text: Sun peered in through the crudely-made skylight - a hole, really - and illuminated the dust particles floating in the gentle breeze that came through partially broken stained-glass windows. Rotting wooden pews, dust-covered and termite-bitten, lined the faded carpet from the entryway to the altar. The acrid stench of smog found its way into the church. The faraway noise of the high-speed rail and blaring sirens could be heard faintly, just barely touching the overwhelming silence. There had been a time, Nyx remembered, when the silence in this place was welcome. When it was the mark of worship and faith and respect. The floor creaked something awful as Nyx placed one booted foot in front of her steel one, taking cautious steps into the dilapidated building. As she neared the patch of sunlight on the floor, her rusting ankle joint caught mid-rotation and sent Nyx toppling to the ground. Only, there wasn’t any ground beneath the sun-lit spot on the floor. The faded carpet caught around her like a net as she fell through the hole in the floor that matched the one in the roof. She landed roughly, broken pieces of wooden boards digging into her back and she wriggled out of the carpet. A few muttered curses later, Nyx managed to free herself from the heap of fabric and walk crookedly to the cellar door that would lead back up to the main floor. Taking a moment to assess the rotting staircase, Nyx decided to waddle back over to the sun-lit mound of fabric in the middle of the basement, seat herself on top of it, and raise her right foot over her left knee for inspection. There was no way the staircase would hold her if the joint stuck again. Nyx checked her fanny pack with baited breath, sending a prayer to long-deaf ears that the canister of oil she normally kept with her didn’t break during the fall. It didn’t. Perhaps the goddess came back briefly just to pity the poor girl who didn’t know when to let go. A derisive snort left Nyx as she took a ratty cloth from her pack, dabbed it in oil, and began smoothing it over the rusting joint. As if the goddess would listen to her . Nyx rolled the joint a few times, satisfied with the range of motion, and packed her things. The staircase creaked heavily under her weight even as she tried her hardest to lighten her steps. Luckily, it didn’t send her tumbling back into the basement, but a few steps looked considerably worse than they had before she used them. A sigh blew out of parted lips as Nix made her way, carefully this time, to an altar that had seen better days. Above her loomed a fading stained glass window with spiderweb cracks scattered across its surface. On it was the image of the goddess that so many looked to for guidance, but no longer answered the peoples’ prayers. She had left them, taking her magic with her. Or so the news had said. Nyx knew the truth, whatever good it would do now because the goddess was gone regardless of how she’d actually left. Nyx settled herself on her knees before the altar and brought her palms face-up in front of her, the movements coming with practiced ease at having done this as a child. She spoke softly, a dead language echoing off her lips and the small spark of a spell igniting in her open palms briefly before winking out in finality. Clasping her hands, Nyx continued her prayer if only to finish the ritual that once brought her peace. ~~~ Nyx woke up slumped against the altar. How embarrassing. No wonder the goddess left if all her followers fell asleep during prayer. Shaking her head and rubbing sleep from her eyes, Nyx rose slowly, but steadily, to her feet. She looked up to the vibrant stained glass window, picturesque in its beauty. The goddess, all greens and golds and blues, brown hair falling around her face like willow branches - wait. Nyx startled as she looked at the wholly-intact stained glass window. She turned quickly, surveying the room, noticing that there was no dust floating in the sunlight that streamed through the other, equally intact stained glass windows. The wooden pews looked a bit worse for wear, but there were still places where the varnish was glossy and there was definitely no termite damage. In the center aisle an emerald green carpet, heavily used, ran from entrance to altar, definitely without a hole hidden underneath nor one to match in the ceiling. Flowers - real flowers - bloomed in planters on the windows and in vases scattered around the church. And there was no sound . At least, not the kind she’d become accustomed to since the city erupted in the area like a geyser. No horns or sirens or high-speed rails. Just the breeze carrying the scent of grass - oh, how she’d missed that - and the chirping of birds. She had to be dreaming. There was no way - A loud bang echoed in the church as a tiny figure shoved the doors open. A little girl with hair as black as pitch and honey-gold eyes ran down the aisle to pray at the altar for help Nyx knew would never come. She felt oddly detached watching the memory of her younger self, dark skin unblemished and right leg still flesh, that she didn’t immediately notice when her name was being called. Nyx remembered that her parents had been at work the day she came here, sneaking past her sister to come to the church. Nyx Her name echoed around her in the room, and little Nyx didn’t seem to hear. Nyx noticed her own, adult hands were transparent, light streaming through her as though she were one of the stained glass windows. Child... Listen to my voice... The little girl was still praying at the altar. Not her... You “Me?” Yes Nyx felt even more detached, though she was hyper aware of the voice that only she could hear. It was warm, like the fleece blanket she used to sleep with as a child. Her younger self still prayed, oblivious. Do you want to save them? Them wasn’t specified, but somehow Nyx knew the people being talked about where all those she lost since the goddess left. The day magic died. How did this voice - ? Do you want to save them? “Yes.” Nyx had questions, but the words stuck in her throat. Would you fix your mistakes, knowing what you know now? She felt the cool steel in her hand. The recoil rattled her shoulder as she pulled the trigger on her best friend. How had it ever come to that? Nyx looked down to see that there was nothing in her hand; still as transparent as she was before. A single tear fell through her hand. “Yes.” More tears welled in her eyes. Are you sure? “Yes.” She sniffled. I can give you the chance, but it requires a sacrifice - “Anything! Anything to get them back - “ Nyx’s voice broke as tears fell through her transparent hands. “Please.” Very well. ~~~ Warm tears splashed her hands where they were clasped in front of her. Opening her eyes, Nyx realized she was on the ground in front of the altar where she had been praying before she fell asleep. She did fall asleep, right? Child, you have work to do. Nyx noticed her clasped hands were entirely too small to be her own. They looked like they had when she was six, before there had been any calluses or burn marks. Before she had to work to survive. She stood quickly, surprised that her prosthetic didn’t catch despite it’s prior oiling. It was more rust than steel these days, anyway. She looked around to see the church as it had been in her memory, silence not quite as heavy as it had been when she arrived at the old church. But it didn’t look so old anymore, did it? Looking down, a choked gasp left Nyx’s lips as she realized her right leg was flesh instead of steel. And that she was remarkably shorter than she had been when she started praying. Child, you said you wanted to fix things.