Her skin is black, shining in the newborn light of the sun. He gestures to the sky to draw her attention upwards, ever upwards. "I made it for you," he says, and dances another step.
She smiles, a slow and prowling smile that stretches her red lips to their limits. "No," she says knowingly. "You did not make the sun. You did not make the sky."
He flits out of sight. "Of course I did." Reappears above her in the branches of a banyan tree. "I am Shiva, and this is a new era for us."
Kali fingers the knife at her belt, the blade as red as her lips. "You are no Shiva."
"Brahmin, then."
She shakes her head. Does not stop smiling. "No, not he."
He drapes himself from the tree and allows her to touch him, his snowy wings, with her six hands. "I made a sun for you. Be reasonable."
Her eyes go black as her skin, and her hair stands on end as the air becomes charged with something that smells of heaven. Despite himself, he retreats back into the safety of the tree. The air darkens, roils in the sky like velvet.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"You say you made the sun," she intones. "Where has it gone?" The air becomes thick and heated. Something falls on his wings, wets them down, wets down the bark of the tree, makes slick the green leaves. He tilts his five-starred face up to the black sky. Water is falling from it in torrents, like a river from the heavens. The sun is missing behind the clouds.
"That is a nice trick," he says. "What do you call it?"
"Rain," she says, and reaches up with her fifth arm to cup the back of his head. "And I will call you Loki, the one who loves tricks." She brushes her lips against his as rain falls on the earth for the very first time.
Kali/Gabriel
She smiles, a slow and prowling smile that stretches her red lips to their limits. "No," she says knowingly. "You did not make the sun. You did not make the sky."
He flits out of sight. "Of course I did." Reappears above her in the branches of a banyan tree. "I am Shiva, and this is a new era for us."
Kali fingers the knife at her belt, the blade as red as her lips. "You are no Shiva."
"Brahmin, then."
She shakes her head. Does not stop smiling. "No, not he."
He drapes himself from the tree and allows her to touch him, his snowy wings, with her six hands. "I made a sun for you. Be reasonable."
Her eyes go black as her skin, and her hair stands on end as the air becomes charged with something that smells of heaven. Despite himself, he retreats back into the safety of the tree. The air darkens, roils in the sky like velvet.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"You say you made the sun," she intones. "Where has it gone?" The air becomes thick and heated. Something falls on his wings, wets them down, wets down the bark of the tree, makes slick the green leaves. He tilts his five-starred face up to the black sky. Water is falling from it in torrents, like a river from the heavens. The sun is missing behind the clouds.
"That is a nice trick," he says. "What do you call it?"
"Rain," she says, and reaches up with her fifth arm to cup the back of his head. "And I will call you Loki, the one who loves tricks." She brushes her lips against his as rain falls on the earth for the very first time.