She spent the last of it after the war. She spent it, palms open, power dripping down like blood. And it was blood in its own right. Her vitality, given to cleanse the ground that had been defiled. Her essence to wash away the brutal remains of battle, to stir the earth to life again and use the corpses left behind as fodder for green and growing things.

She, in her infinite state, had never understood the passions of mortals. They seemed always to be fighting. Their differences were vast to them but wholly singular to her. The color of their skin. The presence or absence of some biological accessory or other. The slant of the eyes, the curve of the ears, the build of their bodies. No matter how minute, it always somehow wound up being worth killing over. Had she someone to cast bets with about which it would be this time or that, she would have

Never had it reached such a state before. Never had they slaughtered in such great numbers. Now they were scattered like hapless livestock. Struggling against the winter. Struggling to survive. Struggling, indeed, in the beds they had crafted of their own hands. They repulsed her. She wished she could bring herself to smite them like a pestilence from her pure and perfect lands, but she could not. Hers was not the way of violence and fury. Hers was the way only of balance, and in the end, they had managed to wipe themselves nearly to oblivion without her. The balance was maintained.

The goddess felt a pulse, and knew it was her world responding to her. It thumped deeply, like a tiny rabbit hibernating in the warmth of its den. It grew louder as she grew fainter. So many times she had healed the land and so many times it had been ravaged. The cycle was ending now.

And she thought, for a moment, perhaps she should just let it be. Never had oblivion been a consideration to her before. Never had she faced the Endless Nothing, as they called it. If she could have felt fear, perhaps she would have. Instead there was only a vague sense of curiosity. Indeed, she wondered if it were even possible to eliminate her completely. No, likely not. She would live on in the storms and the trees and the wild things. Pieces of her, perhaps, scattered to the winds and the rains to keep the balance forevermore.

The thumping grew louder. As it did, the thoughts of turning aside her duty quieted. She recalled the Creation that was spring and the great Suffering that was winter. For so long, beyond memory, she had governed over both. She could not leave her land so violated, not after millennia of catering to it with her own two hands.

The last of her trickled out through her fingers, her arms extended over the desolate valley. The droplets fell slowly, spiraling to the earth in an ethereal glow. She could feel an unmaking, and there was a moment when she was overwhelmed by sights and sounds: the thrum of a hummingbird’s wing, a stag rutting with a doe, a panther stooping low in the brush, preparing itself to pounce on unsuspecting pray.

She felt their need, their hunger, and ultimately their smallness. All of it flooded her, too much even for a goddess to process. With her dying breath she threw her head back and screamed out her pain, and in that moment all of that rushing sensation coalesced into a single voice.

“That’s it. Here she is! It’s a girl! You’ve had a little girl!”

And the memories died.

Her golden wings bend and break,

As she plummets towards the dull earth.

Her eyes fill with tears for the first time,

As she strips her heavenly vestments.

At last, she is free to live as a mortal, to survive or perish.

Staring into the mirror that only seemed to mock her was almost too much. Her scars, her protruding bones, no one could remember her as anything different.

She was the beauty queen. The winner of every class election, the perfect daughter. Her family's goddess. Then she grew up. Then her mother died.

She was but 13 when it all took its turn. Another day, another pagent. It was her mother driving. Suddenly, in a moment of fear for a cats life, a silly little cat that had run out in front of their car, she pulled the wheel out of her mother's hands. Spinning, the car rammed into a tree. Her mother died on impact. At least that was what the coroner had said.

She looked down at the blood in the sink. The blood she had coughed up. It no longer scared her. Why should it? She had seen so much of it the last five years. Glancing over to the syringe that held her pain-reliever, her best friend, she smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It was one of relief. She knew what would come. Another hallucination. Another trip to her wonderland. Her father would find her in the morning, get her up onto her feet, feed her, bathe her. All in an attempt to save her from her self. His baby girl, his goddess, had become human.