《All that glitters》 Chapter 1: First light She sizzled into sentience. The fizzing sound of burning cochineal beetles, the scent of their soft carapace-less flesh in the air was the first thing she noted with her newfound conscience. Her people, she recognized with the slow foggy awareness that came from a long deep sleep, as she struggled to pull herself into life. Their blood decorated her metalic golden surface, painting her carmine red with cursive glyph-like designs. She was a talisman, she realized, a human-crafted golden statue, human in shape, but humans were not her people, she knew with striking clarity, they weren¡¯t the ones sacrificed to her and she would not accept anything less than life-blood as tribute, as her due. She was constructed from a strange metal, golden, but not entirely gold. She could feel her own composition clearly, with an innate sort of knowledge. A strange pulsing, living mineral laced her body, a connection to something older, arcane and unknowable. A god-being, she rationalized, as reason became accessible to her, her thoughts growing with complexity the longer she was awake. Something immortal, eternal. A seed of godhood. She was warming, she realized, her body heating up as a chant progressed over her body, her mouth becoming molten hot. A soft fleshy human hand reached into her open mouth, past her jade white teeth, making a delicate hooked gesture with blistering fingers, pulling something out from her. A spidersilk fine silken thread laced their digit, coming out from her tongue, the other end disappearing into their smoldering skin. A single dewy drop of golden luck slipped down the line from within her, sinking into their bubbling flesh, sinking in to bestow them with her grace. Luck, she gave them, unwittingly. Luck stolen from her body, from her godhood. How could a god of luck be so unlucky? A sigh came from somewhere above her, a sound full of both pain and relief. The gossamer thread of luck was released, retracting back into her body. And then she was being wrapped, shrouded in a fragrant incense suffused burial cloth, a prayer of thanks being sung as she was wound-up in the fine bandages, like a spindle to thread. Don¡¯t put me away, she thought, terrified of returning to the dark. Her mind blanked, fading to black as the last of the fabric covered her skin. When she awoke the second time, it was much easier to pull herself out of the mental fog. She wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed, or if this was just the next time she had been uncovered, but the hands holding her felt different, more calloused, as if they had gone through countless cycles of burns. She was being polished, the human humming as they worked, the baby-soft brush abrasive but pleasant on her metal skin. They paid special attention to her mouth, careful to polish the inside, beyond her teeth, filling it with sudsy fluid and running the soft bristle brush over top of her tongue. She could taste, kind of. A bitter flavor, unpleasant, she decided. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! The human set her on a small platform, something with carved symbols into the surface, sweet scented incense sticks smoking lazily around her, before bowing elaborately in front of her, demure, kneeling with their head bent piously. She could see more clearly now, her eyes no longer blurry, fuzzy around the edges. Various stone animal statues lining the room, their visages carved into giant columns holding up the roof of the temple. A frog, a gazelle, a monkey, a crow, all stacked one on top of the other in the column nearest her, with glittery glass goldstone eyes. Opening a rough hewn wooden box packed with straw, the human took out and carefully placed a mortar and pestle in front of them, along with a bowl made out of a large shell and a gauze-like woven burial cloth. Lastly they took out a metal contraption, unfolding it to assemble into a small portable stove complete with a well-used copper pot. Filling the pot with water from the flask at their side, they lit the flame. They churned the mortar and pestle in front of them. From within their robes they pulled out a round jar, the delicate glass blown with rings of bright color, a cork stopper on the top. She could make out something moving within the glass, something writhing. It called to her. A chorus of tiny voices, singing out her name, invoking her, ¡®Ketsuri! Ketsuri!¡¯ they invoked, with their small-beakless insect mouths. They cried out to her, their soft, red bodies bouncing them off the glass as the human shook the container, eyeing the insects within. These were her people, the cochineal, she realized, the kin of the blood that had decorated her skin, before the human had polished it away. The human removed the stopper, shaking the glass to tip the cochineal into the mortar, tapping the bottom of the jar lightly to displace every last insect. Placing the jar aside, they picked up the pestle, and as Ketsuri watched, in morbid fascination, they ground the cochineal, heavy thick twisting strokes to crush their bodies into a sticky paste. Ketsuri could still hear them, their supplications as they begged for salvation. She was unmoved, she decided. It was her divine right to receive their sacrifice. They were her people after all, and their fate should be in her hands. The ground beetles were placed in the boiling waters, along with a white powder, mixed with a wooden spoon, round and round. Apparently satisfied, the human tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, the wood stained red now with the blood of her devotees, setting it to their side on the floor before pouring the hot mixture through the gauze cloth into the shell. They packed up their space with quick steady hands, putting the equipment back into the wooden box, which Ketsuri could now see was carved with the same carved symbols as those beneath her base. Lastly, they picked up the shell with the cooling extract, setting it next to Ketsuri. A faint acidity prickled at her nose, just underneath the heavy scent of the incense still smoking around her. Pulling out another, more fine-tipped brush, they began to reapply the cursive glyphs in the hot liquid, gracefully painting her surface with long smooth strokes. She reveled in the feeling of her peoples hot blood on her skin, their sacrifice recharging her soul. She was their god, and this was her due. Chapter 2: Blink Ketsuri was deeply annoyed. Her efforts to animate had not been met with success thus far. She had done her best to move each of her limbs, focusing her whole attention on one at a time, but they had not responded despite her best efforts. She had not been put away since the first time, and was uncertain whether her newfound consciousness was dependent on being out from her wrappings. The idea that she could be put away and never taken out, never regain awareness terrified her. Perhaps the human¡¯s role in suppressing her awareness with the burial garb contributed to her resentment for them. And though she rightfully accepted the sacrifice of her people, she disliked that the humans were the ones offering it. That the humans were the ones benefiting from her luck, from her people¡¯s sacrifice, from their life-blood, was abhorrent to her. She was trapped. Both in terms of mobility and function. She had no way of protesting her use by the humans. The claustrophobia of her situation was insufferable. The day she finally blinked was unexceptional. The humans had completed their rituals earlier in the day. They didn¡¯t seem to keep a fixed schedule for her worship, but would come in periodically to extract luck from her body in their tediously long ritual, followed later by her cleansing and re-anointment with the cochineal ink. She had resigned herself to inanimacy for the time being, instead, entering a meditative state where her mind was quieted, just existing, accepting her inertia. Accepting herself as she was. Accepting her fear of the dark as something out of her control, something she couldn¡¯t change. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. It had been a difficult thing to accept. To cope she had instead begun to reach out with her consciousness, attempting to explore her environment in the only way available to her, mentally encountering a mass of cochineal just outside her temple, beyond her sight line. They were thriving, unlike the ones that called to her during her ritual painting. Existing on their cacti, in the sun, absorbing the cacti moisture and feasting on its nutrients. They pulsed in her mind, an interconnected awareness, a mind made up of many. And they were so many. Synced in such perfect harmony. Her people were so beautiful. Crystal tears gathered in her stone eyes, and her golden eyelashes fluttered, blinking them away, soft plink plink plinks as they hit the floor beneath her. She gasped, taking her first ever breath, an involuntary, startled reaction. She consciously, curiously, went to raise her hand and wipe away her tears, but her movement was halted once more. Frustrating. She paused, doing her best to calm her rising ire. What had she been doing that allowed her to move? She had been meditating, right. Reaching out her consciousness to the cochineal. Which was it that had freed her? Perhaps both? Or was it her emotional state, her awe at the beauty of their pulsing hive mind? Too many variables, she thought, disgruntled. But she had plenty of time to try each of their various combinations. A meditative state turned out to be the key. She was relieved by the revelation. Her people held great importance to her, but constantly maintaining her awe at their synchronicity would have been tiresome. She had experimented with various types of meditation, and while most were effective, the one that suited her best was the one where she focused on her senses. She raised her hand, focusing on the texture of her fingers rather than on the movement of her limb, each whirl and dip in the finger print, her awareness of the motion in the back of her mind. She turned the palm up towards the ceiling, cupping it. Success. She thought with a determined sort of satisfaction. She was free! Free to explore the world around her. Free from the bonds of insentience. She could leave the humans and their bondage of burial wrappings behind. She would not be trapped in the darkness again. Chapter 3: Companionship But before she left she had one last task to complete. She bent a finger in the air, a summoning gesture, pulling forward a thin golden thread out of nothingness, connecting her to her cochineal subjects, a thread for each beetle, each glinting strand joining the spool draped across the bend in her finger. She wouldn¡¯t be leaving without them. Or at least, the part of them that belonged to her. She pulled. The golden thread turned red, beads of golden luck giving way to ominous carmine. She would be taking their sacrifice with her, it was hers to begin with, after all, and she wouldn¡¯t allow the humans to benefit from it any more. She was their god, their mother, their exterminator. She laughed spitefully. She walked through the prickly pear field, the empty cochineal husks wafting gently in the breeze from their silk cocoons, now resting in sweet dreamless ever-sleep. Only their bloodless corpses would remain for the humans, emptied of both their lifeblood and the sacrifice it represented. She had freed them of the humans¡¯ bondage as well, permanently and irrevocably, not even a single ghost left. Her devout family. Their final prayers echoed in her ears, chanting praises and supplications from a pulsing hive mind devoted to her completely. She felt¡­charged. Energized with the magnitude, the weight, the finality of their sacrifice. Their blood filled her now, flushed through her system, still warm from the heat of their tiny bodies, pulsing faintly with their now synchronized heartbeat, each pulse a worship. She walked out of the field, onward, leaving the humans behind. She had been traveling for a while now, walking farther and farther from her birthplace, gaining stability and balance from her first fawn-dainty step. It felt so good to not constantly worry about whether or not she would lose her awareness, to not be at the whims of the humans. Her resentment for them was diminished, somewhat, now that she was not at their immediate mercy, though that they had ever benefited from her and her people still disgusted her. She traveled on, the living mineral inside her humming about other beings, great ones, like her, urging her not to linger in these sacrilegious lands. It drove her ahead, traveling far past the desert and its dusky beauty through many strange new lands. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Humans were everywhere, she thought with disgruntlement. They inhabited every type of biome she encountered. She avoided them as best as she was able, but sometimes she had to walk among them. Through intensive practice of her meditation, she had learned to manipulate her skin, the power of the mineral and her people¡¯s sacrifice lacing through her, imparting enough her strength to take on a more human vessel, morphing her brilliant golden hue to a human-like shade, dull and banal, in her opinion, and lengthening her limbs from her smaller statue-like stature. She still felt uncomfortable around the humans, wary that at any moment they would jump at her with the burial wrappings, covering her and banishing her back to the dark. It was a sobering fear, detracting from the leisure of her journey, one that kept her constantly on edge. Eventually she found a land not infested with humans, something in her settling upon her arrival. An old old land, the trees massive things, towering over her, no matter how tall she stretched herself. She had discovered a fondness for being tall. She had been smaller than the humans for so long, as a statue, that she delighted in towering over them, being the tallest among them, having them look up at her, the awe in their eyes at her height a meager proxy for her due worship. But this forest set her back, reduced her to a small being once more. It filled her with a mild irritation, this small delight taken from her. But this was where the god seed lacing her golden flesh had called her, and she would respond to its call. The first god she encountered was a shock. She had known there were others, the god seed had not let her forget it, but to see another was still a surprise. She had just caught a glimpse, a distant shadow of a strange, tall, four legged beast, walking in a bizarre stunted sort of way, ungainly. As if it were walking backwards, almost. She snuck closer, unwilling to call out to this unknown creature. It was another humanoid, though so obviously not human it was laughable. Two human bodies, limbs slender to the point of malnourishment, joined at the face, no facial features visible between their sealed visages. What a wretched creature, Ketsuri thought, suddenly and startlingly grateful for her own human shape, for the first time. As it walked away, the god seed in her called out, a despairing feeling, a mourning inside her, longing for company. She hesitated, unsure. How long until she would encounter another god? Would they all appear so gruesome? Sigh. She called out to it. Chapter 4: Musings on luck Nhet, was the other beings name, the laughing god, the god with no face. Nhet had brought her to a godly gathering, introducing her to the delights of their company. It had been a transformative experience, full of tricky games that, as the god of luck she excelled at, to the frustration of her peers, she remained silent in her glee in their ire, a subtle smile all that she let herself express. This was her domain, now, she would rise among gods, she thought, with arrogance. She was a sore loser, she knew, but it was lucky then, that she so often won. Many gods preferred solitude, according to Nhet, but Ketsuri found she reveled in being the center of attention. Perhaps it was her need for light, company as opposed to dark isolation, her long loneliness as a statue. Either way she was loath to leave when the gathering subsided. She had followed Nhet back to her haunt, the woods where she had first encountered the other being. Nhet seemed a bit bewildered by the attention, but didn¡¯t drive her away, for which Ketsuri was grateful. The god seed in her body seemed most alive when surrounded by other gods. They traveled together for a long while, Nhet tending to her home. It was strange, watching Nhet work. Her entire body was an instrument, mimicking the sounds of laughter of the animals around her in a way that was incomprehensible to Ketsuri, her entire body shaking, convulsing, slightly grotesque with the hilarity she parodied, tweaking the laugh until she was entirely satisfied, before returning it to its original creator. The eeriness of seeing another creature laugh emptily, voicelessly, while Nhet worked prompted a deep feeling of unease, sending shivers up Ketsuri¡¯s spine. ¡®What is the purpose of your work?¡¯ She asked, once, knowing it was a rude question, but unable to help herself. She would be greatly offended if another being asked her about her work as a luck god, but she and Nhet were close enough for her to hopefully not to take too much offense. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Nhet paused, her chipmunk¡¯s laughter petering out. ¡®Laughter is a universal language, and there aren''t many of those. Even the way beings express emotion varies, their expressions, the way the muscles of their faces contract, but laughter transcends.¡¯ She murmured, her voice still shaking a little from her bout of squeaking chuckles in the chipmunk¡¯s voice, returning to her work diligently. Ketsuri considered her answer. It was true, there were some emotions that seemed consistent across species, their expression could vary widely, but laughter¡­ ¡®Do you work to create a universal language, then? In order to allow all beings some means of communicating?¡¯ She asked, trying to understand the greater picture, the meaning of it all. Nhet turned to her, the chipmunk scurrying away, its voice returned. ¡®A universal language, yes, communication is important. But more than that, it is something that connects us all, an energy that is put out into the world around us, something that will linger in the world long after the mortal beings that created it have passed on. It is a form of eternity. And as a god, that mortals can create an eternity intrigues me. I want to understand it, all of it.¡¯ She turned away once more, seeking her next target. Was her luck similar, Ketsuri wondered. Luck was a form of energy as well, something that all beings had, to some degree. And when their luck ran out, they often died. Would a being with too much luck be eternal? The idea that mortals would gain immortality offended her, she would make sure no being gained that much luck, she resolved. But unlike laughter, luck seemed a more lonely energy, disruptive, rather than connective. Beings with luck often drew the ire of those around them, their envy. Even her own, at times. Were all gods¡¯ talents based in energy? Perhaps she would ask at the next god gathering. Hm. What would it mean to take luck from a god? Would it be more potent? Would removing all their luck result in their death as well? It seemed a risky thing to explore. And one that would earn her no friends. She would rather not drive away the beings that set her god seed at ease. It was excruciating to be without their presence, now that she had found them. She would abstain, for now. Chapter 5: Witches Ketsuri smiled as looked at the new inhabitants of her old town. Her lips pulled in a vicious, livid shape born of her ire. She had been attending another gathering where she had encountered the witch-god Zsa Zsa, a crotchety old god pie-bald deer-god, mother to all witches, the kin killers, who had been bragging about a technology her devoted witches had created. Necro-biotics, she said, proudly. Her children had found a way to animate the corpses of animals with technology rather than just spell work. Robotically manipulating the dead bodies of cochineal beetles to create a powerful blood-red storm. No god knew of Ketsuri¡¯s affiliation with the bugs, she had guarded her secrets fiercely, not even confiding in Nhet. Gods, she had learned, were finicky beings, full of guile and mischief, herself included. She would trust none of them with her secrets. Let them lie in her past, undisturbed. But that didn¡¯t mean she was alright with the disgraceful manipulation of her devotee¡¯s corpses. Impotent rage boiled in her chest as she had listened to Zsa Zsa, her body winding tightly, muscles tensing as she kept her demeanor demure. She couldn¡¯t confront Zsa Zsa, to do so would reveal her vulnerability as to a source of her abilities, the cochineal sacrifice giving her significant power, enhancing her propensity for luck and its manipulation. And Zsa Zsa was more powerful than she could ever hope to be, one of the most ancient gods of this planet. She would have to act in subterfuge, against the witches in question directly. The witches in question had overtaken her old village, sacrificing the flesh of the inhabitants to their god. In their ritualistic sacrifices, they would conjure Zsa Zsa, a given follower embodying her spirit and eating the flesh of their victim, often gaining some form of temporally restricted immortality in return. As kin killers their souls were corrupted, cut off from any afterlife, and so they lived entirely for the present, seeking to lengthen their lives and gain riches and power from Zsa Zsa, postponing their inevitable fate as lonely ghosts, doomed to travel this realm in anguish. She would definitely want to avoid any confrontation with the old god, so though they would be vulnerable during the ceremony, their attention fixed, she would not attack them then. But how would she effectively punish them? She wasn¡¯t resigned to simply put an end to their sacrilege, destroying the bodies of her children, the witches had to suffer as well for her to be satisfied. Hm. Perhaps¡­she could simply collect most of the entire cohort¡¯s luck and give it to one of them, stroking the envy of the others. And when they were adequately enraged she would remove the luck from them all entirely. Perfectection. And a plan that both utilized her strengths and was suitably devious. She smiled coldly. The cochineal would be avenged. Let no one say she didn¡¯t repay her debts. They were, after all, an integral part of prayers to her personage, she had come to discover. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. She watched as one of the witches writhed behind the flames, contorting their body in a wild dance, invoking the witch-mother. The woman¡¯s mouth opened wide, wide as a python, something sinister and vicious smiling behind her teeth. Zsa Zsa, Ketsuri realized with horror, she could see the old god¡¯s familiar smirk. She hurriedly ducked back behind the building she was watching from. Where could she hide while she waited for their ceremony to finish? She couldn¡¯t be here, she thought, frantic. Perhaps¡­perhaps she would return to her old temple. It was much as she remembered it. The ornate carved columns, the many incense bowls. She wondered what they had thought when they discovered her missing. And that all the cochineal were dead. She wondered if they knew the two things were connected. Probably not, she sniffed, humans weren¡¯t the brightest beings, in her opinion. She wondered, idly, what had been done with her burial wrappings. She had been kept in a box, she remembered seeing it as she was unwrapped. A box with intricate carvings, just like the ones on the floor, along with supplies for turning the cochineal into ink. There was a small cabinet in the corner of the temple, the wood it was carved out of similar to her box. She opened it. The box itself was missing, but all the supplies it had held were in the cabinet, along with her wrappings. She pulled them out. This is what she had been so afraid of? She held the cloth in her hands, feeling it''s fine, whisper thin texture, similar in material to the cloth used to strain the ground cochineal, only more closely woven. She wrapped it around her hand, slowly in the beginning, a sense of urgency growing, prompting her to wrap faster. She had to know. Was it true that covering her skin with the wrappings was what had taken her animacy? Even if she was trapped forever, she had to find out. She wrapped and wrapped, covering her whole body, the cloth seeming to go on and on, lengthening to the exact amount she needed, spooling around her body, not limiting her movements as much as she would have expected, the fabric flexible rather than stiff, despite all the time that had passed. Finally, she was covered, and in blessed consciousness. Tears dripped down her face, wetting the fabric covering her cheeks, causing it to cling to her skin, faintly revealing the gold of her skin underneath. She didn¡¯t have to be afraid of the dark anymore, it held no sway over her. She had thought she was free when she had left, but this was true freedom. She had overcome her greatest fear. Nothing could subdue her now. Chapter 6: Vindication She kept the wrappings on. She would wear them, she decided. As tribute to what she had overcome. Both her fear of the dark, and her fear of inanimacy. She had faced both in putting the bindings on. And came out the victor, unbound. After the night fell she crept out of the temple, keeping to the shadows. It wouldn¡¯t do to expose herself to the moon light, who knew who might be watching from the sky above. Many gods came from the heavens, and they might find it entertaining to tell Zsa Zsa what she had been up to. It was generally frowned upon to sabotage each other¡¯s followers. An immortal rival was not something she was looking for, this early in her godhood. She carefully approached the center of the village once more, standing in the shade of the same building she had been at earlier in the day. With a delicate summoning gesture of her forefinger, she pulled at the strings of the witches'' luck, plucking them out of the air, summoning them to her. Golden dewy droplets percolated down the luck threads, many many of them wrapped around her finger from the whole host of witches, some thick, some thin. The luck beaded into her finger, seeping into her skin. Now to find her lucky victim. She walked among the sleeping witches, looking into their faces. One that already stood out from the others, one that had already inspired some amount of envy would be best. She found the soon-to-be lucky witch, a beautiful woman with striking fox-like features, dyed flame colored hair and facial markings, and powerful muscles. She reached into the woman¡¯s open mouth, much like the humans had reached into hers, all that time ago, only instead of taking from the woman, this time she gave. Letting many, so very many beads of luck trickle into the woman¡¯s onto her tongue as she slept, blissfully unaware of the conspiracy against her. Ketsuri slipped away once more. And now, all that was left was to watch the havoc. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. It had only been a short while, only a couple of weeks, and already the witches were ready to tear the lucky woman apart, she could see it in the way they watched her, jealous, ravenous. The woman seemed oblivious, delighted with her good fortune, unaware of the emotional storm brewing around her. It was such a delight to watch the humans deteriorate into their base desires, ripping each other apart with so much savagery that Ketsuri decided that she might enjoy repeating the process a couple times with more witches, rather than just the once. In the meantime she considered how she wanted to put her own devotees to rest. The cochineal corpses were kept in a laboratory, a robotics lab in the local university, full of elaborate equipment used to make mechanical manipulations on a miniscule scale. The cochineal were a small insect, after all, small and delicate as a whisper. She needed a way to instigate the building¡¯s destruction without indicating another god¡¯s involvement to Zsa Zsa. Perhaps her luck manipulation could be of use once more. The woman she had chosen for her machinations was a leading roboticist at the lab, making remarkable headway in her projects, stoking the resentment of her peers in this way as well. Ketsuri had made the right call in selecting her, a lucky choice. Perhaps Ketsuri wouldn¡¯t have to do anything after all, just revoke the woman¡¯s luck when she was still in the building and providence would do the rest. Eventually it was time, emotional brewed sufficiently high, boiling over. Ketsuri summoned the luck back to herself, the woman deep at work in the lab, her protective garb insufficient to protect her from what was to come. A small band of colleagues set upon her, tearing her apart with vicious satisfaction. They left the woman¡¯s body lying on the floor, warm blood pooling, heat faintly rising from the growing red pool, before putting a torch to the building, setting both her and the cochineal within ablaze in angry red flames. Ketsuri watched, pleased with the results of her labor. If she kept this up, all of the witches in the community would be destroying each other, and Zsa Zsa would never wise up to her involvement. It was perfect. Let the old deer brag about them now. As she watched the flame jump higher, cochineal red, she contemplated her future, the endlessly long future, now an eternal one that stretched out before her. Perhaps after this she might continue with her games, whether with mortals or immortals. She had to find a hobby, after all. Forever was an awfully long time. Resources Cacti: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cactus Cleaning gold: https://www.jewelersmutual.com/the-jewelry-box/how-to-clean-gold-jewelry-the-right-way Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Cochineal: https://botanicalcolors.com/confused-about-cochineal-natural-dyes-ask-kathy/ https://www.thebottegaprojects.com/materials-and-recipes/cochineal-pigment Meditation: https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/types-of-meditation#spiritual-meditation