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Type: indescribable

The Deities' World is exactly what it says it it - these are stories about the old Earth pantheons, as well as deities we have never heard of, who may be parents of those we have, siblings, children, or simply friends, because, unsurprisingly, not all of them wanted to be part of the pantheons. One of the main reasons for this decision is that talking to the races, whether they're on Earth or one of the many other worlds in the multiverse, is much like playing a game of Chinese Whispers. If you take, for example, the relationship between Hephaestus and Aphrodite you'll find that it's very different to how the Greeks wrote it, which, sometimes, makes them wish they'd never chosen to connect with people on Earth. (Everything I write about the deities is how they appear to me, so they may not be like the deities you know if you have any relationship with them. I think they show everyone something a little different.)

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This entry is part 3 of 17 in the Deities' World collection

There were days when Persephone couldn’t believe that her only daughter was nearly 300 years old. She could still remember the day, as she could with both her sons, that Callidora had been born. It had been a rainy mid-autumn day, so it made sense that Callie loved the autumn more than any other season. Archimedes, her eldest son, had been a winter boy. He’d been born on the day of the first snow that year, over a millennium before Callie. Phelix was a spring boy. Giving birth to such a bright boy, a boy whose eyes always reminded her of the first buds of spring, was a surprise because both she and Hades were dark. He was 500 years older than Callie.

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Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

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This entry is part 2 of 16 in the Deities' World collection

We are together and yet we are apart. The deities, as you call them, are the same as us, but they are also very different. I’ve watched them for millennia, trying to understand them, because their connection to the many races of the multiverse is nothing like ours. Maybe their problem is that they are less patient than us, therefore they feel the need to go to the races instead of waiting for the races to come to them, the way we do and always have done. For those of you who are interested in names I am known to you as Papa Legba and I am the one who opens the door.

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Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

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Deities, normally, are born, not made. I’m one of the few exceptions. Once I was a mortal and I have an understanding of what it’s like to feel the fear of not knowing what comes next, the worry that I will come to an end when my life end, that I can’t, no matter how hard I try, explain to someone who was born immortal. They don’t know what it’s like to lack the understanding that the soul is immortal, because they have always know that their lives will only come to an end when they chose and that when they do make that choice their soul will go on to learn other lessons.

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Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

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It had been a long day, but then that wasn’t unusual for a day Hephaestus had spent talking with his priests and priestesses. He limped in the direction of his home, his feet feeling uncomfortable because he’d been on them for much of the day, and hoped that he would be able to have a day off soon. Occasionally he couldn’t help wishing he’d been born a mortal instead of a deity, which was the way pretty much all of the deities felt occasionally. Being there to help so many people could be the hardest job in the world, even though it was also one of the most rewarding, and that was why he would never willingly give up his position. There had been a few who did, for one reason or another, and he understood why they’d made the choice they had, but it wasn’t one he felt he would ever make, no matter how difficult things got.

When Hephaestus stepped into the house he could smell baking. Unable to stop himself from smiling he wandered in the direction of the kitchen and stood for a moment, watching his wife ice the cakes she had made, before he said, “It smells lovely in here, sweetheart.”

Aphrodite turned to look at him, smiling back. “I’m glad you like it.” She crossed the room and gave him a quick kiss. “How was your day?”

“Tiring.”

“Did you manage to get everything done that you needed to get done?”

Hephaestus shook his head. “I still need to pop in and see Hades tomorrow.”

“If you do,” a sleepy male voice said from behind him, “it might be time to ask for a puppy.”

“Have you been napping?” Hephaestus asked, as he turned to look at his husband.

Their eyes met as Ares shrugged, blushing a little. “It’s my first day off in months,” he said, sounding more defensive than Hephaestus was comfortable with.

“I wasn’t having a go,” he replied carefully, reaching out with one hand to gently stroke some strands of hair off Ares’ face. “Did you have a bad day yesterday?”

Ares had got in long after both Hephaestus and Aphrodite had gone to bed, after telling them not to wait up for him when he left, so they hadn’t had a chance to talk. “You could say that,” Ares sighed, running a hand though his hair. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet, but when I am…”

Aphrodite rested her hand on Hephaestus’ shoulder. “We’re both here for you, Ares, whenever you need to talk.”

“I know.” Ares sighed again. “I’m sorry for snapping. Sometimes I just feel like I’ll never be anything but the Greek God of War to more people that I want to be.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Aphrodite reached over Hephaestus shoulder to take one of Ares’ hand at the same time as Hephaestus took the other. “Those who care about you know that you are more than a war god. Just because that’s what the Greeks took from what you were telling them doesn’t mean that’s what you are.”

Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

July 2017

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