Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

Turning in her spot, Enyo looked for the girl. She found her sitting curled up in some invisible chair, a book, of all things, held in her lap—not only a book but a journal. How mundane. Even in her own mind, the healer was locked into mortal obscurity. What thoughts could she possibly have worth writing down? What experiences worth recording? 

Enyo’s footfalls were silent as she approached, and yet Alphonse looked up. Her amber eyes widened with alarm, and she closed the journal quickly. “How—What are you doing here?” Even in her own mind, Alphonse sounded frightened. Afraid of Enyo. 

The Goddess smiled. “I just thought I’d see what you were doing… It’s been so long … Are you comfortable?”

Alphonse frowned in confusion and glanced around them. There was nothing to look at, nothing to do… Enyo certainly would have been bored. “Yes.” The healer finally replied, standing and clutching the journal close to her chest. Protecting it. 

As if Enyo cared what Alphonse thought about. 

They stood in silence a breath longer before Enyo dived in. “You may have noticed—Your body has come to harm.” 

The healer moved her right hand, the same as Enyo’s injured one, convulsively. “What has happened?” 

“There was a battle, I was burned and—well…” Enyo lifted her hand. Even here, it was maimed, though the pain was tolerable. 

Alphonse gasped in horror and took one tentative step forward. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She reached for Enyo’s hand but suddenly stopped. Remembering, it seemed to Enyo, that they were not friends. That Alphonse was locked in her own mind and certainly could not heal Enyo’s injury. Their injury. 

“It’s killing this form,” she told the healer, feeling it would inspire the girl to tell Enyo how to fix it. If she could. 

Alphonse hesitated, looking at the injury. She teetered, Enyo could feel it. Even now, she could feel the healer’s consciousness at war.Insisting that Alphonse help. That she heal. Assist. Be kind, even to her enemy. 

Enyo let herself wince visibly as she lowered the rotten appendage. She might not be a master of manipulation like Va'al, but she understood enough. Predictably, Alphonse inched closer, peering at the injury despite herself.  “What caused this?”

“A God.”

Alphonse stilled, staring openly at the injury for many heartbeats before looking up into Enyo’s eyes. “Another God?”

“Yes.”

“But you are a Goddess. How—” 

“In this mortal body, I am barely above human. Once I get my form back, I will be able to restore things and give back all that I had to take.” Enyo’s good hand flexed around some invisible throat, angry even here, in the sacred space of Alphonse’s mind.

“If you get your body back, you will be fully yourself again?” Alphonse asked carefully. Enyo glanced at the healer, remembering herself. Her good hand flattened at her side again. “I will.” 

“And you will be able to inflict such injuries as that?”

Moreso. Mascen was powerful, but he was still her child. She was the original source of his power. But the healer didn’t need to know that. Enyo shrugged, uninterested in the girl’s lectures on pain and cruelty. 

Alphonse took one step back and then another, retreating. “But if you do not fix your hand soon, you might die—we might die—before you get enough Gods to rejuvenate your corporeal form.” 

Enyo frowned. What was the girl getting at? And how had she known she and Va'al’s plan to resurrect the Old Gods to generate enough power to reinstate their bodies? Had the little bitch been spying on her all this time? 

“You will die too, healer. If this body goes, so too will your soul.” 

Alphonse’s fingers were white-knuckled against the black of her journal. Perhaps rallying her strength or her will. Her face screwed up most unbecomingly, like a petulant child. “If I die, then you won’t hurt anyone else, and you won’t burn down forests and collapse mountains. You won’t hunt down whoever did that to you and get your revenge no matter the cost.” 

Enyo snarled. but the girl pushed on. 

“I know you, Enyo. If you get your old body back, nothing will stop you, and you won’t care who is harmed along the way. I’d rather die than help you.” The speech would have been more effective if Alphonse’s voice hadn’t been shaking. Still, she stood resolute, clutching her little book and defying Enyo. 

The Goddess prowled closer, and Alphonse winced, looking away despite herself. “You’d let your lover suffer?” Alphonse’s gaze snapped back to Enyo at the mention of the priestess. Delyth. “If this body goes, so does her only chance of love. You would let her hope die to spite me? That doesn’t sound like you at all.” 

Alphonse bit her lower lip but shook her head. “I am not Delyth’s only chance at love and hope. She will be alright with—without me.” Her words hitched, and Enyo knew her weakness. 

“Even with this injury, I can rip the bitch to shreds. I’ll do it. You know I will —Tell me how to fix this, and I’ll let her live.” 

“Living as your slave isn’t a life Delyth deserves!” Alphonse flung her words at the Goddess, and Enyo snarled, lunging forward to slap the stupid bitch. The healer scuttled backward to avoid the blow and tripped. 

“You will help me!” Enyo demanded as she wrenched the journal from Alphonse’s grip and yanked her to her feet. Alphonse’s gaze flickered to the journal, terror painting her features, and Enyo realized what a fool she was. The Journal. All of Alphonse’s petty little thoughts. She didn’t need the healer to cooperate. She just needed her thoughts, her memories. 

“No!” Alphonse screamed. Enyo dropped her back onto her ass and turned to gather up the little book. The girl had the nerve to grab at Enyo’s ankles, but with a wicked laugh,Enyo shook her off. 

“Useless. Pathetic. Weak. Don’t you ever tire of being so truly benign? You are nothing. Even in your own mind, you cannot stop me.” Wiggling the journal, Enyo watched as Alphonse’s