Qhynrena had found herself strolling around the gardens — her gardens, she remarked — absentmindedly admiring the festive décor in various stages of set-up; from paper chains and elaborate garlands elegantly strewn about or hung on wayward nails to chains of lights deliberately and delicately tucked into the branches and boughs of all manner of flora, or wrapped around trunks and the bordering wooden fences on the paths, among others. While in her own time she’d never much understood the mortal fascination with such festivities and ceremonies, even in antiquity when they’d been so bold to make her the subject of some of their jubilations — she had to admit that now, living (or unliving) more among them than she ever had before, she had found a certain charm in their “holidays” and the rituals that surrounded them, one that drove her to curiosity.
Curiosity that had, in turn, led her to play host to their merrymaking around this time of year (whatever a “year” meant, anymore; she’d long since discarded the need for such timekeeping, and unlike some other denizens here, she’d done it long before she’d died). After all, with the whole after-life to spare and catch up on all the things she’d missed in her time as a god, what better way to learn about what she had been lacking than to take part in it firsthand?
She had just rounded the corner towards one of the ponds when she halted in her tracks, seeing the long and snakelike shape of her newest guest laying on his side by the water, half curled-up and facing away from her. Bright black-and-teal scars marked the length of his body in various places, like so many mortals in this place — and like her. A sympathetic smile crossed her features as she blinked softly and began to approach her newcomer, her claws — and hoof — clicking gently against the soft wooden boardwalk. As she approached, he barely stirred, even as her shadow came between him and the soft, fast-fading light of the sunset through the massive glass windows; though, the fin on his back went from pinned against him to flared defensively in the time it took for her to come near.
“Finding everything alright?” she offered.
He didn’t respond, at first, instead closing his eyes, perhaps in the hope that when he opened them, he’d no longer find her standing there. When he opened them and glanced up at her out of the corner of his eye — and, of course, did see her — he merely let out a long, exhausted exhale. “Fine. As dead gets.”
The gentle expression never left her face. “Well, that’s a start, at least. …Has my protégé come around yet?”
“Yes,” the stranger growled, a guttural rumbling from deep in his throat. “And he asked me the exact same thing.”
“Ah,” she replied. “I see. Anything I can do? Get for you, perhaps?” The offer was sincere. Though she struggled to empathize, exactly, with all the plights of the mortal races… at the very least, she knew what dying felt like. And either way, she was quite fond of them.
“…No,” he hissed, after a moment. “Nothing can help me now.”
Qhynrena let out a deep and sympathetic exhale through her nose. “Alright,” she answered, voice still plain with good humour. “Do let me know if that changes.”
He rolled his eyes and groaned. “…Okay. Sure.”
She shook herself gently and moved to turn away when she hesitated again, glancing back once more. “Oh,” she added, “I did just want to let you know — as you may already know — I am hosting the annual holiday party later this month, so, do take note of that, if that will be an issue. You are, of course, formally invited to participate if you wish.”
No response but the shifting of his tail against the ground and the shuffling of his shoulders. Alas.
“That is all,” she finished, bowing her head. “Best wishes.”
Now walking off down the path for real this time, Qhynrena continued to admire the progression of the state of the decorations amidst the foliage, the blend of inorganic versus the organic not unwelcome in a time like this; in stark contrast, she reminisced, to the events that had not only made her mortal, but in turn had led to her death. …But here there was no faith to lose, and thus no power to be gained from it, and under the thrall of a greater god than she had ever been she found was not so bad a place to be — for it all came back to the singular truth that she had quickly learned here, that there was so much more to life that she had missed in her time as an “immortal”. Perhaps, she mused, there was something special about being mortal — far more special than being divine.
Lost in that ever-tempting musing was she until the waving of a hoof in front of her face brought her back to the present moment, a gesture for notice when words evidently failed. Waiting for her, as they came into view, were Silas — in deer form — and on his back the Shrewdelion, both of whom regarded her with gazes as pawky and stoic as usual. “Oh!” she said, letting her voice dance with a hint of sheepishness and a smile tease at the corners of her mouth. “My apologies. I was merely doing some thinking.”
Silas nodded. “…Of course. I just wanted to let you know the volunteer teams for today are arriving,” he spoke, gesturing down the path behind him with his head. “Progress is good, as you’ve obviously already seen. We should be done setting up in the next few days.”
“Excellent!” she replied. “Well done.”
“Yes, simply fabulous,” piped the Shrewdelion, in his ever-typically haughty little tone. “Then perhaps these alien goliaths can leave me to my affairs for a few weeks, rather than bothering me every ten minutes for directions, or for light philosophical discussion, or what have you — as if I am the one in charge in here. Or as if I wish to speak to them. Bah. You know, it’s merely my home. Nothing serious.”
Qhynrena tilted her head with a grin. “Oh, my dear Shrew,” she giggled playfully, shifting on her feet and looking at him fondly. “Indulge a little in the holiday spirit, won’t you? For my sake?”
He rolled his eyes, as best he could. “Tall order, Kee. My spirit rests firmly on the other side of holiday.” The little creature glanced up at her as he spoke, only to see her regarding him with such a genuine look of pleading fondness that he looked away quickly and scoffed. “…Ugh,” he growled, when he realized the thought of the expression on her face, and the fear of disappointing her, would not leave him. “…But I suppose, for you…” He gritted his teeth. “I could… give it a shot.”
Were she less like herself her response, she thought, would have been to leap for joy, but instead she merely nodded calmly — sagely — with a soft smile. “Thank you kindly.” However, inside the deepest reaches of her mind she allowed herself the indulgence of but one mortal celebratory gesture — a phrase she’d found rather delightful, one she’d admit to no one, a resounding inner cry of —
Score!