Eternal Sins

•Chapter Twenty One•

It was no longer time here. It was infathomable, it was illiterate, it was held breath prolonged for now and through it's untumbling future. The Forest of Fables, it's stumps and forelorn willows were not often graced such presence, if ever.

Fingers scraped down wooden desks, the wrath of the Gods clouding the room, quite literally. The air became fogged, heated.

"Please, please," begged a small voice in the now clouded meeting room. An assistant, a small sparkling soul named Izabelle. Her glossy white outlined hands folded at her translucent lap, showing patience to the Gods.

The room was rather mortal, for their usual meetings. A wooden cage of stalking branches, actively growing as they settled inside of it. On the outside ran the never ending lengths of this forest, where all records and stories were held in their ponds and puddles.

Their meeting today regarded mortal matters and this was the only space that had infinite connection, all thanks to Ilanna.

Today, they slouched amongst wooden carved pillars, circular in turn to one another. The twenty three of them all stood in solidarity, emotions wry, anticipating their debate. Poor Izabelle was the one left to wrangle them together.

"You must come to conclusions as a united front," Izabelle reminds them. The Gods were often misguided, distracted, frivolous in their interests. Eternity will find it's way to rot at you and that was one among many on the list.

"Have you summoned the subjects?" The God named Breem tosses at her, the fog clearing slightly in the room.

Thick branches, foliage, closed into a rough knot to form their cieling, finishing as Izabelle turned to demonstrate.

She motions to the small whirling puddle in the center of the room, a step down from where the Gods stood, reaching inside. She squats, knees teetering on the edge as she reaches far into the unseeable floor.

She curses, "hefty man," and through the puddle comes a severely tall man, dark hair, shrouded eyes. He is but an apparition, a whisper silhouette. His soul balances at the center of him, a black flickering flame. His eyes remain closed, head titled back in slumber.

Izabelle places him slightly off center from the wading puddle then reaches in once more, sweat building upon her brow.

A small coo comes from a piece of the circle, the God Ama holding a small child. She receives a few glares but ignores them, playing with the child she had placed on her wooden pillar. Her job was never ending, caring for the lost children. That could not stop, even for this meeting.

Out from the waves, in Izabelle's grip, is a woman of dark flaming hair and similar height to Izabelle's own. Her bright yellow soul was dampened, sending smoke signals, on the verge of inner collapse. The one inside the man flickered similarly, but his was restored. Hers was not so lucky, it was clear it still struggled. The spine of her, visible in her sheer physicality, had small flits of flame racing her veins.

"Their last witch," someone whispers, but the whole room hears, studying the human's presence. She too was in slumber, head tilted, eyes closed in peace.

After gently placing her beside the man, she reaches in one last time. Izabelle huffs again, shaking her head, it was exhausting to extract them like this.

In her final scrape, she yanks another towering man from the script in time. Dark brown hair, plush lips, eyes closed, features rested. His soul was blue, electric in it's pulse to his brain but weakened everywhere else. It was strong but faded, a mortal living in another. Some Gods shook their heads, disappointed in a mortal who had the audacity to turn on their given gifts in such a way. But his time manipulations were on the bottom of their list, if worth mentioning at all.