Antiope
oh Lord, tell me you love me
am I Lilith or am I Eve?
oh Lord, tell me you love me
am I Lilith or am I Eve?
Antiope climbs the peak of Veneror like she is climbing toward oblivion, or retribution, or damnation. She climbs with a strange, halting purpose, like a machine that is not quite working properly. Several times, the Denoctian sovereign considers turning back. To her people, to her city, to her celebration.
There is so much behind her to return to.
She could walk beneath the pines strung with lights before the arch, watch the fireworks show and make a new friend. She could mingle in the market streets, among the stalls of games and food and laughter and merriment. She could watch someone get up on the temporary stage they’d affixed and expose their hearts to a crowd.
There is so much back there, waiting for her.
But ahead is something that must be done. Antiope has been putting it off too long, facing the demigoddess of the night with all the distrust in her, black and blacker against the gold ichor like magic in her blood.
So the woman doesn’t stop until she crests a rise in the mountain path and sees the entrance to the temple looming before her like the maw of a great beast. For the first time it isn’t the lioness pacing in her bones but her pulse, racing, stuttering, in her chest.
It is dark, the stars are winking in and out of the velvet midnight sky above her. There is a strong mid-summer breeze running its hands across Antiope’s sides, tangling its fingers in her long hair. Her eyes are chips of polished sapphires in the night. She begins to ascend to that wide open mouth until it swallows her whole.
The last time she had set foot inside a temple the sky had been red as fire, red as blood. She had brought with her so much hatred—it had bubbled inside her like lava, like something caustic. She had brought with her death, and left it there to feast.
She enters now with more uncertainty than she has ever felt. Antiope pauses only long enough to locate which of the statues, which altar, belongs to her court’s patron deity. It is not difficult to find, not by her abysmal black speckled with diamond stars nor the offerings laid at her feet. Candles of spiced fragrances, exotic fruits and other treats, all so perfectly Denocte that it hurts her to look upon it. It has taken her too long to do this. Have you been waiting? Antiope wonders, as she steps closer.
She has no candle. There is no light but what filters through the columned openings. Antiope closes her eyes, feels the wind upon her skin and can almost hear the sea. It is almost a different day, a different time, a different her. ”And who am I?”
”You are Antiope.”
The sea-eyed woman pulls her blade from over her shoulder and breathes it to life with a single, whispered word, as it is plunged part way into the ground at her feet. The temple is filled with golden light, it limns her jawline and drops her eyes into shadow. Antiope stares at the statue of Caligo for a long time. The light of her axe does not flicker as a candle would, just continues to glow steadily beneath her.
“Do you know what I am?” she asks, suddenly, “Do you know what I’ve done?” The sovereign breaks eye contact with the effigy to look out between the columns at the lingering night. A half-laugh escapes her, but it is almost sad. When she starts talking again her voice is quieter. “Do you know why I did it?”
Antiope breathes out, and it feels like dying. Or as close to dying as she’s ever come, with a spear between her ribs splitting open her lungs, with her old immortality stitching her back together until she is perfection again. Was she ever perfection?
“I am not sure that I trust you.”
You shouldn’t trust me, the sovereign thinks, eyes back on the blank gaze of Caligo’s stone face. Antiope is not sure if she can be trusted with gods, with a holy thing in a holy place. The last time she had set foot in a temple she had left it bathed in red. Red as the burning sun, red as blood. She wonders how she will leave this one.
"Speaking."
There is so much behind her to return to.
She could walk beneath the pines strung with lights before the arch, watch the fireworks show and make a new friend. She could mingle in the market streets, among the stalls of games and food and laughter and merriment. She could watch someone get up on the temporary stage they’d affixed and expose their hearts to a crowd.
There is so much back there, waiting for her.
But ahead is something that must be done. Antiope has been putting it off too long, facing the demigoddess of the night with all the distrust in her, black and blacker against the gold ichor like magic in her blood.
So the woman doesn’t stop until she crests a rise in the mountain path and sees the entrance to the temple looming before her like the maw of a great beast. For the first time it isn’t the lioness pacing in her bones but her pulse, racing, stuttering, in her chest.
It is dark, the stars are winking in and out of the velvet midnight sky above her. There is a strong mid-summer breeze running its hands across Antiope’s sides, tangling its fingers in her long hair. Her eyes are chips of polished sapphires in the night. She begins to ascend to that wide open mouth until it swallows her whole.
The last time she had set foot inside a temple the sky had been red as fire, red as blood. She had brought with her so much hatred—it had bubbled inside her like lava, like something caustic. She had brought with her death, and left it there to feast.
She enters now with more uncertainty than she has ever felt. Antiope pauses only long enough to locate which of the statues, which altar, belongs to her court’s patron deity. It is not difficult to find, not by her abysmal black speckled with diamond stars nor the offerings laid at her feet. Candles of spiced fragrances, exotic fruits and other treats, all so perfectly Denocte that it hurts her to look upon it. It has taken her too long to do this. Have you been waiting? Antiope wonders, as she steps closer.
She has no candle. There is no light but what filters through the columned openings. Antiope closes her eyes, feels the wind upon her skin and can almost hear the sea. It is almost a different day, a different time, a different her. ”And who am I?”
”You are Antiope.”
The sea-eyed woman pulls her blade from over her shoulder and breathes it to life with a single, whispered word, as it is plunged part way into the ground at her feet. The temple is filled with golden light, it limns her jawline and drops her eyes into shadow. Antiope stares at the statue of Caligo for a long time. The light of her axe does not flicker as a candle would, just continues to glow steadily beneath her.
“Do you know what I am?” she asks, suddenly, “Do you know what I’ve done?” The sovereign breaks eye contact with the effigy to look out between the columns at the lingering night. A half-laugh escapes her, but it is almost sad. When she starts talking again her voice is quieter. “Do you know why I did it?”
Antiope breathes out, and it feels like dying. Or as close to dying as she’s ever come, with a spear between her ribs splitting open her lungs, with her old immortality stitching her back together until she is perfection again. Was she ever perfection?
“I am not sure that I trust you.”
You shouldn’t trust me, the sovereign thinks, eyes back on the blank gaze of Caligo’s stone face. Antiope is not sure if she can be trusted with gods, with a holy thing in a holy place. The last time she had set foot in a temple she had left it bathed in red. Red as the burning sun, red as blood. She wonders how she will leave this one.
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
