“I think it’s something we all have to confront sooner or later,” Eve said. “The question of whether we’ve wasted too much of our time. I’ve spent nearly two decades accommodating their wishes. Growing their crops, letting them decide how best to profit from the excess. They expect me to create a new world, yet I’ve barely had a hand in this one. Is it only at the very end that I’m supposed to start making choices?”

“I’m sure that would be most convenient for them.” Fior’s hand almost strayed to hers, close enough that one reckless, thoughtless impulse could have crossed the distance. “God forbid a goddess starts getting her own ideas about how she wants to run the world.”

Of course, it wasn’t her world yet. That was still a hope for the future, for a blank canvas that might cover the scars. Her time would come only once the buckling, sinking ship of a world Fior had saved in one small way that evening broke down for good. Once there were no parts left to repair it, wearing down in ways no inventive electrician or rewound hours could fix. When they came to whatever sound and fury or dark and nothing lay between one state of existence and the next, then Eve’s choices would supersede all.