Oshmin POV As I stand at the front steps of the 2.5-acre compound, I continue to debate whether or not to go through with this. Habit tells me to turn around and never return, but a small voice in my mind – that these days has begun to sound like Yildiz – is telling me to man up and do what I came here to do. Being the bigger person has to be one of the most soul-sucking, mentally taxing things a person can do. You have to squash down every impulse, every reflex, every desire, all in the hopes that in doing so, you can resolve a conflict. And it’s not as though you do it because you are trying to help the person you’re in conflict with, you just hope that this will be a hail Mary and the shit might finally stop. One step at a time I walk up the steps to the front door and knock ever so gently on the double doors. Within moments the door opens, and I’m once again met by the face of someone who I have come to hate with a passion, but I have to ignore those feelings today. “What the

It’s taking my all to remain centred right now. Oshmin is standing before me with that stunning blood-red aura with its flecks of dancing silver as his otherworldly scent that tastes like the galaxy exploding on my tongue crashes over me like a tidal wave. It’s been days since we last spoke, and I’m grateful for that. As much as I missed him and wanted to get the answers to all my questions, we needed time apart. No problem is solved through silent treatment; being an ice queen will get me nowhere, but time to process and calm down and allow for cooler heads is necessary. Thousands of years working in conflict resolution and now I’m the one with the conflict. How the tables have turned. I walk over and sit down on the bed, “I’m listening.” He sighs and sits down beside me, “My name is Oshmin,” he begins, and I can hear the nerves in his voice, “I am known as the God of Life and Death because I wield power over such, I am billions of years old, too old to give you an exact number. Ma

Oshmin POV I can’t believe I’ve spent five full hours trying to decide what to wear for dinner at the Kartheca tonight. Yildiz implied this wouldn’t be a casual event, since it’s not every day the Delegation gets to have a God over for dinner. You’d think my being a God would mean I’m not nervous about meeting a large number of beings who are technically inferior to me, but I assure you I’m nervous as hell. That’s ninety-nine judgemental sisters ready to summon the wrath of every wronged woman on planet earth if they deem me unworthy of their sister, and knowing Zarseti she’d just back them up. The stakes have never been higher at a meet-the-family dinner. I’ve opted for a black button down – leaving a few buttons open – and black slacks along with black dress shoes and an off-white suit jacket. I’m also adding a black handkerchief into my jacket pocket just to pull the whole thing together. I think the look says, I’m comfortable but also taking the occasion seriously. Or at least I

Oshmin POV I lay in Yildiz’s bed captivated by her every move as she changes into very fitted sky-blue satin shorts and a matching camisole for bed. I could watch her do the most mundane things for all time and never get bored. Is that because of the bond or simply because I love her? I guess I don’t care really. “I just have to take off my makeup and then I’m done.” “I could help,” I offer. “You want to take my makeup off for me?” she asks with a questioning eyebrow. I shrug, “Only if you want me to. I would be more effective though,” I point out. “Hmm. Good point. Okay, time to become the God of Makeup Removal,” she says as she saunters to the bathroom. I let out a loud laugh at her new title for me. Morrtemis would love that. I get up and follow her into the bathroom and look at all the products laid out on the counter. It’s like a chemistry lab in here. “Um, maybe I could just use magic,” I suggest. “Nope. You’re going to do it like I do. Now get to work,” she orders, but

Oshmin POV I lay back with my arms under my head already missing Yildiz being wrapped in my arms. As I stare through the glass walls of her room at the stunning view outside, I can’t help but become frustrated. I’m a cosmic being with the power to give Yildiz all the answers she seeks, but because of my own idea to prevent us Gods from meddling, I’m stuck laying here unable to do a single thing to help her. I feel like I shot myself in the foot before ever even realising it. “You made the right call, Oshmin,” I suddenly hear Zarseti’s voice. I look over to see the fuchsia-haired Goddess standing off to the side in a rather stunning purple kaftan with gold beading across the bust and shoulders and lined down the arms and framing the sleeves. “What is with you and the kaftan collection?” I enquire. She walks over and leans against the window, ignoring my question. “Even my daughters need to learn life is not about cutting corners or taking the easy way. We all have our own destinies