MOTHER
This is still my tale.
Although another woman would enter into my story, her time is not yet. Not in my tale. I was still unaware of her, a merciful ignorance.
On one of those ignorant days, I was working in the vineyard. I cleared my throat, not willing to spill tears in front of the other mothers. They watched me closely, looking for clues, hoping for a weak moment when I needed their comforts more than my own good name.
I would not give that. Our name is all we have in this world.
I grasped the next vine, slicing the fruitless tendrils, letting them fall at my feet. Tending the vines is not easy work, for the sun returns in glory after the dark, blinding rains, and soft, sleepy people who had rested in the coolness of walled rooms are forced out to face the sun. There is much work this year; the harvest is plentiful. All of Zorah has turned out for the first day of harvesting. All except Samson.
I tended the vines, refusing to acknowledge this, my heart almost crushed after tending to Syvah the day before. She was so pale, so thin, but she still expected to rise from her bed. I pushed her even closer to her death. I told her the truth. You should never tell people the truth. This is what I have decided: The truth kills as surely as the blade.
She had grasped my hand, clutching it between her cold, dry palms. “Why so much sorrow, sister?”
I was more than old enough to be her mother. She was being kind, calling me sister.
I removed my hand and dipped the cloth in the water I had heated. I washed her face, neck, and hands. I dipped a dry cloth in a little jar of olive oil I had brought and rubbed the oil into her skin, across her gaunt face and lips, careful to make her face shine. As if good health were that easy, as if miracles could be so simple.
“You are afraid,” she said, settling back against her cushions. Her sons were working in the fields. We were alone. “You should just face the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” I humored her.
“You were mistaken. No angel visited you. It might have been a dream. Samson is not the man of God you thought he would be.”
I chuckled, not meeting her eyes as I moved down to wash her feet now. As I kneeled on the floor, she watched me with intensity.
She was right about Samson, in a fashion.
She sat up. “Why can’t you love him as he is? Why do you drive him so? If you would only accept him, he would come back to you.”
“I am his enemy, Syvah. That is the truth. And before you go telling me how I should face the truth, maybe you should face it too.”
Syvah looked away, her chin trembling.
“You’re dying, Syvah. You won’t get up from this bed.” I looked away now too, toward her window open to the afternoon sun. “Truth is no comfort to either of us.”
When I looked back at Syvah, I was shocked at her expression. She was smiling, a strange radiance settling on her young features.
“Maybe we do not need comfort, not at this late hour of our lives. Maybe we should be asking for hope instead.”
What hope could a dying woman hold onto? What hope was there for me, or for Samson?
I smiled as if I agreed, and left her there to wait for the hour of shadows.
DELILAH
I could not see my toes. If I looked down, I saw only full breasts and a bulging stomach. I couldn’t sleep well, either. My throat burned at night, worse every week, and although Tanis insisted I sleep on a couch like the others, it did not make me comfortable.
No one else here was with child. I wished to ask someone if these changes were from the child growing big within, or if this was what it was like to become a woman. I was surrounded by women, and what use were they to me? Twenty girls lived in these quarters, but none had a husband. None would be able to tell me the answer to this mystery.
This morning I rose before any of them and sneaked out to find Hannibal already seated on his chair. Two male servants attended him, small men with no muscle. They smiled when they saw me and stepped aside.
I nodded to them and bowed before Hannibal.
“Good morning, Delilah.”
“How may I serve Dagon today?”
“Do you hear that sound?”
I closed my eyes and listened. I heard the steady hiss of rain, as I had every morning this month.
“The rains, my lord. They are still with us.”
“Listen more carefully.”
I exhaled and placed my hands under my belly to lift it, to stop the constant ache from standing. I closed my eyes and listened, harder this time.
“It is softer today?”
Hannibal nodded. “The rains will soon be ending. Maybe one more month of rain, maybe less.”
“Should I do something?”
Hannibal shook his head. “I’m trying to tell you that time is passing. You are soon to give birth.”
I felt my expression freeze. I did not know how to give birth. What was he asking me to do?
“Yes, my lord.” I did not know what else to say. I made a serious expression, nodding.
The door behind me opened. A cold morning breeze swept in, chilling my ankles. I shivered and looked behind me. Parisa stumbled in, her gait unsteady. She rested for a moment with one hand on a pillar, then wiped her forehead and continued her staggering walk toward the sleeping chambers.
Hannibal was on his feet, chains in his hands, walking toward her. His expression was that of an animal about to pounce. He stood in front of Parisa, and she tried to stand erect to face him. She couldn’t, though. Her feet remained in one spot, but her torso waved and rolled like she was on a rough sea.
Hannibal grabbed her by the face, and she brought her arms up to pull his off. The servants moved quickly then, taking the chains and shackling her feet while Hannibal held her off balance. They all let go at the same moment, and she fell forward, whipping around to see what had tripped her. When she saw the shackles on her ankles, she shrieked.
“Get these off of me! I’ll tell Lord Marcos everything!”
“Only if you want me to cut off your tongue,” Hannibal answered. “I am sure even he has had enough of you by now.”
“Get these off!” She thrashed, trying to kick the shackles off. The door to the sleeping chambers opened. Tanis came out first, wrapping her tunic tightly against her in the chill. The others girls came out after her.
Tanis saw Parisa struggling on the ground and turned to face Hannibal. “Hannibal …”
Parisa shrieked at her next. “Go back to bed, you stupid heifer! All of you!”
Tanis walked closer to Parisa, bending down to whisper. Parisa pushed her head up and spat in Tanis’s face.
I could hear nothing. Even the rains seemed to stop in that moment. I cast my gaze down, so I would not see Tanis in disgrace. I saw her feet, though, as they moved away from Parisa, and I heard the door to the sleeping quarters close.
When I looked back up, they were all gone. Hannibal stood over Parisa, his arms folded. She had stopped struggling, looking up at him with unblinking eyes, every muscle tensed. A soft growl rose in her throat.
He stepped back and nodded at the servants. They paused, glancing at each other before obeying. Parisa gave them no fight as they took hold of her arms and led her to the sleeping quarters.
Hannibal watched, then looked back at me.
“She walked like an ox. It had to be done,” he said.
I nodded. “Better to do it now, when she is weak.”
Hannibal rewarded me with a smile, twisting his closed mouth up at one end. “You are a very smart girl, Delilah. You will not make her mistakes.”
I nodded in agreement, and not just to please him. I knew this to be true. I would not make mistakes here, nor ever again. I knew that mistakes were made for one reason, and one reason alone: ignorance. And I would never be ignorant again, I promised myself this.
I would be proved a fool before the new moon.
Tanis sat still, her eyes closed, as I applied her eye shadow. I used an emerald green, sweeping it out at the edges. Most of the Philistine women wore red, and plenty of it, but the torchlight cast moving shadows, and red made a disturbing appearance.
“Tonight, may I bring you your wine?” I tried to keep my hand, and voice, steady.
“No.”
“But you grow thirsty after the second watch.”
“We have servants for that.”
“But I can do it!” All I had done for weeks now was apply Tanis’s cosmetics and watch as she slid out the side door to the private portico. I would sit in these sleeping quarters and listen to the familiar sounds of her night: men’s voices, women’s laughter, the sound of lyre and harp.
The bigger my stomach became, the less I was given to do. The other women did not even speak to me as often now, stepping to one side as I lumbered past, nodding nervously if I spoke first, seeming eager to move me along. I was an ugly sight, I decided. There were no mirrors big enough to take in all of my appearance at once, but I imagined how I must have looked to them.
Parisa had not left the quarters yet. She was always the last one out, preferring to go out only when called, and only one man ever called for her—Lord Marcos. Perhaps other men wanted to, I did not know, but Lord Marcos was the lord of the entire city, so no man dared claim her time.
I took a shank of lamb from my robes, laying it without a noise beside her couch. Her hand shot out and caught mine, and I cried out in shock.
“I thought it was you.” She sat up and stretched, arching her back. I watched, biting my lip. She was beautiful, if you could pretend she had never opened her mouth.
Swinging her legs, still chained, off the couch and onto the floor, she reached down and grabbed the shank, bringing it to her mouth. She gave me a sly wink and began eating. Her eyes did not leave my face as she ate. I shifted from foot to foot, trying to pretend the floor held great interest for me, but glancing up over and over. My face was growing hot.
She nudged me with one foot, the chains sliding against the cold floor. “Why are you feeding me?”
“You slept through the last meal.”
She stopped chewing, juice running down her chin. “Becoming a little version of Tanis, are you?”
“No. I don’t know. It seemed right to feed you.”
“You still have a soft heart. That’s good.”
But somehow, the way she said it, it did not sound good.
I doubled over, a cramp seizing my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe. But as soon as it hit, it passed again. I looked up in confusion at Parisa, but she shrugged and went back to her lamb.
I wanted Tanis. I shouldn’t have fed Parisa. It must have been wrong, and now I had a pain. I had angered Dagon. I was thinking about where else I could wait tonight, where else I could hide from Parisa until Lord Marcos called for her, when it happened. Warm fluid gushed down my leg, pooling under my feet. It smelled sweet.
Parisa squealed in disgust, yanking her feet back onto her couch.
“What’s happening?” I cried.
“Oh, by the gods. You don’t know anything. Go find Hannibal. Ask him.”
But I didn’t want Hannibal. I wanted Tanis. I looked down at the pool I stood in, turning cold and slick, and saw a trace of blood in the fluid.
I was going to die. My child, too. Dagon was fierce and fast in his justice.
I stepped out of the fluid and shuffled my feet along the floor, scared I would trip. Perhaps there was still a way to save the baby. I opened the great door that led outside, pushing my way through the couples huddled and flirting under the moonlight. My ears heard the men’s voices, low and rich, like a buzzing in my head. The women who saw me made wide, angry eyes at me. I was not welcome here.
I moved between them all quickly, silently. The men hardly even noticed. The women, however—they wanted to kill me. It didn’t matter. I was going to be dead soon anyway. I just wanted to find Tanis. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. I wanted to tell her thank you, for saving me that morning months ago, and please, save also my baby. If you can. No matter what happens, save the baby.
Tanis would find a way. All my faith was in her.
There was a stairway at the far right end of the portico, one I had never used. One I had never seen used. It had held no curiosity for me, and it had never been explained. Perhaps it held storerooms, or servant’s quarters. I did not know why Tanis would be in those rooms, but I had to find her.
Another cramp hit as I reached the stairs. I grabbed the wall and grunted, lips pressed together. Dagon, spare me a while longer, I prayed. Let me find Tanis. For my baby’s sake.
I stood and took the stone steps one at a time, out of breath by the third one. At the top of the stairs was another door, a plain wooden door. I heard no noises behind it, so I pushed it open.
There was a long, dark hall of rooms. Each room had a dark curtain drawn over the entrance, and the curtains closest to me fluttered from the breeze of the door opening. I heard awful sounds, sounds I would not want to describe. I did not take any further steps, and I did not pull back a curtain.
“Tanis?” I called.
Nothing.
I took a step into the hallway, testing the door first to be sure it would not close behind me. It stood, so I let go of it, creeping down the hall, listening for her voice. The noises I heard! I grimaced, my stomach rolling around, nausea coming in unbearable waves. I had heard one man make these noises once. I did not like the noises.
I reached for the curtain nearest me, my hand touching the soft material, gathering it in my palm, crushing it between my fingers. Finding my courage, I yanked it back.
A man and a woman were in the room. Each was naked.
It was not Tanis. It was Rose. I looked at her, not understanding. She screamed a curse at me, and the man shoved me back, yanking the curtain back into place.
A pain came then, so sharp I fell to my knees and cried out.
I don’t remember as much as I should now. I think the midwife gave me something. Let me pause now for breath, and I will tell you of how I died.
It was a sparse room. There was a stool, a couch without pillows or linens, and a bowl for water that rested on a small, high table. None of the furniture was even painted or carved. Tanis stood over me as I squatted, and she wiped my forehead. I swept away the tears with my tongue, catching them before they rolled into my mouth. Tanis wiped my nose.
The midwife sat on the couch, rocking on her haunches, her face ballooning as she coaxed me into holding my breath.
“Like this,” she crooned. I watched and did as she did.
It did not help.
“It hurts too much!”
“Shhh, now. Everything is fine,” Tanis said. She was so good to me.
“No, I’m going to die. I can’t do this!”
“Yes, you can. Just tell me when you must push, and we will deliver the baby together, okay?”
“Yes, yes,” the midwife echoed. She was no help, I think. I only listened to Tanis. I held her hand as if only she could save me.
“It hurts!” I wailed, the pain splitting me up through the middle, a force so violent and oppressive I could not even vomit, though I retched without sound. I caught a cool, quick breath as the pain left, just as the new pain came and ripped through me again. I opened my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. How long I did this, stealing breaths between waves of cruelest pain, I cannot say. The memory is strange to me now.
A guttural, animal noise came from my mouth, and I pushed against this child within so hard that bits of blackness floated in my vision. Again I pushed, and with one last cry, I was delivered of a daughter. She was born into my world red and screaming.
I laughed out loud when I saw her, her face screwed up in anger, her lungs drawing the first air of this new world to make her fury known. She was a miracle beyond comprehension. I had desired nothing, not the man who put her in me, not even her, and she was born indignant, unafraid of her own rage, or mine. In her first cry were all my lost words.
I did not wait for the midwife to clean her. Grabbing her slippery red body I clutched her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her, making soothing noises, even as one last pain hit and the last of the birth was finished.
I had not known I could be a gentle, good mother. But I was. The midwife wiped her, as best she could, because I would not surrender my girl, not even as I hobbled over to the couch, lying down. When the midwife approached with a knife, I sat up in bed and gave her a look that made all the color drain from her face.
She handed me the knife, telling me how to do it. I tied the cord between us, and lifting the knife with a prayer of thanksgiving, I severed the living rope.
This is the moment I try most to forget.
Tanis stroked my hair afterward and kissed my forehead before she excused herself. She promised to return in a few hours and bring me something to eat. I looked around the room, but without windows, I could not tell the hour. Perhaps Tanis had to serve in the temple.
The midwife did not remain after Tanis left. She kept bumping into things, making apologies and speaking nonsense as she gathered her things. She left with loud, fast steps, closing the door behind her.
An oil lamp burned on the table, giving us our light to see each other through. A soft light, pleasant to my daughter’s eyes perhaps. She stared up at me, quiet and serene. I ran my finger along her face. How had I been given such a treasure? She was more beautiful than any god I had ever seen. My soul grew quiet within me, too, as we stared at each other in the dim light of my world.
Tanis did return. She brought fresh barley bread and figs and a skin of wine. She pulled the table close to my couch and set them down, then motioned for me to hand her the baby.
I held my daughter tighter. Tanis looked down, then drew a breath and looked at me, steady and with much concern.
“This is not good.”
“For me or the baby?” I would do what was best for the baby, if Tanis would tell me what to do.
“You are going to make a wound that cannot heal.”
I held my baby and did not reach for the food. Her words were riddles. I did not like riddles.
Tanis looked grieved, shaking her head. “Delilah, have I been good to you?”
“Yes.”
“I love you, like you were my own daughter, and I shouldn’t. Love makes life more painful.”
“Why do you say this to me?”
“I don’t want you to hurt anymore. I want you to have peace. Love is your enemy, Delilah. Do not love this child.”
“Get out.”
“But—”
“Get out!”
And she did, leaving as tears came to our eyes, both of us. She swung the door open to the temple beyond us, letting a cold draft in. I shivered and held my daughter closer. Some time passed before I felt the hunger in my belly and reached for a fig. I was so hungry.
I did not even taste the poison.
MOTHER
I watched as the women prepared Syvah’s body in her home. I had bought for them the round perfume jar and the spices, but I did not cross the threshold. I was no longer welcome in their circle. My son, the one I had so proudly proclaimed as their savior, had delivered no one, except his bride and her family unto death. The Philistines, angered now, were raising prices too, forcing some of our children to go hungry at night. All suspicions of Samson, no matter how dark, seemed to be confirmed by the rumors and hardships.
Which made his next move even more incomprehensible. My son, the man I no longer knew. The murderer, and now the judge.
The women washed Syvah’s naked, thin body with oil, wiping away the grime of this life. Then they washed her with water and anointed her with the perfume and spices. I had bought the best—myrrh, and aloe, and balsam. They wrapped her frail body in a linen shroud, and, placing her on a stretcher, they carried her to the tribe’s burial cave.
I walked behind them, each arm around one of her boys. Perhaps they should have been with the men, but they were heartbroken. They needed a mother as much I needed to be one. My hips were hurting as we climbed the rocky terrain to the cave. Inside, they laid her body, resting the perfume jar against it. One at a time, we entered the cave and said our good-byes to Syvah. The boys emerged, Kaleb’s red face crumpling into great sobs. Liam refused to cry. He scowled at the women and walked ahead of us all. Other women gave me dirty looks as I comforted Kaleb.
As if I would ruin them, too, just like I had ruined Samson. Samson, who now sat in a chair at the center of our little village, judging. He accepted cases of all kinds: injuries, stolen livestock, husbands who sought divorce from barren wives.
“How can he judge others?” I had asked Manoah. We were eating dinner alone in silence until that moment.
Manoah set his bowl down and wiped his mouth, fixing me with a stare. “He himself is not judging. He is saving them from the judgment of God.”
“He can’t even save himself.” I knew I sounded bitter.
Manoah went back to eating. “Still. His word is accepted.”
Of course it was. No one knew what he might do if angered.
Manoah grimaced, forcing a last bite down. His lips turned darker, a blue shade, when these pains hit. They hit more often these days. I pressed my lips together in fear, and he tried to clear his throat to swallow and wink. He wanted to be my hero, even if God had given me Samson, too.
I shook my head, bringing myself back to this moment’s fresh grief. Two boys needed me.
A messenger came running through the valley. His face was wide with fear as he ran. I had not seen Samson for days on end. My grief and my shame all turned to fear when I saw this panicked boy. Where was Samson? What had happened to him?
“Boy! What has happened?” I called.
He stopped, squinting up at us, glancing back at the direction of the village. He wanted to talk to the men. But I had money. I took a coin from my bag and held it up in the sun.
I went to him. When I gave him the coin, he gave us his message. “The Philistines are raising an army against the Hebrews. The Hebrew named Samson burned their entire crop, the standing wheat and the crops still in the field. Then he slaughtered a great many of them! Now they have an army and are coming against us all!”
“Go,” I told him, motioning for him to run to the men. My stomach clenched in cold fear.
A woman stepped from the crowd and slapped my face, then spat at my feet. “You have done this to us! Your son has brought trouble to us all!”
They all stood, staring at me, their faces unforgiving and hard.
I took the boys and ran toward the village. Perhaps it was not all true. Perhaps the men would know more. They did not allow me to enter the home where they had gathered, but they welcomed the boys. I stood outside a window, pressing my hot face against the cool stone. My hips burned terribly, but I had no remedy. I had no remedy for anything.
The men did not speak in hushed tones, though they must have known I would listen. They spoke without restraint, without respect. And to think! Some of these men had flirted with me when we had been young together, in our green days, before I had accepted the proposal of my husband.
A tribal elder ended the council with a rap of his walking stick against the floor. “Raise, then, the tribe of Judah. We will bind Samson ourselves and deliver him to the Philistines. In this way, we may avoid their wrath. May God grant us our petition.”
“A judge of our people, turned over to our enemies?” Only one voice was raised in protest, and he was hissed into silence.
I turned my body, resting my whole face against the wall of the home. How had I gotten here? How had Samson, or my people, come to this? God wanted us to destroy the Philistines, and we had not. God had raised up Samson to deliver us from the Philistines, and now we would betray Samson into their arms? Samson would die a horrible, slow death, all so my people could live at peace with their enemies.
This was an abomination. God could not grant this petition, not if He was God.
DELILAH
I woke up slowly, the room smelling of blood. The couch was warm and wet, the blanket stuck to my legs. My mouth was dry and sour, and I rubbed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, trying to dislodge the strange bitterness. My body hurt, especially my hips and groin, like a bruise that went all the way into the bones. I tried to sit up but had no strength.
Falling back onto the couch, I remembered. I grasped at my chest and then, frantic, padded down the blanket, then the couch around me. I forced myself up with a cry of terror, looking around the room, trying to move off the couch. Had I rolled over on my baby? Where was she, if not under me?
Hannibal’s face came into focus as he leaned over me, taking me by the shoulders, pushing me back onto the bed. I heard screaming and wailing, like one mourning the dead, and suddenly Tanis was there, telling me to hush, telling me to sleep. I fought against them until it was of no use. My body flopped, lifeless, back onto the couch, and as I closed my eyes, I saw my spirit take shape above my body and float away.
I was not there, but I watched from a far place as they wrapped my chest tightly and bound my breasts down with wet linen strips that would dry later into a hard cast. I never saw my daughter again.
Tanis or Hannibal, or maybe both together, had taken my baby. As the poison wore off, I returned to my body, determined to find her. She was mine. Nothing Tanis said could keep me from loving her. I breathed through my mouth whenever a servant entered my room, the breaths coming so fast and hard that I collapsed twice on that same day. I had to force myself to stay calm, to get my strength back as fast as I could.
The next day, they sent a servant to feed me. The poison was almost gone. I could sit up and hold down a little bread. When I could walk, I was going to walk from this room and hold a knife at Hannibal’s throat and make him tell me where my baby was.
It was on that next, third day that Parisa sneaked into my room. My strength was returning; I could put my legs on the floor. I tried to stand, but the room spun. I sat on the edge of the couch, willing strength into my legs, fumbling with my fingers at the bindings across my chest, as Parisa entered.
She once had made me afraid, even shy. But I felt nothing for her now. I had only one thought.
She sat next to me, silent. I glanced over at her when several moments had passed this way.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“To see if you are well. You are not the first one to lose a child here.”
“Tell me where my daughter is.”
Parisa cocked her head at this. She reached up and rested a hand on my shoulder. I pulled away. She had the eyes of a snake.
She put her hands in her lap, and I felt the couch shake. Her shoulders rose up and down. She was crying.
“I should not be here,” she whimpered. “Tanis will be so angry with me.”
I grabbed Parisa by the shoulder, turning her to look at me. “Tell me where my daughter is!”
She pressed her lips together, tears streaming down her face. I still saw nothing in those eyes. Not even tears brought them to life.
“Answer me!”
“Tanis does not want you to know. She warned everyone not to tell. But we all have babies there.”
I stood, wobbling, grabbing her shoulders for balance. “Take me there. Now.”
She opened her mouth to protest, to give some other excuse, but I dug my fingers into her shoulders, trying to drive strength all the way down my legs. If I had to crawl I would get there.
She stood, slipping an arm around my waist for support, whispering in my ear. “Do not make a sound. I will show you.”
Something in her voice was cold, like her eyes. She had been waiting for me to gather my strength and stand; I did not know why.
We slipped from the room. She was as quiet as I. I did not know what life she had lived before this place, but I knew what sorts of things made girls learn to be silent when they walked.
Parisa led me from the room and into a hallway I did not recognize. We went up a stone staircase that had windows to the outside. The breeze was cool and fresh, giving me much strength. I had not smelled fresh air in several days. The world smelled sweet and green. I did not smell death, but I should have.
At the top of the stairs, a small wooden door stood closed. Parisa put a finger to her lips for silence, but a smile flickered in her eyes. Bumps rose along my arms.
She opened the door, and it creaked as its hinges turned. I saw blue spring sky and a bright light from the sun. The heat hit me, but I did not feel warm. Summer was so close.
Parisa, standing behind me, pointed down. We were on the roof of the temple. If I looked to my right, I could see the Philistine empire stretching before me, and the great wide sea was to my left. The roof had a huge flat expanse, with stands along three sides so a crowd could gather with a view of the front of the temple.
After taking it in, I did look down, as Parisa wanted. I squinted, unsure of what I was seeing, and she pressed her palm against my back, urging me to bend deeper, to look closer into the gutters. She wanted me to be sure.
My daughter was dead. All the daughters, all the sons, were strewn, dead, in the gutter. How many there were, I could not say.
I will not describe it further. You, too, would go mad with grief, as I did. I fell to my knees, screaming, and Parisa fled. I screamed and tore at my tunic until servants came and dragged me back down to the windowless room. It would be days before they stopped drugging me, and weeks before I could open my eyes without seeing all the bodies, all those secrets of this temple. I thought Dagon was a god of life, of harvest and plenty. He was nothing but death, and no one seemed to care.
How could that be? I understood now that men and women did things here together, things I did not want to do, but were they not happy as they did them? Did not the babies they made in those rooms bring them joy?
I hated these questions as I hated the images in my mind. I would beat my head against the wall until I left a red mark on the stones and a servant came with the wet rag that stank, the rag he forced into my mouth, and my neck burned and grew stiff, and my eyes closed again.
I scratched at my chest with my nails, long ragged red marks down my chest, opening my chest to the cold air of my chamber, whimpering my thanks for the blindness of pain, until the servant came again, with a new drug, one he poured in my mouth, and I, foolish, thought I was drowning and blessed him in my heart. But I woke again, a day later, an hour later, I did not know. Where was I? And what were we worshipping? Why did it end in death? In agony I passed my hours, until the blood dried between my legs and I no longer screamed in my sleep.
And yet, the strangest part of my tale is yet to be told, for soon a man would seek me out. He would love me though I had nothing to live for, and it was this last great love that would change the course of my life.
Though I was forgotten by my gods and broken by a hard life, I would soon hold the fate of two gods in my hands, both Dagon and the Hebrew god Yahweh. That is how it would seem to me. Only now I know the truth: Only one God lived, and He held my fate in His hands.