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She doesn't remember how she got here. Hell, she doesn't remember anything before opening her eyes on this floating rock. The shape is...new. Unexpected. The fact that she's...well, a she, that's probably the most jarring detail. Her horse is missing, but her scales are nearby, the pans splayed like they'd fallen from a great height. But the damn things weren't even dented. So she'd simply picked them up, envisioned them being smaller, and tucked them into her pocket. She had work to do.
It starts, as a lot of stories seem to do, in Rome. And from there, Famine traveled the entire world, from Egypt to England to China to India. She feels no guilt, no pity, no remorse. She is simply doing what she was created to do, and apologizing for that is like shouting at the wind. Useless. So she doesn't. She crosses paths with all of her sisters from time to time, mostly War. They work really well together, it seems.
I say well...I'm sure you can guess what that means.
In 1741, she finds herself in Ireland for the first time. (But it won't be the last.) If she looks back on that day, she'd probably say that was the day things started to shift. Ever so slightly, hell, she barely even noticed it at the time. It was a little bit like a seed lying dormant. What actually did happen, was that she got into a sniping match with Ireland's patron saint, a fellow by the name of Padraig. But by the time she left, she had at least one Saint she didn't want to roll her eyes at.
Let's fast-forward to 2011. (Fill in the gaps-she kept hopscotching the globe, Africa, Asia, all over the place. Same old, same old.) She meets another man. Well, the same man. Sort of. But not really. He's Patrick now, and he's...different. He smiles and drinks and shoots confetti from his hands.
And she starves him.
It wasn't her idea.
No, really. It wasn't.
It was Satan's fault, and yeah, yeah, she knows. 'The Devil made me do it.' It's bullshit, but really. It was his idea.
And for a little while...it's great, she can't deny that. She gets to flex her muscles again, and it doesn't make her feel useless. She doesn't feel impotent and languishing anymore, doesn't feel like phenomenal cosmic power in an itty-bitty living space.
And that's sort of when it all goes to hell. Her sister tells her she's being stupid, and she knows that. (In the back of her mind, she's really always known that, she just never wanted to admit it.)
So she meets up with Patrick, and they have a long talk. She doesn't know how to do this. She is so far out of her depth, it's crazy.
He ends up hugging her. That was the weirdest part.
And slowly, so slowly, they become friends. It starts out fragile and shaky, because she doesn't know what she's fucking doing. She doesn't have friends. She never has. People are put off by her, and she's used to that. They run from her touch, fear in their eyes.
But not him. For some reason, one that she can't fathom, he sticks around. He cares. And she can't figure out why. So she asks him. And what he says, it's something she won't forget anytime soon.
"I think there are a lot of things we get about each other that other people just...don't."
Well. Hard to argue with that.
And it's weird, at first, feeling her way through this new territory, but when a meddling Greek decided to turn her life inside out, he was there. And when her Greek counterpart pulled the same shit with him that she'd tried, she came when he called. Near as she can tell, that's what friends do for each other.
She hasn't changed much, at her core. She's still bitchy and prickly. She doesn't like to be touched. She swears, smokes, and drinks too much. She's always hungry (which is sort of a given, if you think about it). But if she's stuck on this rock until Judgment Day (and it looks like she probably will be), well...no one ever said that the only company she could have was her sisters, right?