when the goddess says kneel: chapter 6

the awakening

i wake to silence. not the heavy kind, weighted with secrets and shadows, but a silence that feels clean. like fresh air after a storm. my body feels lighter, as though the fire stripped more than my fears—it took the ache i hadn’t realized i’d been carrying for years. the room is warm, the bed impossibly soft, but something stirs inside me. a pull. a call.

she’s waiting.

i sit up, the fabric of the sheets sliding off my skin. my muscles ache, but it’s the ache of something used well, something tested and pushed to its edge. i feel raw, but not fragile. there’s a strange steadiness in my chest, like my ribs are no longer just a cage but a temple. a place that holds something sacred.

the door to the room opens before i can move, and she steps inside, her presence like the first breath of winter—sharp, invigorating, alive. she’s changed. her robe is gone, replaced by something simpler, something closer to flesh. a shift of thin fabric that clings to her body like a second skin, as if she’s shedding her own layers alongside mine.

“you’re awake,” she says, and there’s a softness in her voice now, a warmth that wasn’t there before. “good.”

i nod, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “what happens now?”