The Goddess Awakens

Oliver lay on the kitchen table, eyes closed as he tried to catch a few moments to rest. The sound of the backdoor to the house opening off the kitchen made him roll toward the sound and open his eyes. He watched as Larissa entered the room. Pushing himself into a seated position, he yawned and stretched simultaneously before knuckling his eyes.

Head angled slightly to one side, she approached the table.

Looking up at her, Oliver saw her eyes, violet, like the ones from his dream.

Stopping at the edge of the table, she examined him, expression curious. “You are Oliver,” she said, her voice a blend of two different voices speaking in harmony.

Keeping his gaze on her, he nodded and rose to his feet. “Larissa?” he asked.

She inclined her head slightly to one side the movement almost birdlike as she regarded him, “She is here, but time is limited lest this vessel be damaged,” replied the dual voices.

Snapping his head in the direction Sam had gone with Stan, “Um, why do I get the feeling something is not quite what it should be, ah, to whom then am I speaking?” he asked, keeping his tone light-hearted.

Smiling, “You are my chosen. You are the key. I have awakened but you must find the lock to open the path,” she added. Reaching down with her left hand, she touched him lightly on the center of his chest with the end of her index finger.

The contact was electric, sending a sudden rush of energy through his entire body, images of star constellations and places flicking wildly through his mind as his breath rushed out of him.

Larissa took a couple of steps backward, the violet color in her eyes starting to flicker. Reaching to him with a beckoning hand, “Come to me,” she invited in the two voices. Then she was gone. Larissa remain, but Oliver knew whomever, whatever had inhabited the girl was no longer present.

Staggering to the table and using her hands to support herself, “Whoa,” murmured Larissa, voice hoarse.

Catching his breath, he looked up at the shivering girl looming over him, “Are you okay?” he asked.

Nodding, she blinked a half dozen times as if trying to focus her golden colored eyes.

“What do you remember?” Oliver inquired.

Larissa shook her head, blond hair spilling over her shoulders, “I feel so strange, so I don’t know,” she paused, a rose-colored blush coloring cheeks as her gaze drifted down her body.

Following her eyes, Oliver spotted the wet stain at the crotch of her pants, “Ah,” he noised.

Chuckling, Larissa let out a long breath, “It was like a dream sort of, I’ve never come so hard before,” she supplied, eyes becoming distant as she revisited the memory.

Oliver stayed quiet, trying to make sense of the odd barrage of pictures that filled his brain when Larissa not-Larissa touched him. Was it a place she was showing him, or was she trying to get him to go to a location?

Larissa frowned and glanced back to the door leading out to the back porch, “Wait a minute, I remember being outside,” she commented as if awareness were just coming to her.

“I need something to write with,” he verbalized, urgency in his tone.

Larissa looked back at him, “Huh?”

“I need something to write with, like a pencil lead or something,” he instructed.

“A pencil?”

“Please hurry!” he issued.

Shuffling over to the counter, Larissa pulled open a drawer, rifling through it and finding a small pencil as long as Oliver was tall.

“And paper, or something to write on,” he added as loudly as he could, hoping she heard him.

Larissa returned to the table with the pencil and a scrap piece of lined paper and set them down near Oliver, “Will this do?” she queried.

Looking at the log sized pencil, “Can you break the lead off the pencil?” he asked.

Reaching down she picked up the pencil and press the tip against the table, breaking off a piece of the graphite.

Collecting the nub, “Perfect,” he replied, dropping to his hands and knees, using the lead to try to replicate the mind pictures as quickly and as accurately as possible.

Leaning over him, Larissa rested her weight on her elbows, trying to see what it was Oliver was drawing but inadvertently blocking his light.

Pausing, he looked over his shoulder and up at Larissa, “Maybe you should go change your pants or something,” he suggested, giving her a smile.

Looking suddenly abashed, she nodded and hastily departed, leaving him to resume his work.

Scribbling away furiously, when he was finished, he leaned back on his feet, examining his handiwork. Not particularly well versed in celestial cartography, he did recognize The Big Dipper amongst a cluster of other starry formations. Also on the paper, a rudimentary rendering of some type of cave or passage maybe, symbols he did not recognize, some darker, some lighter. What did it all mean? If it was a set of directions, he certainly had no clue how to read it. What did the not-Larissa mean, ‘My chosen?’ The key to what? So many questions sprang to mind.

Cady emerged into the kitchen cupping Deacon in her right hand, a shy expression on her face and avoiding eye contact with Oliver as she made her way over to counter near the kitchen sink where she gently washed tiny Deacon before drying him and coming to the table.

“Somebody was in the bathroom,” Deacon explained, pushing fingers through his wet hair in an effort to slick it back.

“My mother is here, I think she is in there with Stan,” Oliver explained, glancing from Deacon up to Cady.

Cheeky grin appearing on his face, “Alright Stan,” snickered Deacon before looking at Oliver and pausing, “I mean they are probably just trying to figure some shit out or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Oliver shook his head.

Looking down on Oliver’s hodgepodge of scribbles from above, “What is that?” Cady inquired.

Pushing himself to his feet and stepping off the paper, Oliver shook his head, “I’m not sure,” he replied with a shrug.

Larissa appeared in the kitchen wearing stretchy black pants, “Oh hey,” she greeted.

Cady nodded.

Sam appeared moments later, Stan in hand, “Sorry, did someone need the bathroom?” she asked, while Stan just grinned like a bird fed cat. Walking to the table, she set Stan down, eyes moving to Oliver’s paper. Pointing her index finger at one of the designs, “That’s the symbol for the goddess,” she informed. “Who did this?”

Looking to his mother, Oliver pointed to himself.

Picking up the paper, Sam examined it more closely, “How?”

“Do you understand it?” Oliver questioned.

Setting the paper back down on the table, “Some of it, but certainly less than more,” she conceded. “You still haven’t explained how you came to draw all of this.”

“Okay, this is going to sound strange, but,” he started, sharing details of his dream and then his interaction with Larissa not-Larissa and touch induced download of visions much to Larissa’s own look of confusion.

Nodding, “We need to see Agnes, she will know what this all means,” she informed.

“Shotty,” Stan called, spreading his hands.

Looking at Larissa, then Cady, “We are going to need some type of travel container,” Sam requested.