The lovely Ibisz' outdoor space was mostly tended by the even lovelier Galatea. Not concerned with preparing libations, she rather played the role of a server, delivering drinks with elegance and ensuring each tabletop was immaculate. In addition to that, she also took care of the greenery of the intimate outer sanctuary, lovingly caring for the verdant tendrils that stretched along the ground just as well as the hedges that stretched to the sky, and the silver-encrusted cobblestone that stood against the hedges. Comprising a stoneware basin, its centerpiece was a faceless effigy, mirroring the Virgin Mary in garb. A small tree arched over it, adorned with ribbons of fervent prayers, each a silent plea. Galatea dreamt she could unravel each of them, to know what troubled the pious so, but alas! Her role was only to safeguard, ensuring none disturbed these delicate whispers.
It was a small shrine, and most patrons didn't pay it any mind, really. By twilight, it looked like the dwelling of an old goddess once great, now humbled by time's merciless erosion. Yet, when night draped the cafe-
"Only prey forsake the wire mother," Galatea inhaled deeply from her cigarette before looking at Bel. "Isn't she beautiful?" "Galatea..."
Under moonlight, the shrine once small and innocuous now spread along the hedges like mold. Neon lines and wires clambered, intertwining with the hedges: corrupting the greenery, they snaked among the branches, forming a web of vibrant and macabre beauty, the neon overwriting the leaves like malware. Various luminescent fungi emerged out of the basin, adding to the infectuous glow.
The once smooth visage of the statue now yawned with an inky void that seemed endless despite the eerie red shimmer radiating from the invasive glow of the hedges. The wires clustered around the two women's feet, akin to worms bursting out of a casket, of a bloated corpse. Bel could barely look at the shrine, every glance laced with trepidation as she couldn't help but feel like the goddess herself was hovering just behind her, poised to swallow her whole.
Galatea took another drag from her cigarette, letting the smoke curl around her fingers before releasing it into the night. "We're all demons, you know? God doesn't talk to us because we've all fallen. Tell me, do you think the seraphim stop singing to greet the common fly? Would an angel bow to filth?"
Bel, taken aback by the intensity of her companion's words, hesitated. "Galatea-"
Galatea's gaze, steeling and distant, continued. "Why would God talk to us? We're abominations, seconds from the deluge. Nephilim, blissfully ignorant of the filth coursing through our veins. We've desecrated what's holy. We've tainted the image of God."
Bel, trying to ground the conversation, interjected, "You used to say God was Love. That God loves all."
Galatea's voice, though soft, held an edge of madness. "And why pray? Does our voice even resound in the vast nothingness? Hasn't God placed this distance deliberately? I found Him once, in a river of my own blood. Tasted Him. Everything was right. It was good."
Bel, alarmed, tried to calm her friend. "That's-"
But Galatea cut her off, her tone becoming increasingly erratic. "Do you know? When you glimpse your reflection, you recoil. Then... nothing. The divine spark? It's mutated. Transmuted. Why? Why did God permit it? Who ignited this fall? Are we even human anymore? Or is true humanity still on the horizon?"
Galatea's gaze shifted back to the shrine, fingers trembling. "Is God of flesh and bone? Lungs that heave, eyes that weep? Could He touch me? Would it kill me?" She paused, then chuckled. "It took me a while, but I managed to steal that effigy of the Virgin Mary, the one with the weathered face. I stole it from an abandoned shrine a couple of blocks away."
Bel looked back at the statue, perplexed. "You stole it?" she asked, not really expecting an answer from her erratic friend.
Silence. A jackdaw landed behind them, knocking over an ashtray in its wake.
Galatea's voice dropped to a whisper, her silhouette illuminated by the shrine's ethereal light. "Why won't you say where He vanished to? Was it my doing? My misstep?" She looked at Bel. Her eyes were almost manic - it felt like she was looking *through* Bel. "I love everyone, I love everyone so it doesn't count anymore. Now all I see is flesh, framework covered in flesh and keratin. It's... gross. I love humanity - I love humanity so much I wish to save them. I want to make them kind, and I want them to love one another. I yearn for the wicked to realize their wickedness. Yearn for them to step back, to take themselves out of the equation. I want them to do it out of love."
Bel tried to soothe her. "You've always said that we were made out of love, that God wrote us in the language of love."
The atmosphere grew thicker, the neon lights casting deep shadows on Galatea's face. "Don't you ever desire to taste God's flesh? Surely, He'd permit a bite. Aren't we made in His image? Isn't there some rationality to the cannibal?"
The jackdaw cawed.
"Crow gets it. She gets that consciousness is the ultimate glitch. We're aberrations in the cosmic code, our degenerate syntax is unrecognizable by the most pure-"
"Deep breaths, Galatea. Focus, you're losing your grip," Bel implored, a tinge of terror coating her words.
Galatea laughed. "Crow gets the irony of emitting so much that signals become noise. That we've tried so hard to parse divinity..."
"Crow has always been a fan of technology far beyond my scope, of course she'd explain existence by using programmer lingo," Bel mused, reassured for a moment by her friend's laughter.
Galatea's voice grew dreamy as she gazed at the statue. "I'll decorate Her in brilliant hues. Bestow upon Her the heavens. The firmament." Tugging at her headscarf, she mumbled, "It would be an act of cruelty to grant the drone self-awareness, wouldn't it?"
"You're not making sense," Bel pleaded. Trying to snap her friend out of it, she added, "Galatea, earlier, when you passed by my office, you left me a note-" Bel shuffled in her messenger bag as her friend looked at her with an empty stare. "Mirrored. You said you couldn't stand being mirrored, that you were tired of copycats, that everyone around you ends up a poor copy of you." She paused, but Galatea remained silent.
With a sigh, she pulled out a piece of paper from her bag. As she did so, she glanced at the wires, now looking like worms seeking a host - but she couldn't think about that right now. Pulling herself together, she carried on: "You said you were tired of always ending up surrounded by yourself, that after a certain amount of time, you always end up finding yourself in the people you care about."
Galatea's voice was hauntingly soft, "I should, I want, I must, but I falter. It's always the same. A serpent, an innocent soul, a genesis, a cataclysm. Brief descents into the abyss. On the periphery of my sight, I discern where matter ceases and God begins. Where all the pretty colours are."
"Galatea, you need to-"
"Is it not my duty to endlessly rebroadcast until I find a frequency that understands? To echo into the void, hoping to bridge the gap between God - the source - and us - the receivers? It's unfair!" her eyes filled with tears as she looked down. "You archive, Jacin punishes, and I... I look for God."
"Friend, your role is important..."
Bel's voice trailed off. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing anymore. Neon algorithms coursed through organic matrices, an evisceration of nature. The hedges pulsated with life, the shrine made of decaying flesh, consumed by worms and glowing mold. The shrine was sentient, a monstrosity, and it was dying.
"I've made up my mind," Galatea whispered, her voice trembling with conviction, sounding almost modulated. "None are under God but me. I am God. My word is the decree. I speak, and it is good. I am Radueriel. I am Metatron. Samael. The hand that feeds." She smiled, and turned to Bel.
"Put me out of my misery."