eat it. Squid, octopus, pufferfish, and swordfish; any cat would love it, including her. Although she’d been starving the past few days, she was careful to eat respectfully in front of them. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself. After chewing and swallowing a few bites, she spoke.

“Are you aware the rabbit fancies you?” she questioned.

Why did I say that? she wondered. Hells below, I get a gift once and I’m sweet on them again.

Lamb’s eyes gleamed, smiling brightly. They had that adoring look again, the one that confused Nari’s feelings. “Yes, my Lord, I know. Why, are you jealous?” Narinder wanted to kiss them so bad it made her look stupid.

“Yes,” Narinder confessed, “you’re my vessel, yet you let them get comfortable with you, too. Mere followers.” She spat out the words with venom, full of jealousy and disgust. Just because she was mad at them didn’t mean they could find another lover. She ate more fish to not feel so ashamed. Lamb shrugged. They desperately wanted to see more of this side of Narinder.

“Did you not do the same with me, my Lord?” inquired the sheep. She froze. Narinder wanted to hit them for comparing their relationship to that of them and their flock. They were so much more than that. Lamb’s knees now on the bed, they crawled a bit closer to Narinder, moving the bowl away haphazardly. The closeness made Narinder nauseous, yet also made her heart dance. Too close. “Holding me, letting me pet you, asking me to visit you . . .” Lamb moved closer, testing the waters. They were too close, “isn’t that right, Na-rin-der?” They enunciated each syllable and it drove her crazy. Her name, her real name, out of their pretty mouth. Their knees were touching hers. Any closer and they’d be in her lap, practically straddling her. The thought disgusted her. They were still too fucking close. “My beloved God, my darling, my soulmate,” Lamb teased. A burning feeling formed in her stomach, the feeling of fear and disgust. She liked this, but she was still mad at them. She couldn’t forget their betrayal and the fear she held with a few sweet words. Narinder was too scared to move, yet she loved the contact. She needed to shove them away. Why did Lamb like messing with her mind so much? “Don’t be jealous. I can fix that,” they cooed. Lamb’s hand raised as they moved back. Narinder was worried they’d choke her, they way she did to them a few days prior. She wanted their hand to cup her face, to soothe her, and help her make sense of her feelings. Narinder got none of those options. Reaching into the crown, Lamb produced a doll. It looked like Lamb. They rudely tossed it towards her, it falling into her lap.

“Why did you make this for me?”

“In case you miss me.” The way they said it seemed so sweet. It almost made Narinder forget that they’d just mocked her and freaked her out. She brought forward a claw, sinking into the neck of the doll. Lamb whined that she was killing the stuffed animal. “Anyways, are you done eating? It’s almost time for the sermon.” She’d lost her appetite. Sighing, she shoved the doll into her pocket. It smelled like them. It made her want to rip its head off. She nodded and reached up to put her hood back on. “No, you can’t! You’ll freak the cult out, like you did with Nana!” Lamb exclaimed, grabbing her wrist. Hearing her name again made her roll her eyes. They let go of her wrist and she found herself missing their touch.

“Okay. But one more thing.” Lamb turned to Narinder and froze as she grabbed them. One hand was on their shoulder and the other gripped their horn. Even though her touch was loving and delicate, the growing pains Lamb felt made them wince at this contact. Narinder thoroughly rubbed her cheek against Lamb’s. Her face brushed against their forehead, the hairline of their wool, against their nose, and down to their cheek again. Then, her head dipped lower to their jawline and their neck before she pulled away and let go. Lamb wasn’t sure what she was doing, wondering if she’d gone mad. She was suddenly very touchy. They loved it, but they were still surprised. Narinder’s scent was successfully on her Lamb. If Lamb would get in her bubble, then she’d do the same. Pleased, Narinder let Lamb lead them to the temple.

The bell rung throughout the grounds, followers quick to gather within the building. There was their mighty leader. They looked flushed with their wool a bit messy. Next to them at the alter was a tall black cat. To her dismay, no veil nor hood was permitted right now. Lamb’s palm pressed against their book of scriptures. It was Narinder’s native tongue that she could speak freely. For Lamb, it took them decades to do so, and even now their talk was slightly clunky. The book wouldn’t be needed for today. Lamb’s other hand gripped Narinder’s arm, pulling her closer to the altar. Once satisfied with this positioning, Lamb let their fingers brush against her. Being rather docile today, Narinder didn’t move away. Pushing their luck, Lamb locked pinkies with their God. She didn’t move.

“My leader,” one of Lamb’s disciples called out. His name was Cedar, a dog. He dared to speak. “Forgive me, though why is she here?” Lamb sighed.

“Well, my faithful, that’s what today’s sermon will be about,” Lamb responded. They nervously cleared their throat. “Some of my more observant or older followers may recognize this being . . . She’s The One Who Waits, our former God. The unholy one, Ruler of Death.” Gasps and murmurs were heard throughout the temple. Lamb’s hand rose in the air, then formed a fist to silence their flock. “You might ask ‘why is she here?’ Especially after attacking me?” They side-eyed her before continuing. “Well, because I’m the new God of Death. Unlike the Bishops of the Old Faith, I shan’t hold grudges or let myself give into my anger. Many of you are converts from other biomes, and I welcomed you with open arms. I’ll do the same with The One Who Waits, as I owe her my life. Although I have usurped her and you’ll now worship me, you will treat her with respect.” Lamb’s free hand rested on their chest, their heartbeat thumping against their chest. “If it weren’t for her, none of us would be here now, living comfortably. Be grateful in the face of divinity, as you’re all honored to be in her presence.”

Excessive praise, a grand display of their loyalty, too many compliments, and showing her off in front of all their flock. Lamb’s speech was embarrassing her. Narinder felt her face flush and was thankful her dark coat didn’t reveal it too much. She wished to be trapped again, just to get away from this. She was nervous but flattered. Lamb’s finger locked with hers held her there like an anchor.

“My Lord, what shall we call her?” another follower asked. They were referring to how “The One Who Waits” no longer suited her.

“Na -” she started. Lamb took full hold of her hand, interlocking their fingers and squeezing her hand. Despite her no longer being a God, her true name would stay unspoken. It was only for Lamb to say, no one else. Apparently, they didn’t like sharing. Lamb rolled their eyes at the question, quickly becoming annoyed.

“Hm, well, let me think . . .The Unchained One, Freedom, The Undead, The Freed One . . . Any of those are good,” Lamb interrupted her. It was a joke that only they found funny. Narinder thought carefully before speaking, ignoring their cruel humor.

“You may call me Fate,” the black cat said. Lamb nodded. The sermon was a bit awkward, with Narinder standing there, still holding their hand. Lamb had to come up with a new script, as they were no longer worshipping Narinder, but themselves. To tease Narinder, they stepped away from the altar and handed her the book at one point, inviting her to give the sermon instead. Narinder wanted to bang her head into the wall.

“ . . . Praise the Lamb, our faithful, for blessing us with shelter, food, and peace. Although strong, never merciless nor uncaring, thine leader only loving. May we be blessed by thou, Death.” The words came out strained, an awkward tone in Narinder’s voice. It was the monotonous speech Lamb used to give, though tweaked slightly. The flock didn’t seem to mind, though. They were more in shock to see her listen to Lamb.

“Praise be the Lamb,” they echoed. The sermon had ended and their followers began to leave the premises. Narinder’s social battery was officially drained for the day. She wanted to yell at Lamb for embarrassing her. She wanted to tell them she only went along with it because she chose to, that she was still in control, that despite their new title, Lamb still served her. The words dissolved in her throat when Lamb pet her softly. Gingerly grabbing her hand, Lamb pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Narinder hissed in response, quickly drawing her hand back. She was losing her patience.

“Good job, my devoted. Since you’re so sociable today, I expect you to be able to do chores tomorrow, as well as converse with others. Right?” Lamb said. It was more of a demand than a suggestion. Narinder’s ears went down, her tail whipping, unhappily.

“Yes, my Lamb,” she groaned. They smiled up at her.

Docile, obedient little thing.

“Good.”

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