Godhead

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53315179.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Gojo Satoru/Original Character(s), Gojo
Satoru/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Original Female Character(s), Original Characters,
Gakuganji Yoshinobu
Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, POV First Person, No use of y/n, Alternate Universe –
Gods, God Satoru, yandere Satoru, Tragedy, Mild Horror, Blood and
Gore, Character Death, Animal Death, Manipulation, Dubious Morality,
Hints of grooming, Attempted Murder, Age Difference, Older
Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent,
Cunnilingus, Edgeplay, Overstimulation, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bad
Ending
Language: English
Series:
🥺❤️
Part 1 of REALIGNED
Collections: REARRANGED and Related Works, reread worthy , Luna Cielo's
Collection
Stats: Published: 2024-01-26 Words: 16,363 Chapters: 2/2
 Godhead
by XXXRenaMarieXXX

Summary

What can one do when faced with the love of a god?

I was three when I attracted the attention of the local deity, O-Satoru-sama. As I grew older, I
became painfully aware that I wasn't like the other young women of our tiny, remote
mountain village. No. I was special. Blessed. Of course, looking back, I wonder if that
blessing wasn't more of a curse.

Notes

Jujutsu Kaisen is owned and abused by Gege Akutami.

I'm just playing pissing in his swimming pool.

For the best formatting experience, please allow creator style/work skins. Otherwise, reading
in the "Reversi" site skin is recommended.

See the end of the work for more notes

 Part One
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 Part One
What can one do when faced with the love of a god?

Our village is special, I’m told by Mama and Papa from birth.

The place we dwell is remote, a secret valley nestled deep in heavily-forested mountains.
Our ancestors fled to this place from a faraway kingdom, having been driven out and forced
into hiding for one reason or another—the full tale has long been lost to time and the fallacies
of word-of-mouth storytelling.

What we know to be true is carved into the altar of our local shrine. Pictographs line the
altar’s base, displaying what history we now celebrate today.

The tale goes as follows: driven from our homes and land by forces unknown, we wandered
for a hundred years looking for a place to call our own. Many of us died—taken by illness
and monsters and the Curses that dwell within our own bodies. After a century of
aimlessness, we were appointed a guide. Gojo Satoru, the scion of a large and prosperous
clan of magic-users, offered to lead us through his lands to safety. Bringing only a sack upon
his back and two of his family’s favored mousing cats, he’d given up his life of luxury to aid
us. He’d bravely fought off the monsters that preyed on us, had cleansed our tainted bodies
of their Curses. With him guiding us, we’d made it to our new homeland without losing a
single person.

Gojo Satoru was a hero.

He stayed with us while we built our homes and planted our first crops, guarding us from the
things that lurk in the dark. And when a great evil called ‘Sukuna’ attacked us, he’d fought
the creature off using his magic. But during the battle, the powerful man was mortally
wounded. With his great sacrifice, he’d cleansed the land forever of evil. His body was laid
to rest near a springhead and a shrine was built in his honor. Villagers brought his spirit
offerings of food and live animals, which they would sacrifice in his name.

Eventually, he became a god in his own right.

O-Satoru-sama, protector of this land.

Our village prospered—crops grew in unrivalled heaps, enough to keep us fat and happy;
predators left our livestock alone, so much so that rearing animals could be done without
fences; vermin never found their way into our food stores, kept at bay by the descendants of
the cats that O-Satoru-sama himself had loved so dearly.
Our village grew in number, and in skills. Eventually, we became known for the pristine
quality of our pelts and the intricate leatherwork that our artisans had perfected. We often
were asked by nobility—both lower and higher—to make things like finely decorated saddles
and sheaths for blades. Despite our still-small size and difficult-to-reach location, we are
bathed in trade from all across the lands.

And one day, a man who prayed at the altar claimed that he could hear the voice of O-Satoru-
sama. He became the first Head Elder of the village, whose duty was carrying out our deity’s
divine will. The animal sacrifices were halted on God’s orders. And instead, we were asked
to bring our children to the alter, so that O-Satoru-sama could meet them and cleanse them of
their Curses, as he’d once done to those he’d travelled with.

Traditions were born.

And they persist to this very day, some seven hundred years later.

Before I was brought into this world, my Mama and Papa prayed to the shrine of God.
They’d asked him to bless them with a child who would live a long life, which had not come
despite many years of marriage. They'd already lost a babe to illness, and many more would-
be sons and daughters to stillbirth. In the end, O-Satoru-sama granted their request. Elder
Gakuganji had bade my mother to drink form the sacred spring. And when she did, she said
she felt God’s warmth within her.

Ten months later, in the dead of Winter and under the light of the full moon, I was born.

I’m three when Mama and Papa introduce me to O-Satoru-sama, as is the village custom. It’s
the full moon, sometime in the early spring, at the peak of evening. Cloud cover threatens
the sacred ritual, but eventually the moonlight shines strongly through. I’m stripped of my
red yukata and left vulnerable to the chill of the evening. Lines are drawn on my body using
ash from the consecration fires. It is a long process, made longer by a restless child who
doesn’t understand the importance of such a moment. When the last of the lines are drawn—
two horizontal marks under each of my eyes and a vertical one that bisects my lips and chin
—I’m given to Elder Gakuganji.

The introduction is short. Elder Gakuganji speaks to O-Satoru-sama, as he has done a

thousand times before. The Elder asks that I be protected and loved by the god, as all people
in the village are. And that I be cleansed of my Curses.

Mama later explains to me that all humans carry Curses within them. The Curses eat their
souls and poison their minds if left untreated. I survived until the introduction, but many
children do not. My older brother didn’t live to meet our local god. After a single winter,
he’d come down with fever that’d boiled his insides. His body was burned instead of buried,
so that he couldn’t pass his Curse into the soil.

But I'm not my brother-I’m strong. I’ll live to be very old; Papa says so, and Papa knows
everything.
I’m then led to shrine’s moonpool, where the frigid spring-fed waters are superimposed the
image of the sky above. The moon continues to shine bright. The light of it turns the world
to shades of silver. It’s beautiful, my older mind will acknowledge, but my younger self is
cold and tired and just wants the ceremony to be done with. Mama rolls up the sleeves of her
own yukata and bathes me in the holy waters, dutifully removing the ash from my skin—
Curses burned away by symbolic fire and washed free.

Every bit of ash must be removed, or my Curse will persist. I have no Grandma, so the
Wisewoman inspects my skin with a keen eye, wrinkled and gnarled claws digging into me as
she turns me this way and that. It must be a satisfactory because I’m bundled in my new
white clothes. I’m an adult now, I think with childlike pride.

They present me again to O-Satoru-sama in front of his statue. I’m bade to touch my palm to
it, to feel the god’s love pour into me. And when I lay my hand upon the stone I find it
pleasantly warm to the touch.

“The eyes,” a man behind whispers in awe. And when I look up, the eyeholes of the statue
are glowing blue.

Mama weeps and Papa sweeps me into his arms.

Elder Gakuganji looks on in horror.

I have the favor of God, they tell me. I’m too young to understand, but it seems like a good
thing.

A white kitten plays in the moonpool, splashing playfully in the water and rippling the
reflection of the sky above. Nobody bothers the cat; they’re avatars of God, after all.

I’m five when my baby sister undergoes her own introduction. The girl is small at three
years, smaller than I’d been and frail-looking. But she’s strong enough to survive her Cursed
body. Mama says that sometimes strength is inside us, and that it’s hard to see from the
outside. She says that my sister is the strongest of us.

My sister’s ribs stick out, and her bones are visible beneath her pale skin. When she walks,
it’s with a limp, and she wheezes with every step like it’s a great effort. She’s supposed to be
strong? I don’t see it, but Mama is one of the smartest people I know.

Mama bathes the ash from her body under the light of the full moon and I worry that the cold
water will make her sick again. Papa quells my fears, stating softly that O-Satoru-sama
would not allow such a thing to happen. Our god is merciful, he is kind. I grip his hand
tightly, drawing peace from his reassurance. O-Satoru-sama is a kind god, I tell myself over
and over. I have his favor; he won’t let anything happen to my beloved baby sister.

When my sister’s tiny hand meets the stone, the eyes don’t not glow.

She isn’t blessed like I am.

When I bow my head and close my eyes to pray, I swear that I hear a hand brush my head
and a voice in my ear. But when I look up, there’s nobody there.

“Come to me, Love,” the voice had whispered. I feel the heavy weight of eyes watching me,
and I can’t shake it until we leave the shrine.

I’m seven when I get lost. The mountain forests surrounding the village are dark and thick,
and the fog that laces the trees is impenetrable to even the best eyes. It’s early morning when
I’m out foraging for mushrooms and firewood. Mama sends me out to do this because I’m a
big girl now. I know all the trails to stay on, and Papa warned me not to stray out of sight of
the village.

I don’t wander too far. I don’t think so, anyway.

But when I look up and find myself all alone, I panic.

The sun arches high in the sky as I wander, lost and terrified. Then, eventually, all light sinks
below the horizon. It’s dark as night’s claws rake across the land. Too dark to see, too dark
to walk. The mountain trails are perilous and it’s only a matter of time before I stumble off
the edge of a cliff. So, I find a safe place to hunker down. I tuck myself into the sheltered
hollow between tree roots and stifle the sounds of my breathing with the palm of my hand.

Mama and Papa will come looking for me, I tell myself. They’ll save me. They have to.

I pray to O-Satoru-sama to lead them to me. But the god is silent as the night that cloaks me.

Terrified, I curl up in the hollow beneath the tree and I wait to be saved. Leaves rustle around
me, and I think something is moving through the underbrush. I hold in my gasps, hoping
they don’t slip out between my little fingers. Whatever it is surely must be able to hear how
loud my heart’s beating. It feels so overwhelming, and the blood rushing through my head
pounds in my ears like a ceremonial drum.

I’m going to get eaten by a monster!

The rustling comes closer, closer, closer…

Until a pointed snout peeks out at me through a gap in the bushes. Then a huge head emerges
with pointed ears and dripping fangs: a wolf.

I hold my scream of terror captive. But only just.

The wolf stares at me with its sickly yellow eyes. The full moon overhead lets me see all the
details of my death, even through the canopy of trees above. There’s a horrible, awful
moment where it sizes me up. Its tongue drops out of its mouth, then licks its jowls like it’s
found a meal fit for an emperor. And I suppose it has. Drool dribbles on the ground between
its plate-sized paws. It peels back its lips and growls at me.

I shrink away, finally letting out a shrill scream that pierces the dim of night.
Expecting the creature to lunge, I clench my eyes shut and pray that it’s quick. But the
predator doesn’t lunge, doesn’t bite into my soft flesh. There are no teeth or claws tearing
into me.

There’s only silence.

When I open my eyes, I see only the retreating back of the wolf. It just… walks away.

Papa and his friends find me later that night, curled up in disbelief and staring at the ground.
They thank O-Satoru-sama for blessing me and keeping the monsters at bay. They don’t
believe me about the wolf and claim it’s just a story made up by a scared child. Papa tells me
that my mind played tricks on me in the dark. But I know what I saw.

The wolf hadn’t hurt me.

I don’t know what to think about it. Eventually, I start to wonder if I dreamt the whole thing.

I’m twelve when Papa brings us good news: he’s been offered a job outside of the village.

He’s the best leatherworker alive, I think with pride, and everybody in the surrounding lands
knows it. Papa has often fulfilled orders for nobles that earn him enough money to live
comfortably. Our hut is one of the biggest in the village because of it. And we have raised
cots to sleep on instead of the bedrolls that most others use at night.

Papa comes home, smile stretched from ear to ear, and lifts Mama up and twirls her around
like a princess in a fairytale. He tells us that we’re moving to a land far away, and that we’ll
be able to have a better life there, where we don’t have to work as hard.

I’m sad, because I love the village and I’ll miss all my friends, but the allure of new overrides
that immediately. I wonder what the outside world is like? Do they have mountains and
forests and gods like O-Satoru-sama where we’re moving? I ask Papa, but he laughs and
admits that he’s not sure. Papa was born in the village, like Mama and their parents before
them.

I talk about it to all the kids my age and we speculate about what could exist beyond the bend
in the mountain road leading from the village: giants, dragons, unicorns. My sister and I feed
O-Satoru-sama’s avatars grilled fish while we giggle to ourselves about meeting a magical
creature. The cats nip our fingertips gently and rub against us.

All but the white tomcat perched on the windowsill. I stroke between his ears affectionately,
telling him that he should eat before the others do. But he huffs and looks away. Grumpy
kitty, I think affectionately.

When Papa tells Elder Gakuganji, the man is all too happy to give us his blessing to leave.
The entire village throws a feast in honor of Papa. He has many friends that come up to him
and congratulate him, patting him on the shoulder and wishing him the best for the future.
When asked when he plans to leave, Papa tells them that next spring should do nicely. It’ll
give him time to build a home for use to live in before the cold comes back again.
I cling to my sister and the other kids my age, not caring too much for the parties of adults.
Elder Gakuganji stops me at one point and takes a knee so that he can see eye-to-eye with
me. And he tells me to stay safe. His words are kind but his eyes are haunted. His bony
fingers pat my head, and for a moment, I think he might cry. But the moment is gone, and
the Elder walks away from us to rejoin the other men.

I stare at him, wondering why the whole exchange leaves me feeling uneasy, but I don’t
know.

My sister asks again if she can see the ocean where we’re going, and I tell her that I’m not
sure. But I hope I see it, too. The outside world is a mystery, and I want to experience it.

I never do.

I’m thirteen when I notice that I’m not like the other children in the village. They combat
sickness with regularity: springtime sniffles, summer colds, fall fevers. But I don’t. In fact, I
never take ill. Not so much as a cough or a sneeze. Mama remarks that this must be the
product of God’s blessing, that he’s protecting me from the evils of the world. It’s a miracle,
Papa says when I fret about it. I don’t get sick, not even from bad food or water. I don’t
grow weary under the summer sun or blister from the winter winds. It’s a miracle from God,
and I shouldn’t question O-Satoru-sama’s divine will.

I wonder why I’m so beloved when the others aren’t.

I continue to wonder this as a great sickness sweeps the village. It’s in our houses, in our
beds. And it takes so many of us away. It takes and it takes and it takes. I’m old enough that
I have to help dig holes for the bodies. The cemetery swells beyond its original fencing with
new, freshly-turned dirt. My hands blister from the wood of the shovel, and I must pick
splinters from my hands, but I don’t get sick. Even as the other gravediggers start taking ill, I
continue my work. Eventually, I’m digging alone. Tears leave tracts along the dirt of my
cheeks. I keep digging.

Papa isn’t so lucky. I dig, but he must carry the tiny bodies of the Cursed to the funeral pyres
to be cleansed. He layers in fabrics to keep their Curses from seeping into his skin, and he
dons a mask so as not to breathe in their foul air. In the end, it does little to keep him from
getting sick.

Papa dies in the fall, just as the leaves are changing. We bury him next to his Mama and
Papa.

Many, many people die before the end.

Afraid of catching the illness themselves, merchant caravans no longer round our mountain
road. We are cut off from the outside world and left to rot on our own.

Elder Gakuganji pleads with God to halt the sickness somehow, but O-Satoru-sama is eerily
quiet. Our Elder cannot hear him, for the first time in decades. There is terror in the village
as people whisper among themselves that God has abandoned us to our fates. Eventually,
Elder Gakuganji, too, succumbs to the illness—we are left without a leader, without a guide,
and without the ears to hear O-Satoru-sama’s will.

But, still, I don’t get sick. Mama and my sister do, but they survive. Mama has to stay to
care for us without Papa here, and my sister is strong. By the time the plague leaves us, it’s
taken over half our number.

But not me; I’m blessed by God.

The other adults must have the same thought, because I occasionally catch heated glances
sent my way. They whisper behind the sleeves of their clothing when I pass, eyes cut sharp
with malice. I shrink away from them. Their heavy glares follow me through the village.
They’ve lost so much. They wonder why God protected me, but not their children or spouses
or parents. I wonder the same thing—what makes me so special?

Even one of Papa's oldest, dearest friends looks upon me with suspicion. The village
blacksmith, who'd lost all of his family to the sickness, no longer visits out home. And when
I pass by the forge, I feel his heavy gaze upon my person, boring into the marrow of my
bones. He pounds away at his anvil, sparks spraying with every tingtingting of his hammer.
And I stay away when I hear him at work.

None of the others my age talk to me anymore, either. They avoid me with anger in their
eyes and ignore me when I greet them. Only my sister remains at my side. She clings to me
after Papa’s death, small fingers knotted into my clothing and shadow merging with my own.
When I try to leave by myself, she shrieks and screams and throws tantrums. So, I wait until
she’s deeply asleep before I slip away.

I go to the shrine behind the Elder Gakuganji’s empty home and weep at the foot of O-
Satoru-sama’s statue.

Our god is not depicted as a mere man. His statue takes the form of a giant cat with twinned
tails curled around him. Hiding his feline face is a mask, blank of all images save six eyes
imprinted upon it in a circle. Each of those six eyes stare down at me with some unnamable
emotion. What does God think of us lowly mortals? Does God even think of us?

O-Satoru-sama is said to be a playful deity who enjoys playing tricks upon the village for his
own amusement.

I can’t help but wonder if this plague is a mean trick of his, if he’s somehow responsible for
our suffering.

Crying ugly tears, I kneel at before him and wail. My fingers tear at the manicured grass
beneath them, and my nails carve deeply into the sacred dirt. “Are we a joke to you, O-
Satoru-sama?” I ask his stone likeness. “Aren’t you supposed to protect all of us? Why only
me?! Why me?!” I bow my head into the earth and water it with my tears. “Why didn’t you
save my Papa? He was loyal to you; he worshipped you; he loved you! And you… you let
him die.”
I hardly notice when the air becomes unseasonably warm, nor when the birds and insects
suddenly stop their droning song. There is only me and my grief. And our village’s silent,
absent god.

Then there’s the slightest sensation of something sliding through my hair. The weight of a
hand, warm and reassuring, presses down on me. I close my eyes and bask in the sensation.
It feels loving, like when Papa would stroke my head and hum until I fell asleep. But this
hand isn’t well-worn or large like Papa’s; the fingers are slender, graceful, smooth. This hand
has never done hard labor in the fields, has never felled a tree nor carved leather. But it is
strong. I feel the weight of it in my bones.

This is the hand of a god, I think blearily.

“I am still here, My Love.”

I shiver in place. Is this… is this O-Satoru-sama’s presence?

The hand leaves me, and when I sit up and look around, I am alone as I was before. The
birds sing again, and the insects buzz. And despite the fall chill nipping at my nose, my
insides feel warm. I stroke the hair where his hand had rested and jar his scent loose. O-
Satoru-sama smells like life, like sunshine.

I am blessed, I must remind myself. God came to me.

He touched me.

I’m sixteen when I learn that grief takes many forms. The village-wide grief after the plague
had been loud enough to echo off the mountains that surround our valley. My Mama’s,
though, is silent and steady as the night. She is unwavering in her duty to my sister and I, but
she’s a changed person after Papa leaves us. No longer is Mama the one who sings while
doing household chores. She loves us like the sun—warm, but so very distant. She bathes us
in her light for a few hours before withdrawing behind the clouds of her anguish. And when
she smiles, it always feels like a goodbye.

My Sister and I gradually take over the home. I cook, she cleans; I tend to the herb garden,
she feeds the chickens. Mama sleeps. She sleeps sometimes for days, lying in bed and
staring at the thatched roof overhead with tired eyes. I tell my sister that Mama will get
better, but sicknesses of the heart are the hardest to heal.

Eventually, Mama stops eating.

I drip rich broths down her throat to keep her well, but she wanes more and more with each
passing day. When I ask her why she’s doing this, she only responds with ‘this is what he
wants’. I tearfully tell her that Papa wouldn’t want her to suffer so, but it doesn’t get a
response. Mama is already gone, I realize. There’s no saving her, not when she’s resigned
herself to death.
All we can do is make her comfortable. So, I curl up beside her and stroke her cheek and
humming, just like Papa used to do when he was alive.

One day, I enter the room to coax her daily broth down her throat, but I only find an empty
body. A white cat is perched on her still chest, staring at her closed eyes. I shoo it away
before dropping to my knees. She's peaceful in death, appearing only to be in a deep, deep
sleep. Like this, she looks younger and smaller. Trembling, I push hair back from her face,
and I press my forehead to hers as tears trail down my cheeks.

It’s fall when she leaves us. Very nearly on the anniversary of Papa’s death.

We weep at her grave and entreat O-Satoru-sama to look after her spirit. He hasn’t stolen her
away from us, I tell myself; he’s taken her to Heaven so she can be with Papa again. It’s
better this way, for both her and us. I hold my sister’s hand and stay with her in front of
Mama’s resting place until the sun sets. Then I take her home under the light of the full
moon and fill her belly with warm soup. My baby sister, only fourteen and having
experienced the loss of both of her parents, sleeps fitfully. But she does eventually sleep.
Dark hollows are carved beneath her vibrant eyes.

I know she’ll get through this, though; Mama had once said she was strong.

I lean against the window of our hut and peer out into the still night. Overhead, the full moon
shines brightly. I stare at it, wondering if O-Satoru-sama is watching us. Elder Gakuganji
had once stated that God dwells in the moonlight. When I feel myself wavering, I stop and
look at the moon, and I feel him. I feel him under my skin and in my lungs. O-Satoru-sama
lives inside of me. Sometimes, I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck and the brush
of his hand against the crown of my head. It’s always brief, but I know the sensation is real.

Tonight, with the moon as my guide, I walk to his shrine. With the absence of a village elder,
our once-pristine place of worship as become overgrown and dilapidated. I weed around O-
Satoru-sama’s statue before kneeling before him. And I clap my hands together and bow my
head.

“Please, God, I ask that you guide Mama’s spirit. Don’t let her walk to Papa all alone,” I
plead. Then I rub away my tears. I won’t cry at this shrine again. When I get up and turn to
leave, I see a flash of blue from the corners of my vision. I look at the six-eyed mask of our
god, but find it unchanged. The eyes don’t glow. There is nothing different about this stone
effigy than what was mere moments ago.

It’s only a whim, when I place my hand against the statue like I had all those years ago.
“Oh! It’s warm,” I breathe, surprised. The statue is warm as the sunlight, and it thrums
beneath my hand like it possesses a pulse. I press my forehead against the stone cat’s chest,
taking in the gentle vibrations. This must be a sign that he’d heard my prayer, I think.

God hears me, even when he is deaf to the pleas of others.

Because I’m blessed. I have his favor.

A meow sounds at my feet and I look down to see a white cat at the base of the statue. The
feline twines between my legs, purring and chirping. When I kneel to pet him, I notice that
he has the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They look almost unnatural, glowing in
the dimness of night. I think it must be a trick of the light, or perhaps a product of my
overactive imagination, but… think I see the stars in them.

As fast as he’s appeared, though, he runs away and I’m left alone in front of God once more.

Grief has many forms, I know. My grief is heavy, a burden that hangs below my neck like a
millstone. As my sister adjusts to life without Mama, I become Mama. What chores were
once divided evenly among my sister and I, I take over in full force. The workload is
agonizing, keeping up with the household and grinding herbs for the Wisewoman to use in
healing. I cook and clean and mend clothes and care for the animals and tend the garden, and
do a million other things that leave my hands cramping and sore by the time the sun sinks
below the horizon.

My sister’s grief, on the other hand, is seething. It boils beneath her skin, waiting to
explode. She lashes out at anybody who looks at her wrong. Those in the village—those of
us left, anyway—take to avoiding her, lest they end up on her warpath. I try to soothe her
with gentle words, to heal her heart with kindness and fresh-baked bread, but she only draws
further within herself. She pulls away, little by little.

But I hope that her soul will mend someday, that those jagged edges will temper with time
and patience.

Once a week, I pray to O-Satoru-sama’s statue. I leave him offerings of sweet buns and little
cakes—which Elder Gakuganji had once said were his favorites to eat. I burn scented herbs,
weed near the base of the statue, and fish debris free from the moonpool. Each time, I feel
the warmth of God in my chest, and swear that the same affectionate touch lingers on me
when I turn my back. It’s always fleeting, his reassurances, but they leave me uplifted
through the whole day.

My new friend often meets up with me at the shrine, meowing and yowling to get my
attention. Sometimes I pick him up and cradle him against my chest, pressing kisses to the
top of his fuzzy head and stroking the black tips of his ears. I leave the white cat cooked fish,
so that he’s not hungry either. I’d hate for the avatar of our beloved god to starve, after all.

The other villagers have taken to avoiding me. They glare at me from their huts and speak in
hushed tones when I pass by. The unease and distrust will fade with time, I tell myself.
They’re still upset because of the illness that once plagued us. Once another Elder takes
Gakuganji’s place as O-Satoru-sama’s divine mouthpiece, everything will be alright. It’s
only been three years after all, and the village has gone longer than that without divine
guidance. Before Gakuhanji had come to us from the north, O-Satoru-sama had gone
unheard for a decade.

He will have his voice heard again. Hopefully soon.

In the meantime, I know he’s with us. He still loves us, even if we can’t hear him.
I’m seventeen when a group of travelers comes to the village. They bring stories of
neighboring valleys, and the bounties that exist away from our insular little paradise. One of
the men visiting is a lord's son, or so the women of the village claim. Certainly, his clothes
are of finer quality than any around here, but sons of lords don’t visit remote locations like
this. The roads are dangerous because of bandits, and the mountain weather is fickle this
time of year.

The Wisewoman hosts them in the Elder’s old home. It’s large enough to accommodate all
thirteen men, and just opulent enough that the lord’s son won’t feel insulted. I volunteer to
prep dinner for them during their second evening, and listen in on their wild tales as I stoke
the cooking fire. My sister, who’d been bullied into helping me with such a large meal,
seems particularly entranced with the wealthy man in his fine silks. She pays special
attention to his drink, topping his wine off with demure smiles and the batting of her long
lashes. She’s long been in the hopes that she can escape this place by marrying a foreigner.
This might be her chance to get away, and perhaps even marry into money.

She hates this village, thinks it’s dying out. She says she doesn’t want to die with it like Papa
and Mama had.

I frown when I notice her attentions. The lord’s son is young enough not to be an old man,
but he must still be at least twice my sister’s fifteen years. There are fine wrinkles around his
eyes and mouth, which give away his age. I watch with disdain as his fingers run down the
length of my baby sister’s arm in a flirtatious manner. It takes everything I have not to
overturn the stewpot into his lap.

I resolve not to leave the two of them alone.

One of the lord’s guards stares at me while I serve him. He’s pretty, in a rugged sort of way,
with a scar down the side of his lips and his dark brooding eyes. But the man feels like one
of the mountain bears: hungry. I swear he licks those marred lips when I come closer. It
makes me shiver.

While the travelers are in town, I notice that the villagers are much happier. People visiting
is always a blessing. Those that come to us from faraway lands leave with our goods and
spread the word of our existence. That, in turn, leads to trade. We haven’t had a good
trading partnership since the plague closed us off to the outside world.

Local artisans—what few remain, anyway—present our fine hand-woven baskets and tanned
pelts to the merchant with the young lord. Papa's old friend gifts the visiting noble with iron
shoes for his horse and intricate fittings for his weaponry. The Wisewoman supplies the
entourage with knitted cloth, dyed using local flowers. I offer one of Papa's old leather
satchels. Our valley used to be renowned for the incredible leatherwork we produced.
Maybe someday we can become well-known again for other things.

I pray to O-Satoru-sama that this visit will bring prosperity to us. I pray that my sister will
not be led astray by a man, and that she will remain at my side where I can keep her safe and
warm and loved. Head bowed and eyes closed, I feel a hand ruffle my hair. And I know that
when my eyes open, there will be nobody there.
The white cat curls up at my side while I tear away the new growth, gnawing on the bones of
his grilled fish.

Once all of the vines have been tossed aside, I clear out the pool. In the heat of summer, I
find my haori soaking through quickly with sweat. I frequently run my long sleeves along
my forehead to collect the dampness there, but it still drips into my eyes and stings them.
Still, I work tirelessly to clean our god’s shrine. O-Satoru-sama has few true worshippers
left, but I will love him enough for the whole village.

The cat stops munching to bat its paw at the surface of the moonpool. I stop and take a
break. The urge to dip my feet into the pool is overwhelming, but I won’t run the risk of
making our god angry by sullying the scared waters with my unclean body. So instead I
crouch at the edge of the spring and let the cool breeze from its surface brush against my
skin. The tomcat paws at the hip of my hakama, and I have to carefully push him away lest
his claws rend the threadbare fabric.

“Sorry, little guy. No more fish.” I show him my empty hands.

The cat almost seems to… scowl at me. As though he understands my words, he shakes his
head and pats the top of the water. I blink and my eyes widen in surprise.

“Do… you understand me?!”

The cat’s only response is an owlish blink. Yeah… I’m talking to a cat, I think wearily. I
must have sun sickness. Or I would if I could get it.

The cat continues playing in the water, and eventually he splashes me.

“Hey! That was freezing!” I get up and try to dry my face with my sleeves. But when I turn
around, a firm pressure knocks against my upper back. And I fall into the pool, face first.
When my head pops up, there is nothing. But I swear I hear a man’s laughter on the breeze.

Did I just get pushed into the sacred pool by O-Satoru-sama himself?! Elder Gakuganji had
once said that the god is impish and likes to play pranks, but I’d never been on the receiving
end. Until now. I sputter indignantly and try to get out, but a firm paw presses to my
forehead. I stare at the cat in confusion. His little white head tilts as he watches me. Then
he presses firmer to my forehead as though telling me to ‘stay’.

“Am I allowed in here?” I ask God’s avatar. The cat meows reassuringly to me.

There’s a firm brush of a hand on my shoulders, which comes up to grip the back of my neck
gently. I know that if I turn around, there will be nothing, so I let God touch me. Despite the
cool of the water, his touch is warm as the summer air, if not warmer still. I close my eyes
and bask in the contact.

Then I feel the stirrings of breath on my ear, ruffling the whisps of my hair. I resist the urge
to open my eyes, to look at him. I must keep them closed or this will end. Warm lips brush
the shell of my ear, and I gasp at the sensation that jolts down my spine. It feels like standing
 in a lighting storm, the way the hair on my arms and neck raises. And warmth churns in my
gut in an unfamiliar sensation that makes me want to rub my thighs together.

O-Satoru-sama’s chin rests on my shoulder, his body pressed entirely against the length of
me, with his lips against me. It feels like a kiss, with how intimate this hold is. I’ve never
been this close to a mortal man, let alone a god. My god, I think fleetingly, eyelids fluttering
with the urge to open them.

We stand there for what feels like hours but must only be minutes.

Then he speaks. His voice rumbles in my head like thunder.

“You’re always welcome here, Darling.”

And then his touch is gone. I’m alone, body soaked and thrumming in time with my ragged
heartbeat. When I shiver, it has nothing to do with the chill of the spring-fed water.

Before me, the cat looks incredibly smug.

Chapter End Notes

Original A/N:
Whelp... y'all ready for it to go downhill from here?! Bad things happen, then there's
smut. You've been warned!
 Part Two
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 Part Two
What can one do when faced with the love of a god?

I’m eighteen when my world spins on its axis.

It’s the dead of summer once again, and the heat is nigh unbearable this season. The cicadas
drone endlessly—nature’s ballad for those of us that dwell in the valley. The lord’s son and
his entourage have returned for the second year in a row. He brings more merchants with
him this time, many of whom express interest in the fine hides and furs that we make. The
possibility of trade is good; it will bring life back to the village.

My sister follows the lord’s steps with wide eyes. She looks more doe-like than I’ve ever
seen her, head full of visions of the future she desires. She thinks she’s in love with the man.
I tell her that she’s smitten with the idea of leaving rather than the man himself. I caution her
to drop her gaze and focus on the ground beneath her feet, rather than the clouds. She
ignores me, instead choosing to follow doggedly behind the lesser noble and make moon
eyes at him. She’s beautiful, my sister, so it’s no surprise when she catches his eyes.

And I catch the eyes of one of the guards—the one from before, with the dark eyes and the
scarred lip. When the lord’s son looks upon my sister, he does so with lovesick eyes. When
the guard looks upon me, he does so with the eyes of a man starved—like he’s had hardly a
bite to eat in years and I’m a suckling pig roasting over the fire. So ravenous, like he’s
aching to sink his teeth into my delicate skin.

He hunts me with his eyes.

I catch those night-black depths lingering on me when I pass. They don’t look upon my
face. No. I catch them roving over my body with carnal interest—the kind of interest that
should only exist between a couple bound together before God. I feel my skin crawl like a
thousand insects dwell in my body. He makes me feel… unclean.

Despite his interest, he keeps his distance. Little more than a shadowy presence in my
peripherals, he lurks like a wolf on the prowl. I fear the moment when he feels brave enough
to clamp his jaws around my throat.

While the lord’s traveling group is in the village, I avoid the Head Elder’s home out of
caution. While I don’t think the guard will be brave enough to try anything within the
village’s boundaries, I’m not silly enough to invite his attentions. So, I take the long way
around the fields to get to O-Satoru-sama’s shrine. Some of the fieldhands loiter about under
the shade of the trees, taking refuge from the sun during the peak of its arc. I wave at the few
that I recognize, who I know will wave back. The number is few, and dwindles with every
passing year.
Being blessed by God has driven a wall between the village and I; it only grows taller with
each year that passes. The undercurrent of rage and loathing runs deeper for every winter
that I don’t take ill.

I am favored by O-Satoru-sama. And with his favor comes the bitter taste of loneliness.

The blacksmith's face contorts into baleful hatred every time I make a request at his forge,
and I must fight to keep from shrinking away from his ire. But that's hardly an uncommon
response to my presence, now. Many of those who’d once been friends with Mama and Papa
close their blinds when I pass and curse the ground I walk on. They curse God, too, for
letting their loved ones die. The Great Sickness that’d ravaged the village has been gone for
years, but hurt feelings are seldom cured in such little time. Eventually, their anger will pass,
and they’ll welcome me as one of their own again. Eventually their anguish will fade and O-
Satoru-sama’s shrine will be visited again.

I watch children play in the dusty street, kicking a ball back and forth. They’re older than I
was when I was introduced to our god, but they still wear the red garments of the Cursed.
With no Elder to speak to God, no new souls have been cleansed. I’m not sure what happens
when a Curse goes without being purified, but old legends state that those afflicted eventually
become monsters. I shiver at the thought. The children continue their play, ignorant to the
fate that awaits them if they don’t meet God.

“Cute little things, aren’t they?” The voice is an unfamiliar one, deep with an edge sharp as a
blade. I turn around and gasp in fear. The lord’s guardsman is standing behind me, head
cocked and arms crossed. His breath reeks of alcohol. I take a shaky step back. “Want to
learn how they’re made? I could show you. Sweet village girl like you, I bet you’d love it.”
The man smiles, but it’s more like he’s baring sharp fangs.

Make… children? I swallow thickly and shake my head, not wanting to speak.

“No? That’s too bad.” His scarred hand reaches towards me and I flinch away. Rough
fingers trap a lock of my hair, and he crowds into my space. I shiver in disgust when he
brings my hair to his nose to inhale my scent. “Fuck. You smell innocent. I bet I could ruin
you,” he growls.

I have to get away from him.

“I have somewhere to be,” I try to tell him firmly. I jerk my head away from him and try to
walk around his bulk. His callused hand lashes out, grabbing my wrist with speed I’ve only
seen in striking snakes. He yanks me against his body, and I tumble on unsteady feet.

“That’s not nice, sweetheart,” he admonishes. “When a man gives you attention, you’re
supposed to be flattered.” His thick arm coils around my waist.

“Please let me go,” I whisper. My heart pounds in my throat.

Chapped lips brush against my temple, a mockery of a kiss. The touch makes me think of O-
Satoru-sama, of his gentle caress. I recoil, shoving at the man’s large chest. I shriek at him
to let me go, but he only laughs at my attempts to escape. When I look at the other villagers
for help, they avert their eyes. I plead for them to make him stop, but they turn away, one-by-
one. They go inside of their huts and shut the doors, drop the drapes down. Even the
farmhands have left their shade spot.

I’m alone with the guard.

Why did they abandon me? I know that many of them are angry with me, but to let me be
assaulted in broad daylight?!

“Let me go,” I try again, but the man only drops his hand to cup my rear. He tugs me tighter
against his body, hand bruising my delicate wrist with its crushing force. And his hips roll
against me. I feel something poke my stomach, and my insides clench when I realize what it
is. The tie around my waist loosens ever so slightly.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while now. So pretty,” he coos at me, tone demeaning. This is
all a game to him. My distress is funny, I realize. “Little village girl needs to loosen up a
bit. I can help. Let’s go somewhere private, Sweet Girl. I’ll show you how a man takes care
of his woman.”

My response is instant. In a sudden show of bravery, my free hand darts out.

A smack rings out in the heavy summer air. The man’s face burns red where I’d struck him.
Shock and disbelief cloud his eyes. I wrench free from his grip, putting distance between us.
My breathing is harsh with panic, and my haori askew from his rough handling. One of my
shoulders peeks out, bare and exposed to his predatory gaze. I right my sleeve and shrink
into myself.

He’s going to come after me now, I think. He’s going to hit me back. I back away more,
waiting for the inevitable. But he doesn’t lunge. There is no coiled strike. Instead, he stares
blankly, mouth working like he’s chewing on something to say. Then the man turns and
walks away like nothing had ever happened—like he’d never tried to feel me up when I’d
asked him to stop. I have a feeling that this isn’t over, that he’ll be back again.

Dread pools in my stomach.

I wander to O-Satoru-sama’s shrine in a daze, unable to believe that I’d just been grabbed like
that.

Nobody had stopped him.

Nobody had cared.

Do the others in the village truly hate me so much?

In a trance, I go about my chores: scythe meets grass, cropping it to a manageable length; the
walkway up to the moonpool and altar are swept; O-Satoru-sama’s statue is scrubbed free of
moss and dirt. I have no offerings to place today, so instead I take to my knees and pray in
front of the statue. My eyes close, and I feel his presence immediately. The warmth of God
seeps through the cloth of my haori, and a gentle weight presses down on the back of my
neck. Long-fingered hands stroke softly at the baby hairs at the tip of my spine, and I shiver
even under the oppressive summer sun.

I almost protest; I’m sweaty from a long day’s labor—and I feel disgusting with the touch of
that man lingering on my skin. O-Satoru-sama shouldn’t dirty his hands with me.

“Somebody had touched what belongs to me”, I hear him speak, tone angrier than it’s been
before. “I watched that man sully you from the eyes of my familiars.”

Familiars. The village cats. Somebody had been watching over me, after all.

“I’m sorry, O-Satoru-sama. I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen,” I whisper,
hands clenching into fists whose knuckles are bone-white and creak with the pressure.

“It’s not your fault, Love.” The presence kneels before me, and I keep my eyes closed. His
hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking the sensitive skin below my eye. I lean into his touch,
craving the gentleness of his attentions. “But perhaps I’ve been silent for too long. This
might be the time to remind those that live within my lands exactly whom they serve, hmm?”

I shiver. His tone is cold, a contrast to the heat he radiates.

Then I lick my lips. “Why have you been quiet for so long, O-Satoru-sama? Many in the
village believe that you’ve deserted them.”

When the plague had swept through, killing everything in its path, Elder Gakuganji had
entreated for God to speak to him and tell him how to save us. O-Satoru-sama had been
silent as the grave. Many people believe that the sickness was sent as a punishment for
straying from the old days, when we used to sacrifice animals in the name of worship—more
still simply said that the deity had turned his back on us lowly humans. Gods are slaves to
their ever-changing whims, and our beloved O-Satoru-sama would surely be no exception.
After all, he’s said to be a fickle, childish God.

But the voice that rattles in my skull is hardly childish. The presence that lingers at the edge
of my peripheries radiates a power so great that my body beckons me to bend a knee to it.

“I was never silent; I couldn’t reach you.”

“But Elder Gakuganji—”

“Was not my mouthpiece towards the end of his life. I’d found another to speak on my
behalf,” O-Satoru-sama states firmly. “He feared losing his status as Head Elder, and all the
benefits that came with it, so he’d kept it a secret. But he could not hear me, not after
another had taken his place.”

The gentle hand cups the back of my head, bringing me forward until something soft brushes
against my forehead—lips, I think. My hands shake where they grip the fabric of my hakama
tightly. Warm breath tingles against the crown of my head. The breath of a God. O-Satoru-
sama lets out a hum low in his throat that sends shivers down my spine. The sound vibrates
my whole being, makes my soul tremble with want. I want him, his touch and his heat and
his voice echoing in my mind forever. Warmth pools between my thighs again, the sensation
new and exciting.

“Open your eyes,” God entreats.

My eyes only close more firmly. “If I do, you’ll disappear again.”

“You’re ready to see me now. Open your eyes.” This time, it’s a demand.

I comply with his wishes, eyes fluttering open, and I gasp. God is… beautiful. O-Satoru-
sama is like no man that I’ve ever seen before—pale as the moonlight, with hair the color of
freshly-fallen snow. His features are a curious blend of strong and delicate, and I must resist
the urge to trace the sharpness of his jaw and the fine line of his defined cheekbones. Despite
the statue depicting him as a cat, this is a man standing before me. A gorgeous man, yes, but
a human one, nonetheless. It’s only when I meet his gaze that I see him for what he really is.
His eyes are a color so unnatural that for a moment, I resist the urge to flinch away from
him. Blue eyes, I have seen before, but never a shade so indescribable. He has starlight in
his eyes; they glow.

God is kneeling before me, clad in a sky-blue kimono which shines like it’s made of the
finest silks. The cloth is worth more than I’d ever be able to comprehend, with its patterned
weave and embroidered imagery of waves. The six-eyed mask that his statue dons is pulled
up off his face, affixed to the side of his head seemingly with magic. Even lowered as he is, I
can tell that he towers over me. One of his pale hands—unmarred by imperfections like scars
or calluses—moves to cup my chin. His thumb strokes over my lips, and those otherworldly
eyes of his fixate on my mouth. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. But a little
part of my brain says that he looks like he’d rather eat me.

I shudder in his grasp. And I swallow down a sigh of something that I can’t quite name.

When God speaks this time, it’s not in my mind. Instead, his smooth voice is that of a
human’s, reaching my ears. “You were my new mouthpiece. From the moment your little
hand met me, you were mine.” He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. “You
touched my heart, and I recognized your soul.”

God has a beating heart. I can feel it thrumming beneath my fingertips.

Touched his heart? Right! I jolt, remembering my introduction ceremony, when my hand
had touched the statue’s chest. The statue’s eyes had flashed blue, had signaled to all that I
was in God’s favor. I’d been so young at the time… had I really been chosen as his
mouthpiece then? And if so, how long had Elder Gakuganji been unable to hear O-Satoru-
sama’s voice?

I lick my lips and swallow my nervousness. “When the plague killed Papa… Elder
Gakuganji was…” I trail off, unwilling to finish my thought. The Elder had lied to us for
years, had been deaf to God for so very, very long.

“His hubris killed so many people,” God sighs wearily. “The river that carries water to the
village had become tainted. Had he stepped down, had he brought you to me when I’d
originally asked, none of that would have happened. You could’ve drank from my spring or
boiled away the disease, but he could not hear my instructions. I was voiceless, watching as
you all succumbed.”

Tears flood my eyes. Papa would still be alive. Mama would still be alive. I hate Elder
Gakuganji, I think. Part of me hopes that he’s suffering for what he did. He’d killed himself,
too, in the end. A fitting end, I suppose, for somebody who’d sworn to protect us and
ultimately failed because of his own greed. I could’ve saved everyone. O-Satoru-sama
shushes me and gently brushes away the tears that spill over. The badump-badump of his
heartbeat grounds me, brings me out of my sorrow.

There’s no use mourning over what could’ve been. I can only more forward, now. Mama
and Papa would want me to stand tall, as I’d ever done. I’m blessed by God, his voice among
mortals. I’m strong. I’m special.

“Is that why I never get sick? Because I’m favored by you? Because I’m your voice?”

He laughs, then, loud and boisterous. I feel his chest shake under my hand. He feels like life,
like joy. “Oh, my sweet girl, you aren’t simply favored by me; you’re a part of me. When
your mother and father came to me, asking for a baby that would live a long life, I gave her a
sliver of my soul. You were the product.” My eyes widen. “The reason you never get sick is
the same reason roosters never scratch you, the reason wolves don’t attack you, and stray
dogs don’t bite when you pet them: you’re a living goddess.”

A…

Living…

I try to pull away from him, but his strength is astounding. I don’t so much as shift. The
hand that’d lovingly cupped my chin and stroked my tears away grips firmly around my
neck. The touch should scare me, having something so deadly around such a vulnerable part
of my body. But I trust him, as wild as it is. Something within him calls to me, and I wonder
if it’s my portion of his soul that resonates. His fingers find my pulse point and I can feel the
beat of my heart against his grasp.

“Our hearts beat as one,” he whispers. They do; I feel the evidence under my palm, in my
throat. “You are mine—you have always been mine, even before you took your first breath in
this world, even before you met me for the first time.” The possessiveness in his tone is dark,
almost obsessive. “You are mine to hold, to touch, to love. But somebody else has touched
what is mine.”

The viselike fingers that hold my hand to his chest stroke over my wrist, where a bruise is
beginning to darken the skin. Fingers emblazoned on my person, evidence of an unwanted
touch. At first, I think he’s angry at me and I apologize shakily, but the man-god shakes his
head at me. He soothes me with lips against my temple again. I know then that he’s not
angry with me, but at the man who’d sullied me. I feel dirty, still. The guardsman’s lingering
presence is like ichor that stains me where he’d let his vile fingers wander.
“You may bathe here, in the sacred spring. Wash him away,” O-Satoru-sama offers with a
whispered word to my temple. “Cleanse yourself, then go home and rest.”

When I look up at him, his eyes are shuttered, dark. His grip slackens and I pull myself away
reluctantly. Even in the summer sun, leaving his embrace is cold. When the god stands, he is
a great shadow above me, taller than any man I’ve ever known before. And he looks down at
me with a hint of fondness, ruffling my hair, before turning away to gaze down at the village
below.

I walk over to the moonpool and strip my clothes, baring my skin to the open air. When I’m
naked as the day I was born, I step into the waters. Quickly, I submerge myself, dunking my
head under and wetting my hair. It’s cold, almost too much to bear, but I stay in and scrub
myself with my fingernails. My skin turns red from my ministrations, but I finally feel
clean. I stand. My arms come up around my nude body, cradling it as I shiver. I
absentmindedly watch the holy water run in rivulets that dip between my modest breasts and
caress my legs. The feeling is sensual, a touch that traces over the sensitive parts of me.

When I turn around to look back at O-Satoru-sama, he’s looking at me with something
unreadable in those glowing eyes. I shrink away from his heated stare, sheltering my bared
chest and the cleft of my legs with my arms. He approaches, then, and he stops at the edge of
the water. “Don’t hide from me,” he admonishes softly. “I’ve known you longer than you’ve
known yourself. Your body is as familiar to me as my own.” Tentatively, I drop the last
barrier between us and let him take me in.

“D-does this please you, God?” I ask shyly.

He responds with a tone that borders on worshipful. “You’re perfect in every way. There is
no equal in this village or the next.”

Blushing, I look at the water beneath me, watch as it contorts our reflections. The water
ripples as he enters to pool with me. The god doesn’t let out a gasp at the chill, nor does he
act like it even affects him. He’s steadfast, unshakeable. He approaches me with purpose,
joining me where I’m at my most vulnerable. I feel shy, but not scared. This isn’t like being
cornered by some unknown guard. This is something preordained, something ingrained in
the fabric of my being. I was made for O-Satoru-sama; I realize that now.

I was made for him to use me and love me as he likes.

I am blessed. I am favored.

I am his.

I am his living goddess.

He cups the soft globe of my breast. His thumb brushes over the hardened peak of one of my
nipples, and the sensation very nearly sends me back to my knees. The sigh I let out is
approving, longing, beseeching. I want him to touch me more, touch me in different places.
Then a thought comes to me from that hungry place in my mind—I want him to put his
mouth on me, to nip and suck and kiss where his thumb had only grazed.
I let out a mewl of disappointment when he steps back and removes himself from the pool
entirely. He breathes deeply, eyes closed, like he’s restraining himself.

“I’ll leave you to finish. There is ceremonial garb in the shrine house that should fit you.”

Then he abruptly turns away and vanishes in the tree line at the edge of the shrine grounds.

And I’m left alone, naked and wanting.

My knees tremble when I pull myself from the sacred waters. I open the doors of the shrine
house, which creak from disuse. There is dust—layers upon layers which blanket all I see—
and a myriad of cobwebs in every corner. Tirelessly, I sift through the contents of the many
crates. In one, my fingers find something luxuriously soft. I gasp and pull the bolt of cloth
free, marveling at the soft blue color of it—the same as the kimono God had worn. This is a
yukata, though, made from soft cotton and free from the ostentatious embellishments of O-
Satoru-sama’s own garb.

Still, it’s finer than anything I’ve ever owned. I wrap my chest and slide on the blue
garment. It fits perfectly. The summer yukata feels like the embrace of a precious person,
like being held by Mama again after so long. It feels like wearing O-Satoru-sama’s love on
my person.

I burn my old haori and hakama in one of the ceremonial braziers.

When I arrive home in clothes different from those I’d left in, I expect my sister to say
something snappy. But she doesn’t, because she’s absent. I know that she must be with the
lord’s son, and I feel discontent bubble in my stomach. She is an adult in the eyes of our
people now, and I cannot stop her from pursuing him. Besides that, I have no way of
stopping the noble’s attentions without dooming the village to an existence without trade.

I’m at an impasse. There’s nothing I can do. The hollow feeling in my gut only grows wider
with each passing moment until it yawns wide and dark.

I go to bed alone, my sister’s cot empty save for her blankets. My dreams are filled with
disjointed images of hands that grip me in unwanted places, and a mouth gnawing at my
neck, like it wants to drink down my lifeblood. I awake to the darkness once or twice,
fearing leering eyes peaking in through my window, but I am still alone. I toss and turn for
fear that he’s still hunting me, that he’s been waiting to strike in the dead of night, when he
can hurt me and nobody would ever know. My sleep is fitful.

My sister never returns from where she’s spent the night.

And the Guard never visits me outside of my nightmares.

Because when the dawn greets the village, he’s found dead.

His body is discovered in an irrigation canal, just past the fields where he’d lain his hands on
me. At first, the Wisewoman suspects an animal attack—we dwell in the mountains, after all,
and there are no shortage of creatures that find lone men easy prey. But the body is not bitten
or clawed; it is twisted and crushed, like a great force had pressed down on him from all
directions. His bones are in shards so small that his bruise-blackened limbs flop like wheat
stalks when they remove his body. Where once there was a ribcage, there is only a caved-in
and hollow husk. Expression frozen in an expression of horror and pain, his face peeks over
his shoulder because his head has been twisted backwards.

A crowd gathers to watch the spectacle; there has never been a death like this before.

It’s horrific. It’s brutal. It’s inhuman.

The wrath of God.

I find no joy in his death, nor his torment. But there is justice in it. O-Satoru-sama is not
cruel; he would not punish a man so terribly without reason… Right? The god has only ever
shown me kindness, patience, love.

A white cat slinks around the edge of the crowd, weaving in between he legs of the on-
lookers as the body is carted away. I kneel and motion for him to approach me, and he does
easily. The lithe white form of the tomcat nudges against my knee, purring happily in my
presence. I scratch him behind his ears absentmindedly.

“You shouldn’t linger here, Little One. The villagers might trample you if you’re underfoot,”
I scold him.

And when the cat’s eyes open, I gasp. Blue and filled with starlight, they are the same as
God’s. My mouth hangs open in disbelief and the cat seems to wink as though to say ‘it was
me all along’. He’s been watching over me since I was very small, I think, remembering the
snow-colored kitten that’d played in the water at my introduction. I remember my mother's
death, how he'd been watching over her... and the comfort the same cat had offered me for
many moons.

The Wisewoman makes her way through the crowd and announces that this is the work of
divinity. This is the punishment from God for some unknown transgression. But they know
what the man had done. They all turn to me with knowing gazes. This man had put his
hands on me and had ended up dead. There is no jealousy or hatred in their eyes now. No.
All that is left behind is fear.

They fear that our once-loving god will strike them down next.

The lord’s son is furious at the death of his favored bodyguard, and more so at the
‘superstitious hicks’ that write off the killing as a deity’s work. The wealthy man has little
faith in what he cannot see, and he berates us for our ignorance. ‘There are no gods, no
monsters’, he says to anybody who will listen. And when we won’t listen, won’t look deeper
into what he considers to be a murder, he leaves.

He and all of his merchant friends and the rest of his guards depart the village at the end of
summer. The changing of the leaves and the autumn chill follow the entourage as it rounds
the road up the mountain. Before I see them fade from view, I can just barely spot my sister
among them—her hand laced with the lord’s like lovers do. She turns around, and for a split
second her impassive eyes meet mine.

Then she’s gone.

I’m alone, save for the tiny cat-god that nudges at my knees.

I go to his shrine and cry into his fine kimono until I pass out. When I wake up, I’m warm in
my bed. A white-furred body lays on my chest, purring. Our hearts beat as one.

I’m nineteen when God devours me.

I feel eyes on me every time I leave my hut, so I prefer to stay inside and practice my
leatherworking. Papa had shown me a little before he’d died, but it’s up to me to learn the
finer points on my own. With winter here, the cooking fire keeps me warm as I press tools
into the leather’s tanned façade. I’m getting better at cutting straight edges, and my hands are
growing steadier by the day.

Someday, this village will flourish again, and we’ll revitalize our trade. This is my goal when
I take over as Head Elder. I’ll write letters and send couriers to neighboring villages, and
we’ll become what we once were.

O-Satoru-sama tells me that I’m an optimist, but I hardly care. I want to do better by the
people than my predecessor. I will not allow others to die because of my own hubris, nor will
I allow us to waste away here in this isolated valley. I’ll be a good village leader, and I have
the favor of God on my side. O-Satoru-sama has already stated that he’ll bless the fields for
the next harvest so that our food stores can swell once again. I had thanked him with a bow,
but he’d demanded a kiss on the cheek. I’d obliged nervously. The kiss had been chaste, but
it’d left me feeling giddy for several days afterward.

God is loving; he’s kind.

He will watch over us.

But winter is always a difficult season, and first we must make it through to spring. O-
Satoru-sama has made me promise that I won’t tell anybody about being his mouthpiece until
after the first leaves are on the trees. He worries that the villagers might still be resentful of
me, and that they may try to do me harm. I’m not worried, though—these people are good at
heart; I know it.

The last few years have just hardened them. But they’ll soften up, someday.

This village is my home; these people were once my family and friends.

O-Satoru-sama had seemed doubtful. And he’d sworn to protect me. His tone had been dark
enough that I’d shivered. He’d brushed his lips over my cheek and murmured a threatening
‘if anybody touches you…’ into my ear. I know what will happen if somebody tries to do me
harm. I dread the day it happens again. The dark feeling in my gut curls inside, though, and
a part of me admits that I like that he’d punished a man so severely for touching me. He’d do
anything for me, kill for me, and the realization leaves me breathless.

I’m sick in my head, I think, because sometimes my hand slips beneath my underthings and I
find myself hot and wet at the thought of O-Satoru-sama displaying his power again. I don’t
go further than a cursory touch, though. I never press my fingers into myself to quell the
neediness, no matter how much I yearn to. That’d be a step too far, a point of no return.

I will not sully myself in his eyes.

The middle of winter marks the day of my birth, though I’m unsure of exactly which day it
is. I know that I’m around nineteen winters, old enough for a husband and a babe or two by
now, if I were a traditional woman. I wonder if my sister had ever married the lord’s son; I
wonder if she’s with child now.

There are things I’ll never know, though, and wondering will only bring back the melancholy.

A knock on my door breaks my concentration, and my tool slips through the leather in a
jagged pattern. I groan in annoyance, but get up anyway. The white cat at my side stirs, but
doesn’t follow. O-Satoru-sama has been at my side diligently for the better part of two
seasons; he must be exhausted. He’s mentioned that inhabiting a familiar uses up quite a lot
of energy, and his energy had been waning for years. We’d talked at length about his divine
abilities and how they worked.

He’d used to devour the Cursed Energy of children, which all of those in our village are born
with. For centuries, he’d eaten the Curses in return for providing fertile fields and protection
from other, less kind deities. That’s what the introduction had been when I’d turned three;
he’d devoured the Curse inside of me. But with no new introductions made, he hasn’t fed
since after Elder Gakuganji died. He’s not weak now—he could never be weak—but he must
rest more than he once did.

Awaiting on the other side is the blacksmith. This aged, angry man looks nothing like he had
years ago, when he'd been good friends with Papa. When he'd often stopped by to join in
supper or help repair the roof. The man before is defeated, broken, hollow. He’d lost so
much when the sickness came: his wife and twin daughters. It’d changed him into something
dark, something harsh. He was one of the people who’d let the guard touch me; I remember
seeing his familiar face in the group of farmhands. Papa’s friend glances at the cat near my
cot and frowns, weary eyes turning downwards and lips pulling taut. And he looks away
abruptly when one of the cat's black-tipped ears twitch. The smith informs me that the
Wisewoman wants to see me, and that it is a matter of great importance. Then he pulls away
so suddenly that I flinch.

I watch as he stalks off before I have a chance to thank him for the message. I think that’s by
design.

The Wisewoman is the same one we’ve had for three decades, and she’d been the one to
preside over my birth. She’d once told me that she’d known I was special from my first
breath. I hadn’t cried like most babies do, like my long-dead brother and absent sister had
done. Instead, I’d laughed when I’d met the world. She’d once told me that the birthing
room had never heard a more beautiful sound.

Mama had worked for her, grinding herbs for healing poultices and potions, and I’d taken
over the duty after Mama had died. But there is nothing to grind in winter, when all the herbs
have already been dried and stowed for storage. I wonder what she could want with me, but
the woman is the only person who has continued to treat me with kindness in the wake of the
guard’s death. So, I immediately bundle myself up and head to her hut on the far side of the
village square.

I shiver in the cold's biting embrace. Winter stings my cheeks, even through the layers of my
clothing. No snow has fallen yet, but ice forms on my breath as it leaves me in puffs.

I enter the hut near the base of the overgrown shrine stairs and find the elderly woman
swathed in blankets, resting in her bed. The rest is not comfortable, though, judging from her
labored breathing and sweat-streaked skin. I rush to her bedside and take her gnarled hand
between my own. Her flesh is hot to the touch. She feels like she’s burning alive. I grab a
cloth from the bucket of water nearby and use it to mop up her sweat. Then I wring it out and
let the cool compress soothe her heated body, laying it tenderly across her lined forehead.

She’s sleeping, I think.

And when I stand up to leave, her hand shoots out to stop me. It startles me, how fast she
moves for a sick person. The woman motions me to come closer and I lean in. Her
wheezing only sounds worse now that she’s moving. I realize then that she’s terribly, terribly
ill.

“You… must.. leave.” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. Does she want me out of her
house after she called me here and had me stay? “Leave the… leave the village… before it’s
too late, Child.”

I start. “Leave the village? Why, Wisewoman? What’s going to happen?”

“He’s waiting for you,” she coughs out with great difficulty. “He’s killed to keep you… He’ll
keep.. he’ll keep killing until… he has you.”

“Who?!” I ask, casting a suspicious glance at her open window. “Who’s killing people?
Why does he want me?!”

The woman’s breathing is labored, and she hacks and coughs for a moment. I worry she’ll
hurt something, and I try to soothe her with gentle touches, but she flings her hands out and
screams at me not to touch her. I draw back, hurt and confused.

“You’re not well,” I say. “Get some rest, and you can tell me when you feel better.”

“I’m dying,” the woman hisses like one of the village cats. “But before I go… I must warn
you. Leave. Please… leave,” she pleads brokenly. “Leave us or we’ll all die!”
The delirium of a woman about to meet her end, I think sadly. There’s no truth to her words,
just paranoia. I sigh sadly and think of how to handle her. The Wisewoman was once a
strong, beautiful person. Now, she’s a shell, mangled and twisted by visions of death. She
smells of vomit and loosened bowels, and her hair is twisted into filthy matter clumps. She
hasn’t taken care of herself in a long time. Her mind is gone, eaten away by whatever fever
she has. Before I can say anything, though, she lurches away from me like she’s been struck.

“O-Satoru-sama,” she whispers in terror, looking over my shoulder, “please forgive me!”

I peek behind me and find God’s avatar watching from the doorway. The white cat’s starlight
eyes are fixated on the woman in the bed—they’re blank and unnervingly dark for things that
usually shine like jewels. He must be upset that she’d yelled at me. He’s so overprotective
since the guard’s assault. I offer him a smile and stand up. I’m done here. The Wisewoman
needs to calm down again so she can find peace in slumber, and my presence here will only
prevent that.

“She’s hallucinating,” I tell God’s vessel. “She’s paranoid because she’s sick; she’ll be better
tomorrow.”

But I know she’s dying. This is the last time I’ll see her. The last image I have of her is the
shriveled form on the bed wailing in fear and anguish. I shut the door and let out a sniffle.
O-Satoru-sama paws anxiously at my knees.

“I’m fine,” I reassure him. “It’s just sad, watching somebody so proud sink so low.”

I don’t pay any mind to what she’d told me. The irrational ramblings of a dying woman
don’t mean much to me.

Still, something inside of me whispers that I’m in terrible danger.

It’s not until I’m tucked in for the night and ready for bed that the feeling is proven correct.
It’s the middle of evening, with the full moon high in the sky, when I’m plucked from sleep
by a rough hand in my hair. The grip pulls and tugs at me until I’m tossed onto the floor. I
shout in pain and surprise, fingers clawing at the man above me.

Papa’s old friend is in my hut, towering over me. He yanks on my scalp again and I let out a
throat-scarring scream. Somebody will come help me, right? Somebody will save me,
right? He pulls me up off the floor with his grip, jarring my neck and shoulders. And he
holds a tanto to my neck. He’s… he’s going to... kill me?! Is this who the Wisewoman had
been warning me about? I’d ignored her, thought she was speaking from a place of madness
—but maybe she’d been right about this.

A white steak launches itself at the man, yowling and clawing into his eyes. The man yells
out in pain but doesn’t let me go. Instead, he drops the short blade and tears the furious cat
off his face, smashing it into the ground at his feet. Then he raises a heavy boot and brings it
down on the small animal’s body with a sickening crunch. Then he does it again and again
and again.
“O-Satoru-sama!” I cry. His avatar’s white form lies tellingly still, red pooling from beneath
the tiny corpse.

“You’re not a god; you’re a demon!” the man spits at the cat’s body. Then he yanks me up to
follow him, grabbing the blade from the ground. I'm dragged closely behind, barefoot and
tripping over every rock in the road. It hurts, walking without my straw sandals for
protection. And it's freezing. My toes are slowly turning to ice, even as the razor-sharp
pebbles rend slashes across them.

I’m paraded through the village like a macabre art piece, feet covered in dirt and cat’s blood,
and clothes askew. The villagers gawk and stare, but do not move to help. Instead, they
watch. And they wait. The other avatars of God, too, watch in the wings. Their feline eyes
glow eerily in the dark. Hisses and growls from the small beings rise with our passing.

“The Wisewoman is dead. Because of you, so many people had to die,” Papa’s old friend
snarls under his breath, tugging viciously. “Your father and mother, Elder Gakuganji… my
family. The burden of their deaths rests with you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whimper. “Please let me go. Please. Please.
Please.”

His eyes soften just a fraction. “Your Papa and I knew each other since we were children.
He was my best friend. And now he’s dead because of you.” He holds the tanto up, the
sharpness of the curved edge grazing my tender throat. “He’s dead. Because of that thing we
used to worship.” The blade presses deeper. “Did you know that God feeds off of us? Elder
Gakuganji told me before he died. Gojo Satoru is a monster, a creature that devours part of
our souls in exchange for more crops than we need. Is that a fair trade to you?!”

I protest, voice shaking in terror. Is this how it ends? “He eats the Curses inside of us; he
told me himself. It’s to keep us from becoming tainted.”

“It’s a lie to keep us coming; he harvests us like we do the fields, yielding a bigger crop with
every year.” I’m dragged to the statue of O-Satoru-sama’s likeness. The cold stone seems
even taller, even more foreboding. It glowers at the man with all six of its all-seeing eyes. “I
just want it all to stop.”

“Then let me go,” I plead. “Please, let me go.”

The broken man shakes his head, tears in his eyes. “I can’t. The demon wants you. And
now he’ll have you.”

My back meets the rough flagstones in front of God’s statue as I’m carelessly thrown. The
large, strong blacksmith pins me down with a knee in my gut and the hand still in my hair. I
try to claw anywhere I can reach with my grubby nails: eyes, throat, arms. The man ignores
the bleeding gouges I leave behind—treats them like little more than kitten scratches. He
again rests the blade on my throat, presses threateningly. I jerk under him, watching as more
cats linger at the tree line; they observe with hackles raised and needle-teeth bared.
The tanto shakes in his hand. “I’ll sacrifice you to Gojo, then we’ll be free of his curse,” he
whispers, voice breaking.

Something wet drops down onto my face, and I realize that the man above me is crying now.
His weight shudders on top of me. The glistening trails down his face catch in the light of the
full moon. And, after a moment of tense silence, his grip on the short blade goes slack. Then
it loosens completely, letting the weapon drop to the ground next o us with a loud thunk.

“Forgive me, everyone, I can’t do it,” he cries mournfully. “Not with you looking at me. Not
when you have your Papa’s eyes.” The man, deep in his grief, bows his head over me and
lets out great heaving sobs.

Am I safe now? Is it over? I’m still pinned, still at his mercy, but the immediate threat is
gone. I feel hollowed out now that the terror has fled. There’s an empty chasm inside of me
that whispers ‘he was going to kill me’ over and over again. I was going to die by the hand
of somebody I’d known since I was a child. I stare blankly up at the cloudless sky, taking in
the swollen moon and the starlight.

Starlight, like O-Satoru-sama’s glowing blue eyes. I remember the broken little body in my
hut and shudder.

But God isn’t dead. No. I see him over my captor’s shoulder, looking completely
unharmed. The deity’s eyes are swirling vortexes of rage, glowing with divine fury
unmatched by any earthly source. And, with deliberate slowness, he reaches out to grasp the
human’s hair between his pale fingers. He draws the man’s head back, meeting no
resistance. Papa’s old friend seems to be in a trance, I realize; he no longer cries, but is eerily
blank, like his soul had already fled his body. O-Satoru-sama takes up the discarded tanto
and runs it quickly over the human’s throat.

I observe all of this from a distance, like I’m outside of my own body.

But I feel the hot spray of blood as it hits my cheeks. I see the red fountain erupt from the
new mouth opened in a grim smile on his neck. I hear the disgusting gurgling he makes as
red liquid obscures his airways. The man remains calm—he doesn’t fight, doesn’t struggle,
even as he chokes on his life blood and exsanguinates.

O-Satoru-sama watches all of this with disinterest, like one would observe a fly being
swatted.

The man—now a corpse, my brain hisses—threatens to fall on top of me. God grabs the
body by the collar of its haori and tosses it aside like rubbish. I watch the boneless heap in
distant horror. The waiting cats descend on him en masse, and I shiver as they tear into him
like a hunk of meat. It's awful, the sounds of gnawing and hissing.

“Are you alright, Love?” my deity asks. I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes
forth. I choke on my words—like the man had choked on his own lifeblood.

Choking.
Suffocating.

I turn over and gag. Then I look up at God's impassive face. There isn't a hint of remorse that
I can see. if anything, he looks... excited.

Propping myself up on trembling arms, I whisper, "I have to go back to the village and let
them know what happened. I have to-"

"There isn't anybody there anymore."

That gives me pause and I look up at him. "W-what do you mean? Where did everybody
go? Did they all run away?"

The God doesn't answer me, instead tilting his head and inspecting me with the same
countenance as one of his familiars. He's unnervingly still, I notice. God doesn't have the
same idiosyncrasies that humans do; he doesn't fidget, doesn't shift, doesn't breathe. He's a
statue with lifelike colors. Strong and cold as the stone shrine he dwells beneath.

"O-Satoru-sama, where are the villagers?" I ask him again.

"They allowed that man to touch you." It is a non-answer, but it's telling all the same. I
wonder if there is a sea of blood at the foot of the shrine steps. I wonder if he'd spared any of
the children. But I know that he's not the merciful deity I'd once pictured him as. No. He's a
demon, a monster. How many people had he killed in his long existence? How many had he
killed just tonight?

And he'd killed them all for me. I'm complicit in it all. All those deaths, and it's my fault.

It's...

It's all my fault.

I'm a monster, too, I suppose.

Something inside of me cracks. It's not a clean break, but one that leaves the mental wounds
exposed and jagged. One false step, and I'll shatter.

I wonder if that's what he wants; for me to fall to pieces under his attentions so that he can
put me back together how he likes.

O-Satoru-sama kneels before me, not a speck of red decorating his beautiful skin. His
kimono is flawless as ever, unmarred by the struggle of tonight. My own matching yukata is
streaked with crimson, soaked in it. It’s seeping into the inner fabrics of my chest wraps. I
can feel it on my body, hot and sticky. Shaking, I tug at the cloth, trying to pull it away from
my skin before it, too, is stained.

O-Satoru-sama’s strong hands grip the fabric, and he pulls it apart with the ease of ripping
rice paper. I’m left bare before him, but not clean as I’d been last time. No. I am drenched
in the evidence of the slaughter, decorated with the carnage of murder.
I can’t breath; I think I’m dying.

The demon coos at me, cupping my cheek with the very hand he’d used to kill a man. To kill
many, many men. “It’s okay, Love. Nobody will ever hurt you again.” He pushes me back
gently, and I bend to his will as a bough bends before the great winds. Outside, I’m docile,
calm. Inside, I scream and scream until my head pounds. “I’ll kill anybody who touches
you.” O-Satoru-sama’s gentle touch unwinds my breast band, and his mouth presses hotly
against the side of my neck. “I’ll kill anybody who tries to take you away from me,” he
whispers against my skin. "Your father tried to steal you away, too, you know. The Elder
would've allowed it. So i punished them."

The confession falls between us, hot and heavy like the striking of a blacksmith's hammer. It
takes my molten core and shapes it further, warps it until it's unrecognizable.

‘He’s killed to keep you… He’ll keep... he’ll keep killing until…’

‘Because of you, so many people had to die. Your father and mother, Elder Gakuganji… my
family. The burden of their deaths rests with you!’

The words swirl together in my mind. I stare at the night sky above, body heavy as stone.
God’s soft lips latch onto one of my bared nipples, and I let out a soft cry. His lithe fingers
curl at the ties of my underthings, tugging them free from my body. My legs part without my
input, without my control. My body is his to command, and command it he does. He plays
me like one of the ceremonial drums, in tune to the beat of our hearts.

The beautiful monster suckles at my teat like a starving babe before moving down lower and
lower. His perfectly straight nose nudges against the underside of my breast, and his lips
trace each of my ribs, caress petal-soft. Then his tongue drips into my bellybutton. And his
chin comes to rest just above the thatch of curls between my parted legs. And he stares at me
with starlight in his eyes.

Those eyes are gentle, full of love and devotion. O-Satoru-sama is a kind god, I lie to myself.

Those eyes are starving, full of lust and obsession. Gojo Satoru is a vicious demon, a lone
voice whispers on the wind.

Warmth pools in my belly, and my body shakes with anticipation. This is wrong, is sick, but
I can’t pull myself together long enough to stop it. This was inevitable, I realize with
resignation. This was how it was always going to end. I was made for him, carved form a
piece of his soul.

“You’re mine,” he demands of me. “You’ll always be mine.”

I am blessed.

I am cursed.

I am a little of both, I realize as the otherworldy being dips his head and licks a stripe up my
center. I let out a garbled shriek, arching off of the cold ground. It doesn’t feel like winter,
not beneath him, not in front of his shrine. It’s warm like the sun. Warm like blood. His
hands grip tightly to my straining thighs as he laps furiously at me, tongue writhing against
the parts of me that drive me insane.

My hips rut against his face, and I cry out again and again in the stillness of the night,
uncaring who hears my pleasure. My fingers reach down to grip at his hair, to keep myself
grounded lest my soul float free of my body. I look down and see the white of his locks
stained crimson with blood. Where my filthy fingers touch, red follows.

Blood, blood, blood.

He devours me until I kick and flail and plead, but each time I grow taut with the rapture of it
all, his sinful mouth pulls away. He nips warningly at the insides of my trembling thighs,
leaving the imprints of his torment on the soft skin. Then he starts over, building me up just
to leave me unsatisfied. He drives me higher and higher with each press of his lips against
me. The mockery of a kiss he bestows upon me steals my breath. My chest aches. I can't
catch my breath; each inhale is ragged and gasping.

I think I smell smoke.

The demon pulls away more firmly, and I cry out, trying to tug him back to where I need
him. But it’s like trying to move a mountain.

He smirks with mischief and nuzzles the twitching muscles of my stomach. “Who do you
belong to, My Goddess?”

“Y-you, O-Satoru-sama,” I answer, voice brittle.

“Who is your God?”

“You are,” I cry when he licks me again, tauntingly.

“Who is the only one to touch you?”

“You! Only you! Please!”

He’s happy with my answer. He must, because he latches on to the hottest part of me and
sucks. He's killing me, I think. Even when the sensation is too much and I sob, trying to
push his head away, he doesn’t stop lapping at me. I try to get away, twisting this way and
that to escape, but he holds fast. He devours me like I’m the sweetest treat he’s ever had. I
peak again and again, until the high runs together in a continuous loop. I’m up in the sky
with the stars and the moon, spiraling until I’m dizzy.

When I look down, I think I see a flash of horns curling on his forehead. His blue eyes are
locked on me, watching me fall to pieces under him. Reaching out, I grasp the demonic
appendages in my hands like handles as I press his face more firmly against me. I throw my
head back and scream so loud that my voice echoes off the mountainside.

It feels good.
It hurts.

I cry at the intensity of it all.

And then…

I black out.

And when I come to, there’s a weight pinning me down, simultaneously reassuring and
oppressing. O-Satoru-sama has shed his clothes, and his naked skin is smooth and warm as
the rest of him. He’s between my legs, chest pressed against mine. Our hearts beat as one.
His eyes are soft with something that I would’ve once called love. Exhausted, I don’t resist
when he hooks a still-twitching leg over one of his slender hips. Something hot and hard
prods at my oversensitive flesh.

“You will live as royalty until you are old and grey and worn. A long, fulfilled life," he
murmurs against my cheek, breath hot enough to elicit shivers. "And at the end, I'll be there.
When you die, your body shall be buried with me beneath this shrine,” he commands. “We’ll
rule this valley together until the stars burn out, until the moon shatters, and until time tears
itself apart.”

“Yes, Satoru,” I whisper, numb to everything except the perfect being on top of me. I don’t
think about my family, nor the village below. There is only Gojo Satoru.

I must’ve bit my lip at some point because it stings. I can taste blood. The demon drops his
head and presses his lips against mine. First tenderly, then insistently. I open up to him,
allowing his tongue to snake against mine in a dance as old as humanity. He tastes like blood
and something musky and tangy that lingers in the back of my throat. He tastes like me, like
my cunt. Our first kiss, fouled with the fetid flavors of death and pleasure. I shudder and
drag my nails down the length of his back. I hope I mark him; I hope it hurts.

“Our children will love it here,” he sighs into my mouth, tone wistful.

Children, I think distantly. I wonder if they’ll be human. Or if they’ll be demons like their
parents.

I wrap my legs firmly around the demon’s waist, drawing him ever closer. I quiver with
pleasure when his lips find mine once more. His touch is reverent, obsessive, all-consuming.
The bigger part of me wants to drown in the sensation, wants to sink into it until there’s only
him and I left. The smaller, less vocal part wants me to run away and never look back, to
seek out my sister and live far removed from this creature and his machinations. But the
thought of leaving makes me feel desolate. I can't leave him, not now. My mouth meets his
again, and I tangle my fingers into his blood-soaked hair.

When he takes me, I yowl like a cat in heat. If there were anybody left alive in the valley,
they would've been frightened by the sound of our mating. But we're the only ones here,
now.

I am blessed by God.
I am favored by God.

I am his, and he is mine.

In the distance, I think the village is burning.

 Godhead - End

Chapter End Notes

Original A/N:
Now y'all know why this is called Godhead, amiright? 🫠🙃
Oh, man. This got dark. Hooray for Yandere Satoru. And hooray for abandoning all your
morals to bone your local evil spirit!
End Notes

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