Her god was strange, and quiet, and sad some of the time, though he had a wry, even playful humor that shone through after a while. She'd once thought him terrifying: the moment they had met and she'd looked up, up, up into his hard-cut face, but then it had softened, and she'd been engulfed in a gentle, strong hug that reminded her of being a king's ransom, a treasure hidden inside layers of castle walls. Safe. Secure. Beloved.

She'd never really known the like of those feelings before, but hadn't had anything she'd so desperately missed after he'd let go. He hadn't done it again, remaining only a voice inside her mind forever after that.

He didn't talk about himself. He'd answer her questions regarding the stories and myths she managed to pull up from the library (and there were quite a few, she'd noted, picking through the texts as quickly as the nerve-impulse response circuits allowed). He would tell her about the other gods and goddesses in the Game, and she could hear the irritation and affection on his tongue when he spoke of the trickster, Writ, or his eternal friend-rival, Ó Cuinn (although she intensely disliked him and his Godling both).

He told her everything about himself as a god, and nothing about himself as a person. And, for some reason, she couldn't shake her obsession with wanting to know that side of him.

Let's see, she hummed, eyes scanning the glowing blue text with far more ease than she'd had to squint her way through the more ancient records. Her god had strongly hinted that the newer texts were pretty much ridiculous, but he usually humored her and filled in the gaps. This time, however, the nineteen-year-old thought she'd hit a goldmine - a direct translation of some of the earliest records concerning the relatively young pantheon, even alluding to the events pre-dating its formation. Even with the kind of information exchange they had nowadays, it was rare and hard to find.

The god, Valerius (also known as the Strong Lord, Keeper of the Night and Stars, and Mirrorheart) was considered the patron and protector of women and girls, who would pray to him to punish the wickedness of man and devour the guilty hearts of their transgressors. His domain was darkness - night and shadows.

But she already knew that particular line of information.

In his youth, Valerius circled the earth with his heavenly opposite, Ó Cuinn, the Ensnaring God. In one of their many battles, the two gods scored matching, near-fatal blows across the chest of each. Valerius was scarred with the light of Ó Cuinn, so that the cold night sky would forever be streaked with the bright and beautiful auroras that we see every evening. Ó Cuinn, similarly, was scarred by the darkness of Valerius, so that all the clouds in the sky turned black, giving us the gift of eternal rain and shade in the face of Ó Cuinn's harsh sun.

It happened something like that, her god vaguely confirmed, though she could hear the amused rumble to his voice that said everything was way, way off.

She grinned, and browsed through the other stories. Most she'd already heard: the Uprising at the Great Barrier, where Valerius and Writ, the Laughing God, disguised themselves as humans among those exiled from the land of Middling by the Black Ones, staging a riot that kicked off the first rebellion against the Black Ones at the cost of one of the Laughing God's many lives; the Marking of Séamaisín (also known as the Scarred God, and brother to Valerius), the mention of which never failed to send Valerius into one of his troubled moods; the Founding of Gods' End, the heavenly land reserved solely for the worshipers of Valerius and Ó Cuinn.

One story caught her eye, though. She'd heard oblique mentions of it before, but this seemed like a more complete text. Interest piqued, she pulled up the information.

Other variations will claim Ó Cuinn as merely friend, opposite, and enemy to Valerius. In this myth, however, Ó Cuinn had his place claimed at Valerius' side as lover, as well.

One day, Valerius went walking the world. Alone in his path, he found a young girl frozen to death; taking her into his home, he breathed life into her, and she awoke as a goddess. Enchanted by what he had created, Valeriu swore his love to her; but Ó Cuinn, jealous in rage and true to his namesake, would not let the god leave him so easily, repeatedly lulling him back to his side. However, the goddess herself was protective of her own claim on the god.

When Valerius walked the earth, Ó Cuinn and the goddess would battle--

You were a player! she teased, laughing to herself. Trying to go for a ménage à trois?

I was a fool he whispered, quietly, and the pain in his voice drifted across her mind like cold and freezing flakes of snow that silently thickened and turned to sheets of ice.

Valerius?

I loved her. Truly, completely. But I was young, and hot-blooded, and pitifully weak at controlling my desires. Quinn was a temptation I could not say no to, and I thought it'd be kinder to let her go. His voice softened until it was almost imperceptible. I left her behind because I was scared by how deeply she cared for me, and she died for my idiocy.

She didn't know what to say. His words stung her heart with such an ache she thought it might crumble then and there. She'd known, of course; known there was a person, something strikingly human, beneath the god's demeanor. Known that it was, at times, something heartrendingly lonely.

The gods may have punished me, then, he laughed, solemnly and bitterly. But I punish myself, now.

What do you mean? she asked, hesitantly. She was seized by the need to see him - to see his face as he said these things, to touch his shoulder in comfort. To watch the pain washing across his dark eyes like the waves of a grey tide rising higher and higher. To feel the regret and vulnerability lining his youthful, handsome face beneath her palms. The image was so clear and familiar and startling.

She could be you. The confession hung in her mind, stark and bold. She stared at it, uncomprehending.

Wha...What?

You are like a mirror-image, he admitted, gently and cautiously and voice suddenly something like shy, but her god was never shy, and she was damned if she thought on any conscious or subconscious level that the quiet and contrary inflection to his voice was immediately endearing. Not right now, when a sudden sense of betrayal was flooding her veins and tears were pricking her eyes. In looks, and in personality, even in name, but-

Oh, she cut in, and her voice had that dangerous, cutting quality to it in times of supremely pissed. So you picked me because I look like her.

No, no, that was not it at all-

You are such a jerk!!

She slammed their connection shut, tossed the mental locks upon it, and stomped her way up to her room.

~*~*~*~*~

A week later, she felt marginally calmer. Calm enough, at least, to re-open their connection.

We need to talk. It was nothing less than a command.

Katrina- he immediately responded, but she was having none of that.

Not like this. Trot your godly self out here, right now. She could feel his hesitance, the excuse about rules about to be repeated like it already had the thousand times before she'd asked if they could speak face-to-face again. Valerius.

She waited, patiently. Well, almost patiently - her foot tapped insistently and her arms crossed and she shifted from side-to-side, blowing out peevish sighs, but for her it was patient enough. She was rewarded with the darkest corner of shadows in her room rippling and wavering before her god stepped out from whatever realm lay beyond their depths.

It was the second time she had seen him, and despite herself, she felt her breath caught in her throat once more. Tall, with dark mocha skin lashed by numerous pale scars; cat-like, lithe musculature complemented by the ears and tail and rosettes that adorned his body; dark hair and dangerous eyes; the obsidian mirror embedded over his heart, if gods even had hearts. His only clothes were the low, loose, flowing pants of such a material that resembled the early night sky itself - and, matching myth for truth, the strange rainbow tattoo against his middle ribs that was meant to be the auroras. She stumbled over her words, momentarily intimidated, but the way his eyes refused to focus on her face gave her confidence. She'd spoken to him, knew who he was - as frightening as his appearance and power was, she knew she had nothing to fear.

And that was unfortunate for him.

She pointed, sullenly, at the bed.

"Sit," she commanded.

He looked as if he was about to say something, then apparently thought better of it after glancing at her face, taking a seat on the bed with such grace and carefulness that she half-suspected he hadn't sat on a bed in half a millennium at least. His tail tip twitched in worry, and she muffled the urge to stroke the fine-looking fur.

He noticed his own give-away, though. It seemed to surprise him.

"You," he muttered, solemnly, finally looking her in the eyes, "seem to have this uncanny ability to make me feel human."

"Good," she huffed, remaining standing before him, and although she was pleased to know she'd affected a god, she was not pleased to find that he was as almost as tall as her even when sitting down. "Because I don't want to talk to Valerius the Almighty and Powerful God. I want to talk to you."

Oh, yes. In-person was so much better. Although he was silent, she could watch, fascinated, as the small expressions rippled across his face. Sudden self-consciousness, a pinch of wariness, the dash of laughingly familiar nervousness that was present in any man's eyes when a woman wanted to talk.

"Valeriu," he finally spoke, and she perked up eagerly (although still so very much irate, thank you, he wasn't off the hook just yet). "My name. It's actually Valeriu."

Valerius. Valeriu. She could see how time had so easily and slightly changed the name. She'd already gathered that Quinn was Ó Cuinn, though it seemed the Laughing God's name was untouched.

"Valeriu." The echo tasted funny to her. Not quite right. But it would do, for now - she had his real name. Something no other living mortal knew.

She wanted more.

"Why did you choose me?" It wasn't the first thing she'd thought to say, but she'd blurted it out anyway.

"Because I am like a moth to a flame," he answered, humorlessly, and her face twisted into a petulant frown. He relented soon enough. "You were the brightest star in my sky. Out of all the ones I could have chosen, your soul simply outshone the rest. Without," he added, firmly, "me knowing what you looked like."

She recalled the moment they had first met. The sudden hug. "Is that why-?"

"Yes. I was surprised."

"And what," she asked, and tried to keep her voice from wavering, suddenly anxiety seizing her nerves. She took a hesitant step closer to the bed, "do you think of me, now?" She sucked in a shallow breath. "Do you think I'm her?"

"I don't - I don't know," he answered honestly, though she could read the discomfort on his face like a map, confusion wrinkling his brow. "It's too much for coincidence. But you are your own person. You are different - so much that is her, but so much that is you, as well."

There it was. The pain she'd only heard in his voice, now painted on his face. All the little human cares and worries and doubts a god could so easily push aside, but before her, this man, Valeriu, could not do so. She could see the self-loathing, the hopelessness, the despair and anger and loneliness and how lost, even millennia later, he still was after losing her. How hard it was on him, to look into the reborn face of his dead lover, only to be reminded of his mistakes. To know that she wasn't that girl from so long ago, and so he could do nothing but hate and doubt himself further.

So easy to read - it was as if she'd known him this way all along. And maybe she had; maybe reincarnation rang true.

"Close your eyes," she ordered, softly. After a moment's hesitance, her god obeyed. "Keep them closed." He seemed tensed. Waiting for repercussion. Her hand was finally able to stretch out, fingertips fleetingly brushing across his cheek - he jerked at the touch, but his eyes stayed closed (though his eyebrows did that thing where they bunched in bemusement and he had to close his eyes harder just to make sure they didn't open, and that was not fair how it went straight to her heart). She pressed on, repeating the touch more surely, marveling at how warm his skin was, though she'd been treated to a hug before. She was always under the impression that a god of the dark, and night, and shadows, would be very, very chilly. His lashes were sooty, like his hair - long and thick (god, she hated boys for that, hers never seemed to look that good even with mascara on). Her palm slid across the swell of his cheek, following the strong line of his jaw, before it slipped back up to rub a finger down the angular bridge of his nose. She could feel his breath stuttering against her skin, could see his hands curling into restrained fists atop the comforter.

Power sung sweetly through her nerves. Not the power that he'd given her, no (though she was inordinately pleased to remember that he'd given himself, his powers, to her). But this power - the power to make his arms shake and his breath come choppy, the power to drive a dark and rich flush across his cheeks when her hand threaded through his hair, investigating the soft set of ears he had.

The power to take a god, and tear him down into a man with her words and touch alone. Her hands slid from his face, down his neck, to curl over his shoulders, and it was about that time that his eyes finally snapped open, wide and puzzled and darkened, this time, from something other than pain.

"Katrina," he murmured, shakily. "Please, don't-"

"I don't care if you see her in me," she interrupted, purposefully, hands tightening on his shoulders. "I'm here, now. This is my time. She gave up." And she had him, now. That was her bed he was sitting on; it was her touches that were slowly unraveling him. His heartbeat was jumping wild and frantic beneath her palms because of her, right here, right now. "You're mine now. You screwed up, Valeriu - you can't run away from this, this time. I'm not letting you."

She wanted all of it. She wanted to take whatever claim her dead doppelganger still held on him and rip it out of her fingers. She wanted his every thought, and feeling, and desire; his every word and secret and smile.

This was a start. She smiled to see the last of that godly mask shatter, leaving behind a thoroughly flustered immortal halfway to drowning on the shores.

"We shouldn't," he muttered, thickly.

"I don't care."

"It would be wrong. So wrong. I'm a god, you're my godling."

"Still not caring." Her hands were back up his neck, curling through his hair once more. "Besides, you're my god. I can do what I want with you. Just tell them I forced you." His hands, held awkward and stiff at his sides before now, gingerly settled at her hips, controlled and unsure and sweetly tentative, but nothing was quite as sweet as the barest smile that graced his face, tinged with hope that he didn't think he should allow himself to have.

"Forced me? To do what?" There was that playfulness he hid, narrowing his eyes and curling his smile into something more rogue-ish that seemed to suit him just as well as the shyness.

"Kiss me," she commanded, imperiously, giving his hair a slight, impatient tug for emphasis.

"I suppose I had no choice."