Heaven Hath No Fury: Prologue

It was the one day in the Heavens where gods could make wishes, and these words passed from the lips of the King to the Minister of the Department of Wishes.

The older brother of Miho, Goddess of Corvus.

He knew his sister’s shadow had been crowded by the King most recently, but that she, like him perhaps, was not one to bow so easily.

Her position among the gods, her role in the Heavens, and perhaps most poignantly the nature of her power, had led her to live a life resistant to romantic entanglements – for if she had the ability to seduce a person, convince them to do what she desired with just her words alone, she feared anyone for whom she developed fondness might question if their reciprocation was their own will, or hers.

She refused to set herself up for heartbreak like that.

And so she chose to love no one, and allowed no one to love her.

But the Goddess of Corvus, whose talents were best used for convincing the souls of the dead to move on to their next incarnation, was beautiful, perhaps even more so in that she had made herself unattainable. Myriad gods and goddesses tried to woo her, but she was impervious, isolating herself but for the relationships she required for her work, most often with the Department of Punishments.

Through this, the cool, often frightening God of Libra, narrowed his steely gaze upon the goddess and sought to change her mind. It took years of subtle suggestion and persistence, clear statements of intention and infallible follow-through, before Zyglavis could even get her to entertain the possibility of allowing him into her heart.

Doubt, however, was always there. She wondered when he would turn around and accuse her of deception, accuse her of manipulating his feelings for her own ends; of this, she could never quite let go.

These changes in her, the slowly developing bond between she and Zyglavis did not go unnoticed.

Ever selfish and flippant in his complete disregard for anyone other than himself, the King of the Heavens called Miho to him, and expressed his decision to make her his.

Like her brother, she was defiant.

It was not out of disrespect of course, and who would not have been flattered by compliments from that silver tongue? That magnificent creature? Who would not appreciate the benefits one would receive from such courtship? Miho understood all these things, but she had only just come to open herself up to Zyglavis, Zyglavis who had worked so hard to earn her guarded trust – and the King, for all the dominion he held, was not to be trusted.

Callous.

Demanding.

Even malicious.

Rejection was met with not unexpected retribution.

The King forbade her from seeing Zyglavis completely, stripped her of her position and exiled her to isolation where only he might visit, but the more he pushed, the more resolute Miho became. He could not command her to love him.

Leon demanded his sister be released, facing down the King to whom he was second in power, but the King was unmoved. Zyglavis’ protests also fell upon deaf ears, and so the Goddess of Corvus remained in her divine cage, an unwilling and increasingly melancholy pet.

And then came that night, that single night each year when the wishes of the gods themselves could be granted – and to Leon’s ears came a most insistent wish:

“I wish for the Goddess of Corvus to fall blindly, passionately in love with me.”

Many times the King had wrought unhappiness upon those he claimed to love, toying with their feelings, testing their loyalty and expecting nothing short of absolute obedience. If there was one law no one ever broke, it was that the orders of the King were inviolate.

Still he could not command her to love him… but he could, on that day require her own brother to fulfil a wish that would steal away her free will.

Testing the King’s patience, Leon visited her, the normally arrogant god humble in his apology to her – he would have to comply, this wish would be granted, and she would never even know how she had been so terribly wronged. All she would understand was an all-consuming want for the King’s affections, an unreserved and blinkered need, and a soul-deep love she could not, nor would not want to, question.

When it was done, the King welcomed Miho into his arms, lavishing unparalleled adoration upon her, and she felt happy beyond any measure she had ever known. She thought nothing of the doubts she’d harboured over taking chances with Zyglavis, in fact thought nothing of Zyglavis at all. Upon the King’s arm, a superb trophy, she thought only of how she might best please him.

And she did, at his every whim, her desperation to bring him the utmost pleasure, nullifying any concept that this splendiferous immortal had taken something from her that could never be given back.

Something she might once have given to Zyglavis.

Perhaps he should have fought harder for her, if he had truly, genuinely loved her? But he did not, had to live knowing Miho laid with the King not actually through choice, and it was a dreadful burden of pain that haunted him – it haunted him even after the fickle King’s lust for Miho waned.

Though she gave him everything, the Goddess of Corvus soon found even her most daring, displays of devotion for the King were not enough to keep him interested. He shunned her, disinterested, dismissed her, treated her like a ghost – a whisper of the past even though for her he was so intensely the focus of her present.

And she diminished, became a pining shadow slowly eaten away by unrequited love.

The perfect prey, a perfect weapon for the likes of the Dark King.

Though sealed away long, long ago by the King himself, the Dark King was not so ill informed as one might think. Through minions, deities likewise disgruntled by the King’s cruelty, the Dark King saw Miho as an ideal tool with which to strike at the King and the Minister for the Department of Wishes both.

He sent his strongest ally to visit upon her in the dead of night, when her pillow was already heavy with tears, to lift the veil obscuring the truth.

Into her receptive ear he poured promises of vengeance, fanning the flames of her now unbridled outrage, of love upturned, turned sour, turned vitriolic. He offered his hand, his help, and readily she took it – for what was left there in the Heavens for her but objects of ire?

Rumour had it she simply vanished, willing herself out of existence. Other gossip said the King himself had banished her from the Heavens. Another story suggested he’d killed her for denying him. Not even the King knew where she had gone, but speak of her brought about his wrath, and in time Miho, Goddess of Corvus, became a distant memory to all but a scarce few.

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