“Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt.” (Mortal actions never deceive the gods)

“Factum fieri infectum non potest.” (It is impossible for a deed to be undone)

When the man had first come, Arrolyn had welcomed him with open arms and the relief that came with the first blooms of Spring after a long and hard Winter. Loneliness had taken root in her heart, even amongst her company. 

She had taken him in to her home--the old temple just on the edge of the forest--and offered him asylum from the threat he claimed was chasing him. Unjust, he had called it. Revenge, he said, they wanted revenge against him for standing up and out. For wearing courage like a badge and truth like a crown.

She never did find out who ‘they’ were.

The man was kind, at first. The kids without homes that stayed in the temple loved him, loved his well-spun stories and his charismatic laugh. Some of the smaller ones, at a point, even began calling him ‘father’ accidentally.

But where this man was concerned, all good things always came to an end. And this time, it was a bloody, shattering end.

Arrolyn was a lover. Her heart was given fully to everything she did, everyone she cared about. And this man hadn’t even so much as asked before it was placed right in his hands, like a sack of coin at the market. 

The man was a breaker. And her heart, so fragile and vulnerable in his hands, broke much the same way glass shattered when thrown at the ground. Like the dishes the children had dropped while cleaning, there it lay, pieces on the temple floor.

So many lies told, promises made only to be broken. As time went on the man became something different, something less snake-tongued and more venom-clad. Fists found flesh often, and Arrolyn’s heart took each blow with her. She felt the relief again, only when he left. Without a warning and with all they owned of value, the man was gone, and Arrolyn was left to pick up both the pieces of herself, and of the children.

For three years, the young woman saw nothing, heard nothing, of the man. The children grew older, lost the fresh pain. But she couldn’t, couldn’t erase the glow of hearth-embers in his smile, nor the sharp tongue and blunt fists that stole all the good from her memories. That left her shaking at night.

He arrived the second time much the same way as the first. In the dead of night, looking entirely like he had been drug along a road on the back of a wagon. Clothes rumpled and torn, dirty and unkempt. The man himself didn’t look much better.

Once again, Arrolyn welcomed him with open arms. Not un-knowingly, her heart still piecing itself back together. When she welcomed him back in, relief was not what held itself in her heart. No, this burned just a bit too bright.

The silver-tongue of the man spun his lies the same, told stories of growth and of regret. All told with the violence underneath, his movements the same angry that had left her too weak to walk. She knew to spot a liar now, and there was no shred of truth to hide him. When he claimed it was all in the past, she laughed. He took that as a good sign, did not note the words spoken under her breath.

“Factum fieri infectum non potest.” It is impossible for a deed to be undone.

The temple did not welcome him back.

The man moved about like he had returned to a space belonging to him, dropping himself onto the altar slab like it was a throne for him to sit upon. A candle was knocked over, a fruit plucked straight from the offering bowl. Oh, Arrolyn’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t seen the rising of the candle flames.

He had never asked what the deity of this temple was. But he was about to meet her in all her glory, all her flame.

The candle flames shot up like the small jumping toys the kids enjoyed. And with a roar, the fire of the hearth rose as well, and out from it stepped a woman. Armored and glistening. Skin of onyx, her hair braided back into rows and adorned with rings of gold.

Her ichor-eyes met Arrolyn’s, before finding the man making use of her altar as a seat. And she spoke, voice sounding like the thunder outside. 

“I am Ithenia, Guardian of this temple and it’s inhabitants, goddess of heartbreak and just revenge.” Her voice boomed, carried through the temple like the place itself was built to house the sound. “And for the violence carried out on these hallowed grounds, I stand before you to enact the revenge befitting your crimes. ”

This was the goddess of the temple. This was the goddess Arrolyn’s faith had brought forth.

This goddess was not kind to the man. Arrolyn was grateful that the sleeping quarters were in separate buildings, nothing short of relieved that the children wouldn’t be viewing this.

He had no time to speak, before the candles around him went out. And suddenly, he blazed the way they had, consumed by the flames so slowly considering the heat of the fire. A hand found Arrolyn’s shoulder, warm and twice the size of her own, but comforting.

This time, Ithenia’s voice was not near as loud, more a comforting powerful.

“Serve these children well, and remember. I am but a prayer away when you need me the most. You may find me just a bit more often, though. It seems my purpose is far greater than I had hoped.” 

That night was an added memory, the flames of her goddess outshining the put-out fire of betrayal. 

                                                         ~~~~~~

Arrolyn’s heart found a home in the safety of the hearth, the temple guarding it as closely as any great treasure had ever been. Safe and sound.

And the goddess had been right. Her visits to their temple preceded justice elsewhere, but did not exist solely as a passing through. No, the children found her a great story teller, enjoyed her teachings of how to control the flames. Her kindness was not situational, when she was mauled by excited children or run into during an impromptu game of chase.

And finally, Arrolyn’s loneliness was dug up, replaced by the seeds of something greater.