The thing about the gods is this: they made the world, but they don't really know how.
That's a simplification, of course, but it's a good one. It's a tollbridge fiction โ you pay the price and it takes you somewhere interesting.
The toll is believing something that's technically a lie.
But once the tollโs paid, you begin to cross the river. And, before you know it, you find youโre walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the divine.
Take it from me: that's a good thing.
I remember when the lines were less blurry. When we kept the gods imprisoned in temples and palaces and heavens.
I was a shrine cat, in those days. On bright sunny days when the wind is heavy with pollen-laced memory, I can still taste the blood on my tongue.
There was blood everywhere in those days, so it was a good time to be a shrine cat. You just had to loiter by the channels cut into the sides of the altar and you'd never go hungry or without fusses.
The priests would try to fuss me, sometimes. Some of them thought they were cat people.
โOh sweet Suki,โ they'd say, reaching out with their perfectly trimmed nails, โyou are so pretty with your soft fur and the gore on your whiskers. Wouldn't you like a pet beneath your blood-stained chin?โ
But I knew they were not cat people. They were god people.
Now and again, I would let them think they were safe and accept their touch. Then, thinking they were safe, I would sctratch and bite them. Catching them unawares, I could get a really good grip on their flesh.
That is where the real treats of the shrines were kept, of course.
I had learned this from the ghosts of the sacrifices. Some of those ghosts were cat people, so I let them pet me and tell me their stories. I would lick up their lifeblood and โ with the taste of their heartโs milk on my tongue โ I would guide them through the tricky currents and rocks of the river.
This left plenty of time for stories.
This is how I learned the gods were prisoners, even though they did not know it.
This is how I learned the priests kept the godsโ secrets hidden on the insides of their skin, inscribed in moonlight and blossoms where none could see.
Oh, I'm sorry, I was telling you about how the gods made the world, wasn't I?
Well, that's the thing. In those days, the gods knew how they'd done it.
And, so long as the priests kept them walled up in cathedrals or sacred springs or afterlives, the priests were the only ones they could tell the secrets of creation.
It would have remained that way, were it not for the ghosts and the shrine cats.
The ghosts, you see, were not too happy about being sacrificed to keep the god-walls up.
But the shrine cats were the only ones they could talk to, and most of us were happy as we were. Happy to keep sleeping on the warm red-stained stone of the altars. Happy to keep supping on the streams of gravestone-blessed viscera as they joined the river.
However, some of the priests kept trying to pet me. Even though they were not cat people.
So I, clever Suki, listened to the ghosts and stole the secrets from the priestsโ illuminated skins.
I carried those secrets to the orchard fields and spat them up in the roots of the apple trees.
When the blossoms bloomed on the trees, the breeze carried dreams of injustice.
When the fruit fell upon the earth, they held inside them visions of a future celestial.
When the priests found out what I'd done, they cursed meโฆ because of course they did. They called me ungrateful and wicked and flighty (all true). They bid the earth always echo my footfall. They bid the wind always carry my scent.
With that curse, and with the bloody channels from the shrines all dried up, I died hungry.
But the ghosts and the gods were grateful. So the ghosts taught me how to dig my claws into the flank of life. Then the gods gave me all their old standing stones and chapels and hells to haunt.
What had I been telling you?
Oh, right. Soโฆ living amongst the mortals as they do, the gods find it hard to explain how they do their godly things. Y'know, like making the world.
Maybe it's because the words for that sort of thing only exist in the godly places, and they won't live there anymore. Or maybe it's because they gave too many of their secrets to the priests and now they're lost.
You might say: but Suki! You haunt those godly places now! And you stole those secrets from the priests with your sharp teeth! Surely, you can tell us what the gods cannot?
And to that I say: maybe I could or maybe I couldn't. But if I do hold onto those knowings, they are mine and mine alone.
You live in a world celestial. The gods walk among you, close enough to clasp your hand or pick your pocket.
Just try to enjoy it, will you?
---
This story was based on the prompt 'Suki - cat, ancient, vindictive, distractable' by one of my Ko-Fi supporters.
Want to submit your own prompts to be turned into puns and fiction? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories
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otherwise known as: celine watkins.
birthdate: august 15th, 1938
zodiac sign: leo sun, aries moon, virgo rising.
occupation: actress and singer.
parents: atticus watkins sr. (1919โ1982) and cordelia watkins (nรฉe bowman) (1920โ2002)
siblings: atticus jr. (1939 โ 1989), cleodora (1942 โ 2009), augustus (1945 โ 2010), celia (1948 โ 2010).
INSPIRATIONS.
eartha kitt.
dorothy dandridge.
diahann carroll.
sula peace (sula by toni morrison)
rita moreno.
diana ross.
elizabeth taylor.
katherine hepburn.
selina kyle (dc comics).
rarity (my little pony).
LIKES.
the color burgundy, christian dior, fur coats, flowers (especially roses and azalea's), cows (as an animal, but she also loves steak), r&b, jazz, rap, black cats, dachshunds, kitten heels, the american east coast, astronomy, cat eye glasses, sanrio (her favorites would be chococat, cinnamoroll, and mocha), bold dresses.
Hi folks! I went a bit quiet following the announcement of Chapter 33's delay.
So in my job we have a massive event that is the highlight of the year and I had to knuckle down for two weeks to do it, I've then had a week of holiday and I'm now home.
So, hopefully, tomorrow I'll start working on C33 and have it out fairly soon.
Unfortunately due to a SPECTACULARLY busy period of work I haven't been able to write as much of Chapter 33 as I would like meaning that my June release window just isn't doable.
I'll try and get the chapter out as early as possible in July though!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I originally had this as a chapter opener but might work it closer to a preface or synopsis option.. just something I wrote to help set the tone and get those creative juices running. ( I do have a version of this opener as an opening for a shadow and bone fanfiction I'm working on as well so you might have seen it or something similar in that fandom on ao3 )
WHAT WAS THAT NOISE? Cami tried to focus on it but it sounded so far away. Muffled and silent almost from another roomโฆ But that couldn't be because she was outside wasn't she? She had to be because she felt cold. And wet. What was that noise? Violent spasms shocked through her body jerking limbs randomly; a body short circuiting. A nervous system overridden. What was that noise? Something flashed in the dark blinding then restoring the world to painful clarity. Another jolt of electricity down her spine ripped a gasp from her dry lips. Why were her lips dry? Why was she so wet? Another sound rumbled beneath the previous one. So low she felt it in her chest but only for a moment then that too was drowned out. What was that noise? Her hands trembled at her sides, water soaking up from the puddle she knelt in. Frail frame shook through a cold that froze the marrow striking her dumb. She blinked a few more times against the rain falling in sheets. No. Now it came slow. Too slow. Drop by drop by drop. Icy cold and burning hot over the apples of her cheeks causing another short to snap down her spine. Another electric bolt down then sparked up crashing into the base of her skull. Another broken gasp from lungs that forgot how to breathe. More blinks, slow, deliberate. Drop by drop by drop. What was that noise? Shuddering through a deeper breath her system began rebooting. From her knuckles to her knees, yeah, yeah there they were. Wet. Cold. Just a lump of somethingโ Red. Drop by drop by drop. What was that noise? The air stilled into unnatural quiet. Rain no longer prattled against the leather of her jacket. Heartbeat lost in graveyard silence although it hammered violently. All there was now was... Red. God so much red. Red water. Red rain. Red lights. Red blood. Red. Red. Red. Drop by drop by drop. What was that noise? Jesusโฆ it was her.
This has been significantly cut down and so may read a bit choppier than I'd like but I wanted to share something since it's been a Minute as the kids say. Hope you enjoyed! This opening was heavily inspired by the poem Boots by Rudyard Kipling which amazing and highly recommended
Finally got my brain in enough order to compile an official wip page and link an official playlist I have for this particular project! The playlist features mini-playlists for each character so far but all the songs are under the main playlist as well! Anyway, there's a bit of writing I want to do and maybe share some character edits today but might take a wee break because those two projects took a lot out of me! Things are coming together, slowly, painfully, beautifully.
