“I… I just don’t know about this makeup, Demi.”

“Hey. Hey. You’re the one who said you wanted to go biblical. How can you do that if you don’t look the part?” replied Demi, applying yet stroke of her custom eyeliner to Agatha’s face, making her beloved squint at the touch of the soft instruments. She had to be incredibly delicate with the material considering Demi wasn’t used to working on skin of this tone (or on other human beings at all), and Agatha didn’t exactly own much in the way of her own makeup. The pair had to steal from the room of Agatha’s mom, with the implicit expectation that this latest trip might just result in such massive changes to the timeline that any conflicts from the theft would be washed out.

Of course, makeup was arguably the least important aspect of the new look. The Party City down the street sadly lacked precise clothing options, but considering fall was fast approaching the newly opened Spirit Halloween was more than eager to pick up the slack, stocking most all the important affects necessary to create two cloaked angels, harbingers of death. Sure, the dark material was fairly cheap and the tiny pairs of wings were leaking feathers all over the floor of Agatha’s basement, but the effect didn’t have to be perfect. The size was the selling point.

“Annnnd… perfect!”

Demi took a step back as Agatha blinked a few times. Demi held up a mirror to Agatha, which she promptly snatched, an action to which Demi pouted sarcastically.

“That’s the last time I sit still for upwards of 45 minutes while you rub me with your little fashion oils,” Agatha whined, peering into the mirror. Her eyebrows however immediately raised, and she inched her face just a little closer, looking into her visage. Whereas previously the pores and sad scars from years of absentminded scratching were more apparent, now they had been smoothed. Her lips were fuller, now coated in a crimson red, striking, but not so striking as to become gaudy. Her eyebrows were lush and dark blonde, and her hair had achieved just a bit more definition. It now appeared windswept instead of frizzy.

“So, how’d I do?” asked Demi meekly, twisting her left foot on the floor.

“You…” Agatha started, feeling her heart well up.

She looked back in the mirror again.

She wanted to keep looking at it. She wanted to take a picture of it, and save it forever. Agatha had never been one to take photos of herself… But here and now, she was struck with an indeterminable fear. A fear that one day she would forget what she looked like in this moment. She would forget this time that she shared with the person closest to her in the world.

All things considered, Agatha was quite confident in herself. She had never really felt the need to feel beautiful before. But in this moment, she realized the reason for this could be that she never knew what feeling beautiful really felt like.

“You…” Agatha tried again. This time, her voice croaked.

Demi’s nervous twitching stopped, and she was filled with nothing but concern for her Agatha. “Are you all right?”

Agatha swallowed herself. She wanted to express to Demi how much she appreciated this. Demonstrate her love. Allow Demi to feel an inkling of what Demi had just allowed Agatha to experience. But she simply didn’t know how. And her straightforward mannerisms were scaring Demi. So Agatha swallowed it. And she said:

“I think it’ll do… for now, I guess.” Agatha could only hope that her textbook sarcasm wouldn’t completely obfuscate her gratitude.

Demi cocked her head a bit and smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.”

The pair locked eyes. Then in a synchronized motion, each now turned to the time machine in the corner, its monolithic tower blinking with lights, a particularly large one staring down at them. Its hum filled the room, as the machine had already been warming up.

Their trips throughout time were beginning to approach ritual status. There needed to be an order. The first thing to do was decide where it was they intended to go. In this case, Agatha had picked out the perfect idea, and Demi was in love with it. The desire had to be mutual.

Following that, the pair would meet here in the basement, under cover of night. Ever since the first test run, it was decided that the days Agatha’s mom worked late were best. Luckily, Demi’s sister more or less trusted her to return home eventually, or maybe she was merely aware of the pair’s relationship and trusted Agatha to ensure her sister’s safety. Nevertheless, now they needed not worry about either of their families voicing dissatisfaction with these sessions.

It was in the hours and minutes immediately prior to their sojourn that things seemed to slow. Despite the two simply doing what anyone would do before a walk outside – a short stretch, ensuring clothing was fitted and comfortable, etc. – time almost seemed to slow. It was always a liminal space, awaiting the destruction of the bonds and shackles space-time placed on the pair, both physically and temporally. Their synchronized motion toward the time machine was yet another indicator that for the pair, it was almost as though time itself slowed down, despite the fact the trip hadn’t even started yet.

The two then took their steps, their black cloaks dragging along the floor, hands in one another’s. By Demi’s insistence, they decided to forgo footwear on this excursion. Considering the hazardous environment that was Agatha’s basement garage, it would not have been wise to disembark prior to just before the adventure, so now they took the time to let go of each other’s hands unlace their own shoes. Demi finished before Agatha, and once both her feet were free, she couldn’t help but notice Agatha fidgeting with the complex lacing of her second boot.

“Allow me,” said Demi, and with deft craftsmanship, she skillfully untied the knots binding the Timberlands to Agatha’s ankle. Clutching gingerly, Demi then carefully slid Agatha’s shoe off her foot, revealing her sock beneath. Placing the shoe with care next to the time machine, Demi turned her attention to rolling Agatha’s sock down from the length of her calve, removing it at the heel, taking great care not to scratch Agatha’s tender foot with her long nails. With one hand, Demi massaged Agatha’s foot, rubbing it, and shuddered. Her other hand placed the sock in her shoe before it joined its mate.

Demi treasured every moment of contact she had with Agatha’s skin, and Agatha could only look down in rapture as Demi treated her with such care and grace. Agatha had to almost physically stop herself from reaching down and grabbing Demi, picking her up and clutching her tightly to spin around in a manic, crazed dance of love.

“Hmm…” said Demi in a dazed sort of rapture, finally removing her hands from the impromptu massage. “There will be time for this… at our destination.”

Agatha grinned. “Hell yes.”

The melodious voices of twelve men and women flowed gracefully, singing the praises and glory and blessings bequeathed to them by God, touching the hearts of the entire congregation. The crowded seats were filled with all manner of individual, both those born with privilege and the common-folk. All were equal in the eyes of the Lord, but reality so often got in the way of this ideal.

Absent from the congregation, however, were two seats. Perched high above in the church offices, two men were having a discussion. Insulated somewhat from the orchestra, instead they were privy to the life and times of Constantinople, a city decaying, and they were engaged in a discussion of equal parts fancy and dread.

“I’m telling you, this war is lost!”

The second man scoffed, moving his hand to a bearded chin to rub it. “Ha! Lost?! We’ve the grace and glory of God on our side. I stand here and now as General Theodorus of Constantinople, and I will tell you that as long as I am breathing, this city – nay, this empire – shall not fall.”

The bearded man’s adversary was bald, clean-shaven, and clearly carried himself a monk. His face was grave and he laid out on a nearby table a drawing, an artistic representation of two female individuals. “I’m afraid I am quite sober. I am telling you, we must prepare for a full-scale invasion! Who knows when the enemy armies will be at our front gates?!”

Theodorus glared, and growled, “Then we will fight. To the last man if we must. For this city is more than a city. It is a vision. A declaration to the world that we fight on the side of light, and all who oppose us will, eventually, find themselves crushed before the wrath of the Lord.”

The monk scoffed. “I know more than anyone that faith can be an incredible source of strength. But blind faith is not the way! Surely you’re familiar with the parable of Duosis.”

Theodorus cringed as his heart leapt from the mention of that city. He prepared a response on his lips when a static in the air stole from him his words. The window next to the two discussing men had cracked, and inconsistencies in the singing below them resulted in the choir music to devolve into an aggravated and tense dialogue.

“What in the…” said Theodorus, marching to the window. He looked outside to see the arrival of a mighty wind. It blew open locked gates, ripped shrubs from their roots, and coalesced into a powerful whirlwind as the weather changed utterly.

“What in the name of?!” frightfully said the monk, pushing Theodorus to the size so he too could get a better view of the city.

Outside the streets were slowly descending into chaos. Livestock was running rampant and at this point so were the people, all in the opposite direction of from whence the two men peered out. The winds had increased so much in strength that the weaker wooden buildings were now being ripped from their foundations, torn apart and sliced by the whipping weather, and the gusts were – horrifyingly – were taking their people with them.

“My… my God…” whispered Theodorus.

Then… it was silent.

Both men saw nothing. The streets were cleared. Everyone had either gotten to safety, or were pulled into the diminishing maelstrom as debris and the like were deposited around the square. Only buildings built on solid foundation and made of stone brick – like the church – managed to remain stable.

The monk took one tentative step back from the window.

Then another step. Theodorus turned to him, face hard and creased. “We… I… what just happened?”

“I’ve but one theory… God’s judgment is not in our favor as much as we hoped.”

BOOM!

The single earthquake shook the building from its foundations to the rafters. The monk dived to the ground as Theodorus stood firm. His sword was in a different room, and yet he somehow could not feel the semblance of fear within him. Snarling, he said to no one in particular, “Bah, I’ve lived a thousand battles! Surely what’s one more?!”

BOOM!

The quake repeated, and now in the lower section of the church came the panic. Exclamations of people who wished for nothing but to know what was going on filled both men’s ears, but the choir’s own sense of self-preservation prevented most of them from even attempting to go, meaning the church was just filled with a tense, manic energy that ran exclusively off of fear and nervous jittering.

Crack!

The sound of stone splitting from stone. Dust began to descend into the room as both men looked around them to see a seam being created in the perimeter of the tiny attic. The scene traversed the walls, connecting around in a loop before with a terrifying crumble and collapse of materials, the room began to fall apart. Sunlight was streaming in, but its healing beams were blocked by something immense. Something with the power, the strength to rip apart buildings with one hand.

Theodorus was hoarse as he looked up. He found that someone.

Or someone’s.

Above them all, stood two individuals. Stately, proud, snide, beauteous, godly. Their gowns were black, but their wings were white. And most importantly, each of them was easily far larger than the largest buildings either of them had ever seen.

Demi was the one who held in her hand the spire that once made up the attic of the church building. She tossed it again and again like a softball as she peered down, feeling nothing but glee at the power she wielded over this group of primitive wannabees. Even their monuments were naught but paper-mache playthings when faced with the awesome might of the two arbiters of time and fate. Destiny was nothing but what they made, and Demi intended to make it theirs.

Agatha was similarly excited. Her heart was thumping and pumping in a way it hadn’t ever truly been before. The only difference was that this time, her conscience was completely clear. Here she was, and there was nowhere she would rather be, with nobody that she’d rather be with. And they were finally going to fulfill their own purpose together. And the first thing Agatha intended to do was tell them her name.

Briefly, Agatha peered pleadingly at Demi, who responded, “They’re all yours.”

Agatha beamed, and then dug her hands into the crumbly remains of the church attic, grasping at the rubble and snatching up in them two humans that had been unlucky enough to be there at this point.

Dust and desolation descended from the clump of the former building within within Agatha’s fingertips as she peered down with lusty, malicious intent. Her cloak billowed in the wind and her white wings gleamed against the noonday sun. Agatha’s lips parted and her teeth shone, their incisors glinting, their edges like white guillotines. The ungodly sizes of the two girls caused both tiny men within Agatha’s grasp to become hysterical, rolling around amidst bricks and pieces of scaffolding, but without anywhere to go that would not lead to a several-story drop.

As Agatha used her other hand to pluck the two humans free from the pile of inedible building material, Demi leaned into her ear and whispered something. Agatha grinned, a grin that was visible for miles, before taking in a deep breath and belting out in a thunderous, authoritative charter:

“My name is Agatha! And this –”

Agatha emptied her other hand and pulled Demi into a tight side hug. The falling debris crashed into the church, further descending into the nave and causing the hunkering survivors to descend into chaos. The two men in her right palm were even more frantic.

“And this is Demi. The rightful goddesses of this Earth!”

Demi raised an eyebrow at this, and smiled. She only told Agatha to say that they were “rulers”. Clearly, Agatha was taking to it, and decided unilaterally to ham it up, even if she were using a term that was a bit hackneyed.

“How long has it been? Since we last returned to this world? Have you built statues in our honor? Made our names world-renowned? Ensured that the worship of your true deities is never forgotten?!”

Demi snuck another glance at Agatha as she gave her tirade. Visibly, even through the makeup, Demi could see that Agatha was very, very, very red. In part due to keeping her voice raised, no doubt, but she was very clearly out of her comfort zone. Despite this though, each gasp Agatha took was electric, and she was beaming the smile one only makes when one is inexplicably happy, or crazy. She was leaning into it quite well.

“But no. You build buildings, attempting in vain to reach for the sky. You are arrogant and proud; you forget your masters! And worst of all… you have taken for worship a false God!”

And in a dramatic, completely improvised flair, Agatha raised up one shining bare foot, and she stomped it down into the church.

Within the nave, those huddled within the pews, hands over their heads listened to the tyrannical tirade. Her words, though sounding of a vague Latin dialect, were utterly indecipherable to these Byzantine ears. A stray whimper could be heard, and a few of the choir-folk had their own hands out in prayer despite lying prone.

Then:

CRASHOOM!

Like a meteor, the pale shining foot carved a hole in the ceiling before planting a crater in the ornate floor. The remaining windows were knocked out from the shockwave, the pews disintegrated beneath the stomp, and the people between them were transformed into rivers of paste. Burning sunlight, focused into razor sharp beans by nothing but adrenaline, tore into the survivors’ eyes as the idle motions of Agatha’s upper calf carved the hole in the ceiling even bigger. Knocked to the ground, the few able to still walk trudged to their bruised and fractured feet, and attempted to make it to the door, hoping against hope that they might be beneath the notice of these massive winged creatures.

Demi, still caught in the embrace of her friend, looked down and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

There, at the church’s entrance, an agonizing stream of refugees were dribbling from the church steps. The only point of egress, the route had brought them right before Demi’s own perfectly manicured toes, many of them barely edging out the former churchgoers in height.

Demi grinned. “Looks like you missed some.”

And angling her foot up from the heel, she shimmied the tented sole forward so the entirety of the remaining stragglers. Weakened and battered from just barely surviving the first assault, they had no recourse but to hold up their hands to the sky, desperately pleading – perhaps to a higher power, or perhaps as a futile shield from their impending fate – before they too were smushed beneath the milky brown pads on the bottom of Demi’s foot.

Agatha took a look downwards and her breathing sharpened as her pulse quickened. Her face was still red, and she was certainly sweating. Taking a break from her own speech, she had the opportunity to turn to Demi and say, “I guess I did,” before kicking her planted foot through the remains of the church scaffolding utterly.

“And these ones as well!” finished Agatha, glaring now with righteous glee at the panicking men in her grasp. Still crawling every which way within her palm, they lay face to face with the massive, panting visage of Agatha, tired after her dramatic speech despite the fact few if any understood her. She was all but willing to indulge in something new. Especially if it had the potential to sate her fatigue after the ordeal.

“Hmmmm… I’ll have you know that I was going to merely squish you in my hand.”

They shook their heads “No” at the insinuation, able to understand just enough to glean an inkling of her meaning.

“But now, I’m far more curious how the pair of you might taste.”

And Agatha opened her mouth, angling her head upwards. The men, realizing what this meant as her hand was positioned to deposit them in the hole both began screaming in archaic Latin at Agatha, at Demi, at each other, and presumably at God. But none of it would reach anyone, in any way that mattered.

Agatha’s hand slanted, and the two men tumbled down, down, down, straight into her awaiting tongue. Closing her mouth, Agatha couldn’t help but blush in ecstacy as the salty, savory taste of humanity filled her cheeks. The flavor was difficult to discern, but utterly intoxicating. Even more addicting, though, was the utter power she held, and beheld. Being able to consume not just one entire human… but two.

And if they had their way, many… many more.

Agatha gulped, and Demi rubbed Agatha’s back between the wings.

“How did they taste?”

Agatha opened her mouth and sighed, simply breathing. She allowed what remained of those men’s essence to leave her lips, and she smacked them loudly before stating in a stunned daze, “It was… exhilarating. You should try it sometime.”

Demi angled her gaze from Agatha back to the city. Despite how long it felt, there was still – quite fortunately – 99.9% of a city that had not been reduced to ashes.

“And try it, I shall,” Demi replied.

Taking their hands in one another’s again, the pair geared to take the next big step into not only the city of Constantinople, but also the new phase of shared ecstasy that would define the rest of their lives.

The time machine crackled and popped as it returned to Agatha’s basement, and the disheveled girls were giggling as they eagerly exited the machine’s chamber and jumped out of the cockpit.

“The book, the book!” Demi requested expectantly, cringing upon stepping on the cold concrete of the garage before grabbing her boots. “Where’d you put it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Agatha replied, eager now to rip the already tattered wings from her back and shove them in the trash. “It’s, uhh, beneath the toolbox!”

“Beneath the… hmm,” Demi said to herself before locking eyes on the book. She struggled to move the toolbox to the side before opening up the book and thumbing rapidly through the pages.

“GIRLS!”

Demi dropped the book as the dagger in her heart that was the voice of Ms. Jones pierced into her eardrums. Shivering, she turned expectantly to Agatha, who nodded and called back up, “Yes mom?!”

“It’s a school night! The next time you’re still up by the time I get back from church Aggie, you’re not allowed to have friends over!”

Agatha’s eyes widened. She glanced back at Demi, then at the fallen book.

“What?” Agatha replied, cupping her hands around her mouth. “What did you just say?”

“Now don’t make me repeat myself, young lady! Now send your little friend home!”

Footsteps creaked throughout the stairwell as Agatha stared at Demi, a dumb smile filling her face as her heart pounded.

“My mom’s never been to church in her life.”

“Then…” began Demi.

Agatha looked back at the book and picked it up from Demi’s feet. Finding the right page, she began to read out loud as the pair ascended the steps:

“Though initially believed to be nothing but the ramblings of primitive societies, and despite many naysayers, disbelievers, and infidels voicing dissatisfaction with the thought, modern science and radiocarbon dating have proved that the Goddesses themselves have in fact visited Earth in the pre-historical, Classical, and Middle Age periods. Our Goddesses, it seems, make their presence known at times of significant human development, though the precise reasoning for this has always been difficult to discern. Priests and spiritual leaders have reasoned that they come as a means to steer humanity on the right path, rewarding when we do good, and punishing when we stray. However, so-called ‘progressives’ believe that abandoning the ways of the Goddesses will lead humanity towards greater heights. Obviously, these –”

Agatha paused from her reading to notice Demi, standing at the top of the stairs, eyes wide, mouth agape, gasping. Her gaze was turned to the living room of Agatha’s own house.

Except, it was not any living room Agatha recognized.

Gone were the family pictures and photos, knick-knacks and ornaments that peppered every shelf, mantle, and counter.

In their places, were statues. Carvings. Portraits. All depicting two women in dance, one light and one dark. With crumbling societies at their feet.

As Demi composed herself, Agatha was the one whose jaw began to drop. Demi took a look at Agatha and smirked, “Is that biblical enough for you?”