Afterlife: Oblivion #Wattys2024

09. World's Most Tone-Deaf Coming Out Party

POV Jane Doe.

As Morbidius settles his decaying ass onto his putrid throne with a sickening squelch, I clench my jaw, trying not to hurl all over my fabulous new dress. The last thing I need is to attract more attention from these festering assholes. Trust me, I'd had enough of that on Tinder.

But of course, Fate just has to introduce another freak to the party.

"And now, from the barren hellscape of Wansurn, where starvation is the national pastime," he announces, his voice dripping with sickly sweet malice, "I present Gaunt Potentate Voracious Grill!"

Another skeleton rises from the dais, and sweet zombie Jesus, he is a piece of work. Towering and emaciated, with robes hanging off him like a used condom, Voracious Grill looks like the lovechild of Tim Burton and a Dementor.

But his face is the real horror show. Fucker looks like a dried-up parchment stretched over a bare skull. And those eyes - two black holes that devour all light and hope. I know that look, that starving emptiness. I saw it in the mirror after every bender.

As Voracious Grill drones on about the glories of eternal hunger, blah blah suffering is enlightenment blah, I feel a sudden, uninvited presence slithering into my mind like a telepathic tapeworm.

"The Gaunt Potentate of Wansurn," Raphael's voice echoes in my head, cool and clinical, "Is a master of..."

I barely manage to suppress a groan.

Blah, blah, blah. Long story short, Voracious Grill is just another trust fund baby who decided to rebel against Mommy and Daddy by embracing anorexia as a religion. Now he gets off on starving his groupies and using some voodoo magic shit to make it all seem like the path to enlightenment.

Talk about a fucked up way to spend your inheritance.

But whatever, I'm growing tired of Raphael treating my head like an all-you-can-eat buffet of information, ironic pun totally intended. It's time to put my foot down and establish some goddamn boundaries.

"Jesus Christ, Feathers," I mentally snap, "How about a little warning before you go traipsing through my head like it's a fucking public park? Ever hear of this little thing called consent?"

If Raphael is bothered by my righteous indignation, he sure as hell doesn't show it. "Oh please, spare me your mortal theatrics." The smug bastard has the gall to sound almost bored as his voice oozes through my mind like molasses.

"It's not as if you have anything of value rattling around in that head of yours. Certainly nothing that would pique my interest."

"Well ex-fucking-scuse me for not having a mind packed with celestial trade secrets and the meaning of life," I shoot back, my mental voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Guess I was too busy, you know, actually living my life to get a degree in divine philosophy."

"An endeavor at which you failed quite spectacularly, if your current predicament is any indication," Raphael drawls.

"Oh, go fuck yourself with a rusty halo," I snarl, my patience wearing thinner than a vampire's tan line.

"You know, for an allegedly enlightened being, you sure are a judgmental prick."

"And for a newly deceased mortal, you are astoundingly insolent," Raphael counters, his mental voice taking on an edge of exasperation.

"But by all means, continue antagonizing the one entity in this affair who is actually trying to help you. I'm sure that will work out splendidly for you."