For as lovely as Hushed Willows is, it lacks the space Ereshkigal needs to feel at home. There are too many places to hide, myriad shadows within which to cloak oneself. Cerulean is right to be attached to her childhood home, but it isn't quite for the Seductress. The vast, golden slopes of these plains, however. . . . utter perfection. Completely beyond words; indeed, it leaves the fae speechless, standing still upon a rise.
The glory of the One is in everything, but she finds it even more apparent here, upon this land of honeyed fields. The sun descends upon the majestic, gilded horizon, bathing Ereshkigal and all around her in flame. Baptized by fire —
Heretics were sentenced to die by fire. Somewhat. They were left out in the scorching sun for days on end, without food, without water, without shade to cool their brow. Only those who repented their wicked ways and accepted the One within their hearts received relief. More succumbed to belief than others; faced with certain death by dehydration, little wonder!
Her father, though, had been one of the few holdouts. Stubborn to the end. Upon discovering the tryst with the Huntress Nammu, the Elder Truth Tellers demanded he convert. He refused. They threatened him with injury. Still, he did not give way. Finally, they dragged him out into the high desert and took turns watching over him, gazing down upon the coyote cur that spat in the face of all things good and holy. . .even when he had not a single drop of saliva to give.
My gods will welcome me when I pass over, he rasped, hours from his demise; I am not afraid of your fairy tales. He wasted away, and the vultures picked at his flesh. His mind remained unchanged.
Ereshkigal knows not much else of her father, but she knows she has the heretic's stubbornness. That in combination with her faith — what can stop her? This place ought to be her own, ought to be filled with the ranks of those who believe. Cerulean, perhaps, and more. They will come, even if she has to baptize them by fire. She will press their cheeks into the trembling earth until they beg —
And then give them the sweetest of relief. For this is the mercy of Ereshkigal, and this is the mercy of the One.
The glory of the One is in everything, but she finds it even more apparent here, upon this land of honeyed fields. The sun descends upon the majestic, gilded horizon, bathing Ereshkigal and all around her in flame. Baptized by fire —
Heretics were sentenced to die by fire. Somewhat. They were left out in the scorching sun for days on end, without food, without water, without shade to cool their brow. Only those who repented their wicked ways and accepted the One within their hearts received relief. More succumbed to belief than others; faced with certain death by dehydration, little wonder!
Her father, though, had been one of the few holdouts. Stubborn to the end. Upon discovering the tryst with the Huntress Nammu, the Elder Truth Tellers demanded he convert. He refused. They threatened him with injury. Still, he did not give way. Finally, they dragged him out into the high desert and took turns watching over him, gazing down upon the coyote cur that spat in the face of all things good and holy. . .even when he had not a single drop of saliva to give.
My gods will welcome me when I pass over, he rasped, hours from his demise; I am not afraid of your fairy tales. He wasted away, and the vultures picked at his flesh. His mind remained unchanged.
Ereshkigal knows not much else of her father, but she knows she has the heretic's stubbornness. That in combination with her faith — what can stop her? This place ought to be her own, ought to be filled with the ranks of those who believe. Cerulean, perhaps, and more. They will come, even if she has to baptize them by fire. She will press their cheeks into the trembling earth until they beg —
And then give them the sweetest of relief. For this is the mercy of Ereshkigal, and this is the mercy of the One.
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