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King recalls, in a now distant-feeling time before everything went wrong, a warning Missy gave her about stepping into the Rift. “Some aspects of godhood are impossible to truly prepare for,” she had said, her voice soft and low and resonant with the rustling of the Midnight’s trees, “Even if you know what will happen in your mind, you may not expect the ways in which it will affect your heart.”
Of course, in the wake of the chaos surrounding her ascension, King isn’t exactly in the frame of mind to process the consequences of her godhood. She is overwhelmed, and exhausted, and it seems to her in the immediate moment, there are more pertinent issues to discuss than the particulars of her hastened transformation. Like contemplating their blindness to the pain which had taken root in their newly-descended friend’s heart. Or untangling the remains of his complex web of plans from their beloved Grove.
Despite this, one such ignored consequence nags increasingly at the back of her mind, coalescing into a thorn prodding her newly-exposed heart. Lost to the sea of relieved expressions and reassuring hugs immediately following the closing of the rift, it goes unmentioned for longer than she likely should have allowed, only acknowledged in the increasingly worried glances Missy gives her. It isn't until her fellow gods usher her to her new domain that her hands finally drift to the hollow in her chest, reaching near-instinctually for the subject of her concern.
There, nestled in the narrow space, her still-living mortal body sleeps, clinging to her heart like a baby koala might cling to its mother. It shudders as her godly fingers brush against its skin. With shaky breath, she carefully pries it away, cupped hands ushering it into view. For the first time in several days, she gets a good look at herself.
She grimaces at what she sees. Though she feels no pain from the affair any longer, the shift to an outside perspective makes it hard to ignore the toll the last several days had on her body. For one, she is skinnier than usual, having not had much to eat while trapped at the top of the spire. Closer observation reveals her exposed skin as littered with dark blue spots, only interrupted by the occasional streak of dried red from a cut. Her hair, usually curled tidily close to her scalp, tangles wildly in every possible direction. Her jacket, the one she’s worn through years of travels too numerous to recall, is torn in places and covered in fresh stains. It’s… jarring, to say the least.
She already knew she was in bad shape before ascending, but assessing the scrapes and bruises, watching her own face scrunch up in discomfort, fills her with an emotion she can’t yet grasp. The gods around her murmur, a mix of shocked reactions and gentle reassurances, as she places her body down in a soft chair that appears to have always been there.
Before she can even formulate a question, Missy is handing her a roll of bandages and antiseptic. "Your domain will do some of the healing dearest," she explains, "but it never hurts to help it along."
She nods, the call to action shaking her slightly out of her stupor. Taking steps to fix a problem always helps her recenter, even if the "problem" at hand was her own injured body. As trembling hands begin to wipe dried blood off her own face, her fellow gods - her friends - around her, sheepishly turn away. Unsure, she realizes, if the intimacy of such an act is something they are welcome to witness.
For the first time since coming to her domain, she finds her words. "Please, can you all help me? I don't want to do this alone."
It takes no time at all for dozens of hands to be upon her body then. Cleaning, wrapping, caressing, even leaving blessings in places. Tender words fill the space too, hushed comforts only interrupted by the occasional "is it okay to touch here?" She watches with increasing wonder as the tension in her body ebbs out, replaced with a look of contentment. Before long she finds herself stepping back, allowing her friends to finish up their work as she simply observes, and thinks.
Missy had explained to her, on the day she was elected to become the next god, about what would happen to her mortal body. While it wasn't common knowledge, she thought she had understood then, what it would mean to care for her own body until its death. She assumed it would be much like caring for herself in life - a vital, sometimes enjoyable, sometimes annoying, most often boringly mundane task that was simply step one to achieving a more altruistic goal. One which stretched beyond herself, to more important things.
To see herself cared for, outside herself, now... she felt something in her heart she hadn't even known was there unclench. That flawed, human instinct to push through pain, to see oneself as an exception to the great ocean of need in the world, because other things were more important. The remnants of such mortal follies were quickly dissipating in the light of her newly divine perspective. She absentmindedly wipes something wet off her cheek, thinking back to Missy's attempts to explain this exact feeling to her mortal self. "It is much like caring for a very close friend," she had said, "Though you never forget it is you."
It isn't until the present Missy wanders over to her, wrapping skeletal arms around her shaking frame, that she recognizes the dampness on her face as her own tears.