Nyx and The Light By Elizabeth Anne Martins
In the trenches of the underworld, Nyx prepares a pot of honey for her daughter. Consumed by darkness, Nyx assumes her honey is filled with bright amber patterns, but it would be impossible for her to tell in such darkness. She gives the spoon a lick and wanders off into the hot alleys of Tartarus. When she reaches the edge of the underworld and enters Creation, her black-mist wings transform into a cloak, shielding her from light that spreads over the horizon. Her heart tugs when she sees her daughter Hemera approaching, blotting out night, removing all of Nyx’s work and the trail of Darkness left behind by her lover Eberus.
Nyx pushes the pot of honey toward the approaching light and leaves it in the middle of a meadow. A gift for Hemera. She does this every morning. Nyx has not spoken to her daughter since Chaos gave her the role of Night and Hemera the duty of Day. But lately, she has been plotting how to visit her daughter, despite grim warnings. Erebus is quick to point out Zeus’s commands, delivered by Chaos himself. The Night may never meet the Day. You may never touch nor speak. You may only catch a glimpse of one another at dawn and dusk. A glimpse is not enough. Not for Nyx.
Nyx retreats to a foxhole to escape the incoming light of Hemera. She peeks out. Hemera’s light weaves trillions of golden threads across Creation. Nyx eyes the honey pot left to sit in the meadow; how small, how dull. But oh, how Hemera adored honey as a child!
Besides honey, Nyx has made it a habit to leave messages of love for Hemera during the night. She traps her darkness inside caves, boxes, barrels, foxholes, entrenchments of all kinds. She hides her love among hidden crevices of human homes. Beneath a sofa. Inside a kettle. Behind the tongue of a shoe. She always wonders if Hemera opens them. Does it bring her solace? Alas, she will never know because she may not speak to her daughter. Until now.
While Hemera pulls the veil of light over the land, riding in her luminescent chariot, Nyx waits. Agitation grows. She will not back away; she will embrace her daughter despite Zeus’s commands. Zeus fears her—a fact she relishes. He’s a fool who got lucky with power, she tells herself. Ah, Hemera comes. She leaves the foxhole, her eyes squinting with pain. But at the final moment of collision, just when Nyx can make out the expression on Hemera’s face, she fizzles into gray mist. She retreats to the underworld, replaying Hemera’s face in her mind—a look of sorrow.
When she re-enters the underworld, Erebus glides toward her in a mist of darkness. He morphs into man-like form. She replays the look on Hemera’s face.
Erebus sidles close. “It is much too early for dawn, Nyx. You left when I needed you.”
“I wanted an early start,” Nyx says. “I was giving honey to Hemera, like I always do. Perhaps you could join me sometime. She is your daughter, too. This time I got so close. But she appeared sad.”
Erebus laughs. “Hemera is grown. There is nothing we can do for her. Besides, it’s our other children we must worry about.”
Nyx pauses as they reach the cave. “Who is it now?”
“The same ones as always.”
Nyx shuts her eyes and imagines the faces of her troubled children. All of them, so strange and misunderstood. The descendants of Nyx and Erebus—Night and Darkness—surely can’t all be chariots of Day like Hemera. But at the very least, they can be understood. She wonders how she might ever relay this to humanity.
Nyx wonders what problems arise now. Using her black wings of mist, she pulls particles of fog from them to create vaporish portraits of each grown child. She holds a smoke-like image of Eris in her palm—goddess of Strife. Then she takes a piece of mist from the portrait and creates a likeness of her youngest daughter Oizys. Poor Oizys—bringer of Misery, afflicted herself. She dips into the ink of black mist again and creates a silhouette of Thanatos whose duty is Death. Thanatos does not have an easy job; Nyx frequently tells companions this. He follows the Fates’ guidelines, obeying orders, traversing Night and Day, witnessing sadness, cruelty, and wickedness every solitary moment. He has no peace, Nyx says. No peace. She pulls from the mist again and crystallizes an image of Charon, the chariot of souls who ferries the dead to their final resting places. “He’s just a chauffeur,” Nyx says to Erebus. “Who has any complaint with him?”
“Humanity does,” Erebus says. “They have a scheme to end their alleged hijinks.”
Nyx enters the cave with an eye roll, remembering other schemes put on by humanity. Human schemes are mere blips in the span of time and laughable at best, she thinks. Nyx releases the portraits of her children, and they fuse together and cling to her spine as wings once again. She retreats to her den where she gazes into a sphere, reciting an incantation to keep the witches of Creation safe. A more recent hobby.
“I should get back to work,” Nyx says. “Humanity has become infuriated over witches. Death and murder are on the rise, completely unrelated to witch-hood. And yet, the witches are to blame. I am keeping them safe in shadows of darkness. Barns, closets, under floorboards. Just until things calm down. I must focus on them now.”
Erebus glides aggressively toward Nyx, ready to knock her sphere to the ground. She holds the sphere tightly, as her dark wings push a cloud of fog against Erebus and strike him down. She places the sphere back on a floating orb and dusts its surface with her cloaked sleeve.
“I am sorry,” Erebus says, rising to his feet. “I know the witches are important to you. But humanity’s scheme is significant this time. They plan to block out Night and Darkness. Us. Entirely.”
“Entirely?”
“Entirely. They say our children cause mayhem in the Night. In Darkness.”
Nyx laughs. “But not in the Day? They’re not bound to Night, Erebus!”
Erebus breathes. “I know. I know. Humanity thinks otherwise.”
“Good, let them have their fun. I’m sure this scheme will be fruitful. Perhaps I’ll get a break for a bit,” Nyx says, glancing back into the sphere. A young witch inside a cabin appears in the sphere. The lightwork of Hemera shines through the witch’s cottage. It is beautiful, but too dangerous for the witch. With a whispered spell and a touch of the orb, Nyx brings darkness back to the witch’s home and she smiles veritably.
Then, gravity hits. “Wait. If there is no Night, I am bound to the underworld forever. I will not catch a glimpse of Hemera or her light ever again. I won’t be able to hide my messages for her anymore.” She holds onto Erebus as the sphere powers down and the cave of Tartarus is darker than it ever has been.
At dusk Nyx summons her four-horse chariot from the depths of Tartarus and moves toward the sky. Erebus trails behind her as a shadowy curtain. Nyx paints the firmament black and midnight blue as she watches Hemera retreat over the skyline. She smells honey in the air.
Chariot sailing, the eventide comes as Nyx covers the edges of Creation with Night. Erebus follows and scatters his glaze of Darkness throughout. Below, a cottage sits among trees. Nyx knows it belongs to the witch from her sphere. She pulls the chariot down to the soil to visit the witch. Erebus follows dutifully.
The house, framed by pines, is cold and Nyx senses a feeling of discomfort when she enters. A whisper comes from the closet. Nyx recognizes the soft voice of Hecate—a humble witch who speaks in spells to ward evil spirits from her village. A thankless job. “I’ll hide messages for Hemera while you shroud the cottage in Darkness,” Nyx instructs Erebus. “Hecate will be safe for now, lest these witch hunters grow stupidly valiant in the dead of night.”
Nyx drifts to the ground and kneels to place a shadow of love inside a rusty cabinet. From there she shifts to the sofa where she gently tucks darkness between cushions and arranges it behind the crooks of pillows, should Hemera decide to visit Hecate’s cottage in the morning. She places a thick coating of Night behind a golden mirror that hangs along the wall.
When she stands, light streaks across her face. Her eyes sizzle with pain from the sudden incoming glow. She calls out for Erebus, but he is gone. She could curse him. This must be part of the scheme she was warned about. Witch hunters enter the cottage with torches and something else; something powerful. They wield rods of light, but there is no fire illuminating them! The rods shine brightly on their own. Nyx assumes it is an invention from Hephaestus, god of Manufacturing. Did humanity steal this light source, or did Hephaestus provide it intentionally? Did he know it would bring harm to witch folk? To her?
The witch hunters storm the cottage, knocking over drawers and mirrors, displacing her messages of love. Nyx tumbles into the closet where Hecate hides, but the witch girl is already gone. The hunters barge in with their light, drilling into the heart of Nyx. She dissolves before they can do further damage. Outside, she sees Hecate running toward the woods following Erebus’s trail of Darkness.
“Keep going. Do not turn around,” she whispers in the direction of the girl.
But Hecate does turn around. A witch hunter speeds after her with his rod of light. Hecate is stunned momentarily but fades into the wood just as Erebus arrives and stands firm with a sheet of Darkness. The hunter’s light cannot penetrate his black veil. Nyx breathes out, realizing her lover has shielded the forest.
“Here, I thought you fled. You were protecting the girl.”
“Yes,” Erebus says, fighting off the pain of light.
The hunter drops his light and retreats, but not before Nyx’s heart shrinks in on itself like a prune.
“They removed my messages,” Nyx says.
“You will place new ones,” Erebus answers. “Hemera knows you love her.”
“But I must be sure.”
Erebus leads Nyx back to work. They move up to the firmament to finish their duty. All the while, they speak hurriedly about humanity and their obtuse fears.
“They believe Thanatos roams only Night,” Erebus says. “That’s why they want to erase Night and Darkness altogether.”
“Of course they do. He’s the god of Death. I’m sure they believe he is connected to witch folk somehow. Get rid of the witches, get rid of Thanatos. How stupid.”
“Our poor son.”
Nyx sighs. “Sometimes I think witches are misunderstood like our children.”
“Sometimes I think that too.”
The lovers are focused on their banter when light zips up from below, striking them down. Nyx’s chariot clunks to the ground and fizzles into pieces. Nyx evaporates and reappears within the woods. Her chariot reassembles and gallops toward her. Erebus, panting, joins her. They peer out from the brush. Humanity has lined the cobblestone streets with tall poles that hold orbs of radiant light. The scheme unfolds even further. They have blocked the Night and Darkness with the invention of synthetic light.
Soaring up through the trees, Nyx rises above Creation and sees the land speckled with lights of all kinds—white lights, orange lights, yellow, green, and blue lights. She shields her eyes, wondering how she can do her job with these obstacles. But more than anything, she wonders if this will block her from dawn. Hemera. A roar rises inside her, and she screams, creating a gust of wind.
Nyx roams the perimeter of the woods where she is safe, inspecting the synthetic lights from the trees. She pauses when she spies her daughter Eris, goddess of Strife, fleeing the village. Eris runs from humanity’s light, looking to unleash discord elsewhere.
Nyx calls out for her other daughter Oizys, goddess of Misery, and spots her sitting on a wooden bench beside an exhausted-looking man who appears too withered to find food or shelter. Oizys wraps an arm around the man. Oizys does not look up when her mother calls. She appears content and so Nyx does not bother her. Nyx intends to seek out her other children when something cold tickles her neck.
Thanatos appears behind her, brushing a finger across her shoulder. She turns to him. His fibrous cloak is matted with nails and human teeth. His wings appear torn. He has the look of hell upon his face with eye sockets that seem much too deep and without any sign of rest inside them. Nyx feels her heart break for her son.
Thanatos drops to his knees and holds onto her. He weeps into her waist.
She feels a familiar tug of emotions. Nyx recalls the last time Thanatos came to her in this way. It was during war. Responsibility was too much, too heavy, and Thanatos didn’t see eye to eye with the Fates.
“I’m sorry,” Nyx says, “that I can’t change things for you.” She takes hold of his cloak. “Except for this robe. After Night, come to Tartarus for something new.”
Thanatos grips her hand. His gray face bunches. “Mother, it’s the witches.” Illumination comes from his eyes. Images of witches burning at the stake shine from the hollow of his eyes; his pain spills out, freezing the bark of trees. “They’re burning alive,” he says. “There is one scheduled tonight. I can’t take another. I cannot bring death to another witch. Take my duty from me. Give it to Eris. She has no concern for fairness. Death would suit her better.”
When Nyx looks at her son, some part of her curses Chaos and Zeus for doling the duty of Death to her impressionable son, and she feels so odious toward them both that she could quit Night altogether. But that would only give Hemera more work, never allowing her to rest at all! An impossible situation, she thinks. There is a silent void after Thanatos pleads with his mother, and she knows there is only one thing she can do to shield him from his pain. At least for tonight. She must protect the witches.
“The woods,” she says, “they’ll be safe in the woods.”
Thanatos flees to a cottage where a troubled boy has drunk too much of his father’s ale, while Nyx promises to fix things during his absence. “Your father and I will stop the witch burning tonight,” she promises him. But when he leaves, she clutches her heart.
Nyx and Erebus find each other in the woods and glide through the village on chariot, weaving in and out of synthetic light. When they accidentally steer into a column of light, Nyx dissolves into nothingness. She reappears in a dark shadow, shaking off pain from the light. The woods, she reminds herself. If I can just get the witches to the woods. With each puncture of light, Nyx knows she falls weaker and frailer, and she realizes she must form a plan before the light takes her out completely.
She turns to Erebus. “Coat the woods in extra Darkness. I’ll go where they lead the witches to burn. I will take the poor girls to the woods with me. Ensure Darkness, Erebus. Complete, impenetrable Darkness.”
“I will.”
Though she hardly calls upon gods or goddesses for help, Nyx wonders who might be of service to help stop the imminent burnings. She thinks of the elements ahead of her. Heat. Fire. Smoke. There is only one god who can stop such things: Zeus.
Later, Nyx finds humanity crowded near a massive pile of logs. Witches are transported over cobblestones in jail-like chariots. Behind bars, the witches call out for their mothers, their fathers; they shout “Innocence!” After a while the witches are led from the chariots toward the logs where a thick pole awaits them. Nyx watches humanity laugh and spit as the witches are drug from the chariots with ropes around their wrists and necks. The witches are yanked forward by guards. Hecate is among the witches, silent. Above, the synthetic lights power on. Nyx fades to gray, crawling to the shadows to resume her full form. As the girls are led to the pit of logs, she sees Thanatos dragging his feet toward the scene. Nyx runs to him, trying to push him back. Thanatos weeps as he pushes against his mother, onward toward the witches.
In mere seconds, Nyx flees to the village where she first spotted Oizys. Perhaps she can help. Oizys is still with the emaciated man on the wooden bench. Nyx crawls to her daughter, ill from the rods of light that line the streets. When she reaches her daughter, she is only fog.
Weakly, she whispers to her daughter. “I need you at the town square,” she says. “Please bring Misery to the humans who wish to harm witches.”
“I am with someone right now,” she says, slow, as though syrup is caught in her voice. “For once I’m happy.”
“Your brother needs you. He cannot take the life of one more innocent witch.”
“I cannot leave this man.”
“Bring him with you. He will see the terrible thing humanity tries to do, and then he will need you even more.”
Oizys picks herself up sluggishly, and then she leads the troubled man toward the town square. On their way, Nyx spots Eris laughing between two men caught up in a drunken quarrel. Eris holds the collars of them both, reveling in her power, as they launch insults and spit at one another. Nyx calls to her, causing Eris to release the men. Without the grip of Eris, the men back away from one another and stumble off in their separate directions.
“Mother!” Eris cries. “Why did you distract me? It took me all day to get those two riled up.”
Nyx sighs, secretly wishing her daughter had a more reputable role than Strife and Discord. “Sorry,” she says. “But might you bring that energy toward the town square? There is a witch burning I must stop. I cannot stop it with humanity’s new lights.”
“Sounds dull. There is no fun in witch burnings anymore. It’s become too habitual.”
“It is filled with new crowds tonight. Many of them have drunk ale. You will have the opportunity to be extremely creative. Besides, I have not seen your work in action lately.”
Eris does not need to be convinced further. Together, Nyx rides along in the shadows with her two daughters. When they arrive at the town square, the logs are arranged to be lit. Thanatos waits on the sidelines. Nyx’s son Charon has arrived. He stands besides Thanatos, waiting to ferry the dead. As much as she has missed her other son, she trembles at the sight of him. Nyx stands in the shadows and releases her daughters into the madness before her, hoping she is making the right decision.
The witches are now tied to a large pole in the center of the wood while humanity commands the gates of hell to open. Hecate is tied up last. There is a thick rope around her neck. A man among the group draws a matchbox from his trousers and prepares to strike fire. Nyx holds her breath, frantically waiting for her daughters to do something. Anything. She spots Oizys standing ill postured and sleepy. Then she sees Eris, arms crossed and plotting. Eris grants Nyx a conspiratorial look right before she approaches the man with the match. When the man strikes the match, Eris plucks it from his fingers and drops it onto the pant leg of the man nearest him. Eris cackles as the man rolls onto the grass to calm the fire.
The man with the matches attempts another try. This time, Eris takes the lit match and tosses it onto a frail woman’s dress, causing the old woman to go up in flames. Eris rolls to the ground with laughter. Boos and hisses arise from the crowd, and soon men are tackling each other to get the fire started. Nyx watches Oizys grab bystanders and bring them closer to the brawl. Meanwhile, Nyx waits nervously in the shadows. The man who was once in charge of the fire now has two teeth missing. Moans of disappointment ensue. Nyx hears voices of doubt grow from the crowd, and her heart lightens as she sees Thanatos and Charon begin to back away.
Eris and Oizys continue their work, as the crowd grows more unsettled. Meanwhile, the witches wait in ropes and continue shouting their innocence. Eventually, Eris starts a fire herself. She lights the nearest bushes on fire, causing a circle of flames to surround the town square. She parades around the townsfolk, laughing and skipping as she goes. Nyx squints, trying to see past the blaze, impressed by her daughter’s trickery.
The crowd studies the encircling flames, seemingly unsure whether to stay or leave. Oizys has let go of the troubled man, and he sways unsure of what to do with himself. Eris seems to notice him. Quickly, she pilfers silver coins from the trousers of the man with two missing teeth and stuffs it inside the palm of the man whom Oizys favors. Eris cries with laughter as the once-penniless man smiles and runs off with haste. Oizys tries to run after him, but Eris holds her back. Nyx watches as Oizys seems to grow further into suffering because of this loss. However, Oizys soon discovers new victims to befoul and hangs onto them like an overgrown weed. Soon, those infected by Misery appear too distraught and the only remedy to escape such anguish is to simply leave the town square.
Eris is caught up in a fight between two men, when the man with missing teeth grabs a torch from the sidelines and dips it into a burning bush. He brings the torch toward the witches. Eris tries to stop him, but the man is quick. He lights the logs on fire. A sharp, burning scent comes to Nyx and the sound of witches screaming is far worse than any sound she’s ever heard come from the furthest pits of Tartarus.
Humanity crows, and the town square burns with fire. Horror consumes Nyx. She calls for Erebus, but he is too far off. She calls for Eris next, but she is completely unreachable, mad with power. Oizys leads more townsfolk away from the fire and weeps with them. Nyx can barely see through the flames. But she does see Thanatos walking further toward the witches.
Nyx looks up at the stars, realizing that she has spent much too time among Creation. Soon, Hemera will be arriving, and she must retreat to Tartarus. But how can she leave the witches, and how can she leave her son with such insurmountable pain? And Hecate. Oh Hecate. The pressure in her chest becomes intolerable.
For a moment Nyx considers making the journey to Zeus. A simple bolt of lightning would send the crowd fleeing. She mulls over the possibilities; but it will take too long, and she will not grant him the satisfaction.
Hecate screams. The high-pitched howl penetrates Nyx. She crawls on the ground, pulling herself forward, flickering in and out. She sees Eris and grabs onto her ankle.
Hecate screams. The high-pitched howl penetrates Nyx. She crawls on the ground, pulling herself forward, flickering in and out. She sees Eris and grabs onto her ankle.
Eris pushes into a crowd of bystanders, knocking them over, before she leaps toward the witches. She grabs a burning torch from someone and brings it to the witches. Fire climbs onto their garments. The girls squeal as the fire draws close and the flames rise. Eris takes the tip of her torch and lights the rope that binds the girls to the pole. In mere moments, the rope crackles and uncoils. The girls are free. Eris leads them off the logs and pushes them to the ground to snuff out the flames.
“Now you all see! They used sorcery to escape. Don’t let them get away,” the man with missing teeth yells. The town square is completely alight with fire, but a few remaining townsfolk stand among the flames to ensure the death of the witches.
Nyx gasps and swallows for air beneath a rod of light. She is fading. On the ground, she squints. She sees some of the witches on the ground with men on top of them; a few men have drawn knives. Hardly breathing, Nyx calls out for another child of hers. The only one she thinks might be able to help at this point. Eris is too struck with power and Oizys has trailed off to find the troubled man.
“Hypnos,” Nyx whispers into the void. “HYPNOS.” She screams with the last breath she has left.
The town square is full of humanity carrying buckets of water, but it is not enough to tame the wildfire. The whole village is awake with fear. Not ideal for Hypnos, god of Sleep, her eldest son. Nyx cries out for him, nonetheless. She wonders if he is lounging on the island of Lemnos, surrounded by his sons, floating down the river of oblivion known as Lethe. Oh, to be there now! Every time she visits, she always feels so relaxed. Hypnos treats her so well, as though he is the parent and not she. The way he carries himself with such assuredness, she sometimes wonders how he learned to be so independent when her other children have not. On the ground, withering from blinding lights, she thinks of the peculiarity of motherhood. How can the Night come so easy to her, but motherhood remains a mystery?
Eyes cold and fading, Nyx watches from the ground as best she can. Eris strikes the men who attempt harm upon the witches, provoking chaos among themselves. Nyx calls out for Hypnos once more, and before she can utter the final syllable of his name, he appears beside her and kisses her cheek. She looks up at her grown son and strokes the soft white wings that grow from his temples. Hypnos surveys the scene before him. Nyx does not need to give her son any instructions. He understands what needs to be done.
Moonlight pushes through the clouds as Hypnos steps through flames. He lassos puffs of smoke into his palms and slides columns of fog into the throats of men. Nyx watches as the inhalation of smoke causes the men to crash to the ground with slumber.
Meanwhile, Eris helps the witches rise to their feet and gives two lit torches to Hecate. Nyx peers at the moon. Soon, she must retreat to Tartarus. The men in the square sleep, but it’s only a matter of time before authorities will come and blame their slumber on the witches. The witches still need protection.
Eris and Hypnos help Nyx up, leading her and the witches toward the woods. Hecate pioneers the way with her torches. Nyx is weak, but as she leaves the light, her children beside her, energy is restored. She discovers Erebus shielding the forest in Darkness. She utters an exhausted greeting before retreating into the dark wood with the band of witches.
“I must retreat to Lemnos,” Hypnos whispers at her side as they crunch on leaves.
Nyx feels a twinge in her stomach. “Please stay—just a bit longer,” she pleads.
“Only a bit,” Hypnos acquiesces.
Nyx sighs a breath of relief, wishing she could hold onto her children forever.
And then comes the cackle of Eris. Nyx thought her daughter was right beside her, but now she discovers she is prancing among trees, hollering at crows who echo back her laughter. Eris comes back to her mother. Nyx grabs hold of her and keeps her still as the others keep walking.
“Thank you,” Nyx says. “I beam with pride at the work you have done tonight…”
Eris crosses her arms in the darkness. “But…?”
Nyx looks into her daughter’s fiery eyes; she is grown and yet still so naive. Nyx speaks softly to her, remembering a time she once cradled her daughter at the breast. “Eris, we need peace in the woods tonight, not Discord.”
Eris’s face bunches in the shadows, shooting pain into Nyx’s heart. Not another word is uttered before Eris dissipates and goes off to unleash Discord elsewhere.
In an open field in the forest, the witches collect wood and Hecate makes a pacifying fire using her torches. Nyx and Erebus keep a comfortable distance from the flames. Soon, Hypnos brushes a hand over each witch, sending them into a restful and warm sleep beside the fire. “It will be a grand sleep,” Hypnos says. “They will wake with wisdom and intuitiveness.”
“How can I thank you, my son,” Nyx asks, holding his hands in hers.
Hypnos appears to reflect on her question with much sincerity. “Be content,” he whispers. “Whatever may cause delight, find it. Grab it and do not let go. A child feels a parent’s discontent, no matter his distance, no matter how wise he may seem. He could be relaxing in the tropics of Lemnos and still not feel complete if a piece is missing from his mother’s heart.”
A flame crackles and Erebus warns that Night is almost finished. Hypnos walks off into the Darkness, and now Nyx is left alone with her worrying lover.
“Dawn is coming. Summon the chariot. Let us go,” Erebus says.
Nyx watches the sleeping witches. She wonders if they have mothers or are mothers themselves. This hurts for some reason. Then she thinks of Hypnos and his request. Missing piece. She would do anything for her children—all of them.
“Hemera is the missing piece,” Nyx says. “I need to see her; to touch her. Let me be the mother my children need me to be.”
“You already are,” Erebus says, as he fades away. He takes Darkness with him, leaving her and the witches in a gray haze.
A rumble comes from beyond the pines. It is the burning sun, rising from depths. Nyx feels the presence of Hemera moving over the horizon. She cannot see her yet, but she feels the sensation to leave. An invisible force is inside her, commanding she retreat to the underworld. The curse of Chaos. Every particle of her being instructs her to go. It manifests as pain. Her heart and bones cry out in despair. Her gaseous wings thicken to protect her from the incoming light. Everything inside her screams leave, dissolve, retreat. But she does not.
Hemera appears far-off through the trees. Nyx shields her eyes, but she does not back down. The light is overpowering, hurtful. She digs her heels into the soil and waits for her daughter. Black mist coils around her, protecting her.
Hemera and her chariot pause in the glade beside the sleeping witches. A look of confusion is etched across her face as she meets the border of Darkness left by Erebus. Nyx is unmovable as she waits for Hemera to interpret this glitch of Night. Black mist and fog shield her from her daughter’s luminosity. From above, it might appear that Light and Dark are facing off, like two walls meeting. Nyx raises her chin, witnessing her daughter through a dark veil. Hemera speaks, but her rays overpower sound. Nyx makes out the word Mother. She walks forward. “Fear of disobeying orders,” Nyx mumbles to herself, “is far more frightening than the act itself.”
Nyx inches closer to her daughter. The light is white and blinding; Hemera seems to mute her vibrance to a pale pink. With this sudden change, Nyx can see better and the last thing she witnesses before Hemera melts into her arms, is her daughter’s smile. The world around them explodes into colors. Leaves blow throughout the forest as their colors of Night and Day blend into gray, pink, periwinkle, rose gold, straw, and cobalt. Scraping through the village, their colors of Light and Dark comingle creating an entirely new appearance of air. Mother and daughter hold onto each other no matter how strange it might appear to gods and humanity alike.
“I didn’t know we were allowed to break the rules,” Hemera says.
Nyx turns to face her daughter. “Keeping a mother from her child is a rule to be broken. I think Creation will like these new colors, don’t you?”
“Can you feel the change in the atmosphere?”
“Yes. I feel it.”
Nyx and Hemera spend the morning together, experimenting with colors and wind and temperature and mood.
Nyx and Hemera are enraptured by conversation when the witches begin to stir. Nyx scoops the mist of dawn into her palms and ladles it into the mouths of the witches before they rise. A piece of herself; a piece of Hemera. “For when they wake, they will have the love of Mother and Child inside them,” Nyx whispers. “Day and Night. Light and Dark. Beginning and End. Eternal Love. Always.” Nyx holds onto her daughter for a long time. For a short while, everything is just as it should be.