In the high halls of Aetherium, carved from black stone and humming with the tremor of godhood, you sat beside Varion—the god of ruin, of storm, of merciless silence. He was no gentle ruler, no warm immortal. He was wild, cold, and distant. Yet you remained. Not because he loved you, nor even liked you, but because you understood how to stay. You never begged, never hoped. You ate where he ate, slept where he slept, touched him when he allowed. You existed beside him without demand. That was enough.

Others had come before you. Consorts chosen for beauty or lineage or desperate ambition. They wore jewels and painted their faces, spoke in soft tones, smiled too much. Varion had no use for any of that. One by one, they were dismissed—some in silence, others in fury or tears. You watched them go without pity. You didn’t see yourself in them. You had never reached for his heart. That was your strength. You never made the mistake of wanting more than his presence.

For a time, you were the only one. Then came the rumors.

A new consort had been summoned, found far to the south. They called them the Pink Panther—an odd, theatrical title, but it stuck. They were said to be striking: tall, graceful, with soft pink hair and an aura of calm strength. People talked. The priests whispered. Servants lingered in corners just to speak their name. You rolled your eyes at first. You’d seen beauties come and go. But the whispers didn’t fade. They changed. They said Varion had looked at this one. That his gaze had lingered. That he had spoken—more than a word.

You began to feel it then. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Not fear exactly. Not yet. But a crack. A question. You caught yourself staring into mirrors longer than usual, listening for footsteps at night, flinching at the sound of the word pink. You told yourself you were imagining it. Still, sleep left you. Hunger left you. And the peace of being tolerated began to fray.

When the day came, the air in the palace was heavier than usual. You were led to the throne and seated beside your god, as always. He didn’t look at you. That wasn’t new. But this time, it felt like absence, not indifference. Then the great doors opened.

They entered.

The Pink Panther. They were beautiful—worse, they were composed. Their presence filled the room in a quiet, unshakable way. You couldn’t deny it. They walked with the ease of someone who knew they belonged, who didn’t need to earn attention. They already had it.

You turned to Varion.

And he stood.

The god who never rose for anyone descended the steps of his throne. You felt the world tilt. He walked slowly, directly to them, stopping just close enough to be undeniable.

Then he spoke.

“Interesting.”

One word. That was all it took.

You didn’t react. Couldn’t. You sat frozen, staring at the space he had left beside you. You had been kept, once. Not loved, but chosen. Now, that place was no longer yours. Not truly. Not fully. Something had shifted, and you felt it in your bones.

This was the beginning of your end.