I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Rory was looking at me, straight in the eyes, but this time her face wasn't one of excitement for battle or love. Instead, there was a look of astonishment, of not being able to believe what was happening as much as or more than me. But in the next second, that doubt was completely extinguished; in its place, willpower and a mission took hold of her.
She set off, running. Her gothic dress swirled around her, her tiny boots tapped on the wood with little toc-toc-toc sounds that beat like a heart experiencing wonder for the first time. Without hesitating for a single instant, she herself leaped into the void of the shelf, straight towards me. Her big halberd fell on the other side but she didn't care; to her, that thing was no more than one among a million.
The jump was too long for her small body.
But she didn't fall, because I caught her.
Without thinking, without processing, my hands shot up and caught her in the air, as if I'd been waiting my whole life to do it. Her tiny body fell into my palms, warm, solid, real, and before I could say anything, she was climbing up my arms, clinging to the fabric of my hoodie, climbing up to my chest, to my neck, until she was right in front of my face, her tiny hands squeezing my cheeks.
"César!"
Her face was inches from mine. Her crimson wine-red eyes that I had looked at for ten years, that I had dusted with a soft brush, that I had imagined looking at me with love—they were wide open, and they were wet.
"I don't know how much time I have. I don't know if this will last."
"I don't know if in a second I'll go back to being what I was before. I don't know if this is my only chance."
"I love you!"
"I love you so, so, so, so, so, so much!" Her voice trembled. Her whole body trembled.
"I love you, César. I've loved you for so long. You have to know that I love you."
"From before I could tell you."
"From before I could move!"
"If in five seconds I go back to being an inanimate figure, I need you to remember this: someone loved you. Someone chose you, Cesar, and that was me! Your faithful Rory!".
"Please never abandon me, I will never leave you alone!"
"Thank you so much for taking care of me all this time!"
"Rory……"
"........."
"I've been wanting to tell you for ten years."
She stopped. She swallowed. Her hand trembled on my skin.
"Sorry, but I needed to thank you."
"Thank... me?" The words finally found their way out of my throat, hoarse and broken.
"For not abandoning me."
"When we first met, I'll never forget that smile from someone who, for the first time, was happy to see me arrive, instead of the terrifying fear so many others showed whenever they saw me coming anywhere."
"When you put me on that shelf and talked to me, told me about your days, told me I took care of you, that I protected you.
And I couldn't answer, but I heard you, César. I heard you every night."
And I thought: 'This one. This one is mine. This is the one who won't reject me. This is the one who will stay.'"
She smiled, and it was the saddest and most beautiful smile I had ever seen.
"........"
"........."
"........."
"God..." she whispered.
"That was... exhausting."
She lifted her head. She looked at me. And she smiled.
That smile. That smile I'd seen a thousand times on the figure, the seductive smile, the "I want to devour my beloved" smile. But now it was different. Now it was real. Now it was for me.
"I'm still here," she said, with a mix of surprise and relief in her voice.
"I'm still here, César!" She said more joyfully.
And then—
I don't know who moved first.
I only know that suddenly I had her hugged against my chest, her tiny body pressed against my heart, and that I was crying. Crying like I hadn't cried in years. Crying out all the fear, all the loneliness, all the "no one will ever love me"... it was quite difficult.
…..
……
Time passed
……
……
A good while passed, but she didn't say anything, simply returning the hug. When I finally mustered the courage to give her a moment's respite, she was the one who made the first move. I simply placed her back on my computer desk, and she moved to retrieve her halberd. With an agility and strength, she picked up the piece with total ease, spinning it effortlessly as I watched the light reflect off the metal of her weapon.
……
Metal?
Rory was an ordinary PVC figure; her weapon was also made of the same material as her, but not anymore. Surprised, I asked her for it for a moment and she handed me her weapon. I couldn't believe it; its weight had also changed considerably compared to every time I'd handled it on the shelf where I'd placed Rory to talk to her better.
"Well? What do you think? Pretty cool weapon, right?"
"Lament of Sorrow, my personal goddess weapon, the Death itself"
"I'm supposed to be the only one who can lift it. Any other mortal who even touched any part of it would die instantly."
"Of course, something like that doesn't apply to my dear husband," she said, sitting on the edge of the table.
"I can't believe it, it's really metal."
"Its entire composition changed completely. Did it transform into the real one?"
"........"
"Wait, didn't you just say something terrifying a moment ago?"
"That my weapon kills any mortal who touches it?"
"I am the goddess of death and war, of course it does."
"Though I exaggerated its effects a bit: it can make someone die instantly, or in eighty years, or do nothing, or make someone immortal, or give you cramps that will land you in the hospital for a week."
"Guess which one I chose for you."
"He, he, he."
"No, not that. I meant the part about... husband?"
"Oh, that? Isn't it natural? "
"We've been together for ten years, darling. Over a decade!"
"Since those days in high school, when you were rejected by that bitch, when you finally managed to get the job, when we moved here."
"It's all been so wonderful, even though I was just there on the shelf; it's all been so much fun compared to my shitty past."
"Receiving your love every night, again and again, and again."
"Even when I couldn't take any more, you kept giving it to me, filling me more and more."
"It hurt so much, but you kept giving me everything, so much, so hard."
"You filled this little girl with your seed."
"Can you stop talking as if I assaulted you sexually?"
"I meant your love and affection."
"You didn't let me finish, he, he, he."
"......."
"I am Rory Gremory, the Lady of Death, Duchess of the Abyss, the Crimson Veil Maiden, the Goddess of Death and War. But you can—and should—call me your wife, and in your particular case, your super exclusive use and only personal use Goddess of Love."
"I mean, I am not truly a goddess of love; I was referring to loving you"
We stayed for a while looking into each other's eyes, both of us smiling. She with enthusiasm and curiosity to see what joy the next moment would bring, trying to figure out my next move. Me, amazed that such a celestial being would even speak to me.
My brain was still trying to process it when my stomach, much more pragmatic than me, decided to intervene with a growl that broke the silence.
She raised an eyebrow. That eyebrow. The same one I'd seen in hundreds of photos, but now in motion, now with intent.
"Looks like someone's hungry," she said, with that mischievous smile I knew so well.
I felt myself blushing. Ridiculous. I'd been talking to this figure for ten years, and now I was blushing like a teenager.
"Well... I haven't eaten anything since this morning, and the noodles went bad when I accidentally knocked them over catching you," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
"And with all this... I guess I should eat something. Do you... want to eat something too?"
I stopped. Do goddesses eat? Do PVC figures need nutrients? What protocol existed for this?
"Oh please, my darling. I'm a Goddess. My existence needs nothing to sustain itself, much less something as mundane as digestion."
"At best, it's just a distraction that wouldn't provide any sustenance I don't need anyway."
"......"
"But what kind of useless wife would I be if I didn't accompany my beloved at the table during the home meal?"
"So... just to be sure..."
"Do you want... to join me?" I finished, vaguely gesturing towards the kitchen.
"I mean, if you can, or if you want to, or if..."
Rory jumped up, landing with impossible grace on the desk. Her tiny boots made contact with the wood without making the slightest sound.
"César," she said, putting her hands on her hips in that gesture so her that it made me want to cry and laugh at the same time.
"I've spent ten years watching you eat alone in front of the computer. Do you really think I'm going to miss the chance to share a meal with you?"
The walk to the kitchen was... strange. She walked beside me, her head barely reaching half of my knee, but her presence filled the entire space. Literally. There was light where she stepped. I'm not exaggerating. Her feet left a faint glow on the floor, as if her very existence was too bright for this world.
"It's annoying," Rory said, noticing my stare.
"I know. I'm trying to control it."
"In my realm, I'm literally an abstract existence, so... adjusting my body takes time."
"I'm trying not to create a reality-tearing rift in the continuous fabric of this dimension."
"Are you being serious?"
"No, I'm just trying to make sure I don't step on anything weird. You should clean more outside your room, Cesar."
"Sorry. I haven't had much free time lately."
"Barely enough to work and sleep."
I opened the fridge. The interior lit up my face with its pale, sad light. A pack of wilted vegetables, eggs, soy sauce, and in the freezer...
"Is that—?" Rory's voice behind me, so close I felt her warmth on my arm.
I turned. She was on tiptoe, stretching her neck to see inside the fridge. Literally on tiptoe. Like a little girl trying to reach a toy on a high shelf.
"Yeah," I said, moving aside so she could see better.
"Frozen pizza. It's not much, but..."
"But it's the pizza you always said was heaven!"
I froze.
"How...?"
Rory looked at me, and for an instant, her expression lost all its mischievousness. There was only immense tenderness, a patience a thousand years old.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"César. I've listened to you. For ten years. I've heard every one of your sighs, every laugh at your TV shows, every curse when you lost at your games." She moved closer, placing a tiny hand on my calf because it was the only thing she could reach.
"And I've heard every time you said 'this pizza is so good it's like eating heaven.' Seventy-three times, to be exact."
Seventy-three. She had counted. My goddess of death had been counting the times I mentioned a frozen pizza.
"Rory..." my voice broke.
"No, no, no," she said, pulling back and crossing her arms.
"No more tears again. We already had our moment. Now I want to try that pizza from heaven."
I let out a choked laugh. She smiled, satisfied.
As the oven preheated and the pizza slowly rotated inside, I realized I didn't have a plate for her. Literally. All my plates were... well, my size. Rory could take a bath in one of my plates.
"Do you need a plate?" I started to say, looking for something smaller.
"César."
I turned. She was already sitting on the counter, next to the oven, legs crossed and an expression of infinite patience on her face.
"Share this moment with me."
"Finally we can be together, please let me enjoy it."
"I don't need a plate, let's share the same one, I need to be with you," she said as if it were a sincere confession.
The pizza came out steaming. The cheese was bubbling, the pepperoni releasing that orange oil that had always been my downfall. I cut a perfect triangular slice and put it on a normal plate. Then I sat on the floor, leaning my back against the lower kitchen cabinets.
Rory jumped off the counter with feline grace and landed next to me. Literally next to me. Her tiny shoulder pressed against my thigh.
"Break off a piece," she said, pointing to the plate I'd placed on the floor in front of us.
I separated a small piece from the slice, one the size of her hand. I offered it to her.
She took it with both hands, as if it were a sacred object. She observed it for a long second. The grease glistened under the kitchen light.
"This is...?"
"Try it."
Rory took a bite.
Her eyes, those crimson red eyes I'd seen a thousand times in photos, that I'd cleaned with a soft brush, that I'd imagined looking at me with love—they widened like saucers. Her cheeks puffed slightly as she chewed. And then, very slowly, her eyes filled with tears.
"Rory? What's wrong? Is it bad? Is mortal food making you sick? Does it hurt? Are you—"
She raised a hand to silence me. She swallowed. And then she let out a trembling laugh.
"A thousand years," she whispered.
"What?"
"A thousand years I have existed, César." She wiped a tear with the back of her hand, accidentally smearing her cheek with grease. "I have tasted nectar on Olympus. I have drunk the wine of the gods at banquets that lasted decades. I have eaten fruits from the tree of life in gardens that no longer exist."
She looked at me. Her smile was the purest I had ever seen on her.
"And nothing, nothing, tastes as good as this."
She brought the rest of the piece to her mouth and bit into it with ferocity, closing her eyes as she chewed. A small sound of satisfaction escaped her throat.
"You called it heaven," she said with her mouth full, without any divine decorum.
"I thought you were exaggerating. That it was your way of saying you liked it. But no."
"You weren't exaggerating. This is heaven."
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. A genuine, deep laugh that came from my stomach and shook my whole body.
"It's just a forgotten pizza from the fridge."
Rory opened one eye, feigning indignation.
"Are you laughing at me? I'm having a religious moment here. Well, more religious than usual. I'm a goddess; this should be important."
"You've got grease on your face."
She brought her hand to her cheek, saw the orange shine on her fingers, and shrugged.
"It's sacred grease now."
And she took another bite.
At some point, without me noticing, she had ended up sitting on my lap, curled up against my stomach, using my chest as a backrest.
"You know what the best part is?" she said between bites.
"What?"
"That I don't have to worry about gaining weight." She pointed at her tiny body with a piece of pizza as if it were a pointer. "Divine body. Infinite metabolism. I can eat this for all eternity."
"If you let me, I'll finish the whole pizza even though I'm tiny."
"Do you need to eat? I thought you said..."
"Don't need to," she confirmed, taking another bite.
"But I want to. There's a difference. Mortals eat to live."
"Gods eat to remember, or for pleasure."
"This is definitely the second option."
"To remember?"
She nodded, chewing slowly.
"Flavor is memory. Everything you taste connects you to a moment, a place, a person." She looked up at me from below, her red eyes shining.
"I want to create memories with you, César. Many. As many as I can. So yes, I'm going to eat every pizza you bring into this house. And everything you cook. And everything you invite me to try."
"And if I cook badly?"
"Then I'll create the memory of how horrible you cook." She smiled, showing her teeth.
"I still win."
When we finished, the plates were left forgotten in the sink. Rory was still on my lap, now completely relaxed, her head resting against my chest. I could feel her weight, her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing. The tiny hand that had found mine and intertwined her fingers with mine.
"Rory," I whispered.
"Mmm?"
"Is this real?"
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she squeezed my hand tighter.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"What?"
"Pinch yourself. People always say 'pinch me' in these situations."
"That hurts."
"Exactly. That's how you know it's real."
I smiled. I didn't pinch myself.
"I don't want to wake up," I said quietly.
"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up."
Rory sat up enough to look me in the face. Her expression was serious, but her eyes shone with a tenderness so beautiful it hurt.
"It's not a dream, César. And you're not going to wake up." She raised her free hand and placed it over my heart.
"I'm here. I'm going to be here. Every night, every morning, every pizza. I promise you."
"Can goddesses break promises?"
"Goddesses can do whatever they want." She smiled, that mischievous smile again.
"But I don't want to break this one. So I won't."
After the pizza, after the laughter, after Rory climbed back up my arm as if it were her home, came the moment I had been avoiding thinking about: night.
The clock read two in the morning. My body, trained for years to function on four hours of sleep and the need for money, suddenly felt heavy, from a day full of too many things and emotions.
"You're yawning."
"Mortals yawn when they need sleep, right?"
She herself was the one who insisted I follow her back to the bedroom. Rory walked beside me down the hall, her face joyful because of the moment we were having right now.
When we entered my room, my little refuge, I stopped on the threshold. For a moment, everything seemed different to me. The light from the galaxy lamp projected its familiar constellations onto the ceiling. The figures on the shelves looked at us with their glass eyes. Tamamo, newly arrived, smiled from her place next to the empty space that Rory had occupied for ten years.
The empty space.
I looked at Rory. I looked at the shelf. She followed my gaze and let out a soft laugh.
"I'm not going back there, César."
"I've spent ten years on that shelf." She approached my leg and placed a hand on my calf.
"I've had enough of being a decoration."
I nodded, swallowing hard. My room suddenly felt smaller, but also fuller. As if until today I had been living in a sketch, and someone had finally added the color.
Rory jumped onto my bed with feline agility, landing in the middle of the pillows. She spun around once, sinking into the softness of the duvet, and let out a sigh of satisfaction that seemed to come from very deep within.
"This... this is incredible," she murmured, stretching her arms above her head. Her gothic dress wrinkled beneath her, the dark fabrics contrasting with the white of the sheets. "
"Do you sleep here every night? On this cloud?"
"Well, it's a normal bed..."
"It's a cloud." She closed her eyes, letting herself sink a little deeper, enjoying what until then she had only been able to see from a distance.
I stood still at the edge of the bed, not really knowing what to do. My hands hung at my sides, useless. Ten years imagining this moment, and now that it was here, I didn't know how to move.
Rory opened one eye.
"Are you going to stand there all night?"
"I... it's just..." I vaguely pointed at the bed, then at her tiny body, then at the size difference between us.
"If I lie down, I might accidentally crush you. You're very... small."
Rory sat up abruptly, her red eyes gleaming with a light I recognized immediately. That look. The same one she had in the figurine when she held her halberd, when she looked at the enemy with that absolute defiance. But now there was no enemy. Now she was looking at me.
She got on her knees on the bed and crossed her arms. Her smile was a mix of mischief and know-it-all.
"Crush me?"
"That's right, it's just..."
"Tell me something, Cesar." She tilted her head.
"What do you think I am?"
"You're... Rory. The goddess of death and war. I can't let someone like that possibly—"
"Incorrect!"
"Your wife, I am your wife!"
"I've been your wife for ten years. And now that I can finally fulfill my conjugal duties..."
"Are you going to keep me waiting?"
"I have to move you. I have to put you on the shelf. Or on the desk. Or in a safe place."
"Cesar."
Her voice, suddenly, was firm. Not severe, but with that quiet authority that only beings who have seen empires rise and fall possess.
I stopped. I looked at her.
Rory was still lying down, completely relaxed, with a smile that slowly widened on her lips. A smile I knew well. The "I want to devour my beloved" smile, but also something else. Something mischievous. Something dangerous.
"What?" I asked, suspicious.
She propped herself up on one elbow, her dress swirling around her. Her hair fell over one shoulder, and the dim light of the moon lamp made her red eyes gleam like gems.
"Crush me."
"Come on, crush me. I'll receive all of you. Every bit. Every gram."
"I've waited ten years to feel your weight on me, because I love you and I want it."
"What?"
She sat up completely, crossing her legs, and looked at me with an expression of pure, feigned innocence that was, possibly, the most dangerous thing I had ever seen in my life.
"I said crush me," she repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"If you're so afraid of hurting me while we sleep, then do it now. On purpose. With intention."
"Rory, that doesn't make any sense—"
"Of course it does." She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on mine.
"I'm a goddess, Cesar. Goddess of war and death. My body isn't a mortal body. It can withstand things you can't even imagine."
"But—"
"Besides," she continued, and her voice dropped a tone, becoming softer, more intimate,
"if you crush me, I'll receive all your weight. All of it. Whole."
She lay back down, stretching her arms out to both sides as if offering herself in sacrifice. Her smile was anything but innocent.
"Come on, husband. Don't you want to cover me entirely? Don't you want to feel my body under yours? Don't you want me to receive you, to envelop you, to—"
"Enough!"
My face was burning. Literally burning. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, my ears, probably my scalp. Rory let out a little laugh, satisfied, and curled up against me again.
"You're so easy, Cesar."
"You're... you're..."
"Lustful? Mischievous? A death goddess with a thousand years of experience in teasing her beloved?" She yawned, feigning boredom. "All that and more, my dear. Now, can we sleep? I'm exhausted."
"Turns out materializing in the mortal plane requires considerable divine effort."
"Are you going to keep me waiting any longer? Go on, crush your wife in your sleep."
I opened my mouth to protest, to point out the absurdity of the situation, but I knew that didn't work with her. I gave up.
I draped an arm over her with infinite care, as if holding something made of glass. My hand was bigger than her whole back. I could have enveloped her entirely with just one palm. But she wasn't glass. She was warmth, she was tiny but solid weight, she was the steady beat of a heart beating against my skin.
"You can hold tighter," she said, without opening her eyes. "I won't break, Cesar. I told you. You can really hold me."
I tightened my hold. Just a little. She sighed and nestled closer against me.
The galaxy lamp continued casting its soft light on the ceiling. Blue and purple nebulae spun slowly above us. I watched the imaginary constellations, the stars that had never existed in any real sky, and I felt like I was floating.
"Rory," I whispered.
"Mmm?"
"What if...?"
"No."
"But you don't know what I was going to—"
"It doesn't matter. The answer is no." She settled back against me, tucking her head into the crook between my arm and my chest.
"I'm not going to disappear. I'm not going to turn to dust. I'm not going to be just a figure again. I'm here. Forever. Get used to it."
I let out a shaky laugh.
"Are you always this stubborn?"
"I'm a goddess. Stubbornness is a requirement."
I ran my fingers carefully through her hair. The blonde curls gently tangled around them, as real as everything else. She purred, a barely audible but unmistakable sound.
"That... that feels good."
"You want me to stop?"
"If you stop, I'll kill you."
I smiled in the darkness. I kept stroking her hair, stroke after stroke, while her breathing grew slower, deeper. Her hands, still wrapped around my arm, gradually lost their tension.
"Rory?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed in an expression of peace I had never seen on any of her figures. She was asleep. My goddess of death, the immortal warrior, she who had existed for millennia... was asleep in my arms like a tired child after a day that was too long.
I stayed awake a while longer, watching the ceiling lit by the galaxy. The constellations slowly turned. Rory breathed against my chest. Her tiny weight was the most real thing I'd felt in years.
The fear was still there, lurking in some corner of my mind. The fear of waking up. The fear of opening my eyes and finding myself alone again, the bed empty and Rory's figure motionless on her shelf, staring at me with her painted eyes.
But then she would murmur something in her sleep, a meaningless word, and snuggle closer against me. And the fear would recede a little.
"Tomorrow," I whispered into the darkness.
"Tomorrow you'll still be here."
It wasn't a question. It was an act of faith.
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time in a very, very long time, I didn't have nightmares.
I dreamed of Rory, yes. But it wasn't a dream of loss or fear. It was a simple dream: the two of us in my bed, her curled against me, me protecting her without crushing her, both of us breathing at the same rhythm, both of us existing in the same space, both of us, simply, being.
And when Sunday light began to filter through the blinds, when the real sun tried to compete with the fake stars of my moon lamp...
I opened my eyes.
And she was still there.
I didn't move. I didn't want to move. I stayed there, watching her, feeling her warmth, listening to her breathing, letting reality slowly settle into my bones.
It wasn't a dream.
I hadn't woken up.
She was still here.
And suddenly, without warning, without any apparent reason, a huge, goofy, impossible-to-contain smile spread across my face.
Rory, as if she'd sensed it, stirred slightly and opened one eye. Her crimson red eye found me smiling like an idiot, and her expression shifted from confusion to amusement in an instant.
"What are you staring at?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"You," I said.
"Just... you."
She smiled, that smile of hers, and nestled closer against me.
"Silly," she whispered.
"Now sleep a little more. It's Sunday. No rush."
And she closed her eye, me too.
And I smiled.
Because she was here.
Because she was still here.