Berries and Greed

“Why did you come here then?” I could admit I was intrigued. I’d been here for twenty-five years, and he was the first demiurgus to ever set foot through the front doors in all that time.

Cue more wild ear twitching, as well as those spikes fluttering along his hairline. I was starting to realise they were his nervous tell. It’s not kind of cute. No, definitely not.

“Just… to look around,” he mumbled, not meeting my gaze.

“Bullshit.” His yellow eyes snapped back to me and widened, so I continued, “We both know that’s bullshit, pal. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

And I should know—I’d been lying for more than half my life.

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t necessarily look angry. “You’ve talked to me for about five fucking minutes. How would you know?”

“Just trust me.” I crossed my arms and raised my chin, although, it was already raised pretty high so I could actually look at him. “Tell me why you really came here. If it wasn’t to select an ‘eager and willing bedmate’.”

“I—” He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then squirmed with a groan. “Alright, fine. I came here to see if… I just wanted a… companion. Not a bedmate,” he added in a rush. “Not for sex. But when I got here, this place creeped me the fuck out. It’s creepy as shit. All those statues and the weird pictures of… I mean, what the fuck?”

I heard myself snort with humour. “Tell me about it.”

That made him focus on me intently again, eyes darting over my face. “You were the only one out there who wasn’t staring at me like…” He shuddered. “Like you wanted to tear my clothes off and worship my—” Cutting himself off with an awkward cough, he looked at me again and asked, “What’s your deal?”

“What?” I straightened and glanced around nervously again. “I don’t have a deal. I’m not—”

“I’m pretty sure there aren’t cameras in here,” he told me. “I’d be able to hear them. Electronics are so loud. So tell me. I told you, even though my thing is surely way more pathetic.” His eyes narrowed just a little. “Why are you even here? If you’re not… interested in my kind the way the others are?”

I pressed my lips into a grim line as I stared up at him in silence. I was a pretty good judge of character, and my gut was telling me I could trust him. He seemed… fairly guileless, to be honest. A little sheltered, maybe?

And okay, yeah, I was kind of softening just a touch at his confession that he’d come here looking for a simple companion. Was he lonely? Why didn’t he hang out with other demiurgus?

“I won’t say anything,” he murmured to me, his inhuman face open and honest. “To that weird old man or any of the others. Anyone.”

I snorted at his apt description of the high priest. The high priest was a weird old man. And… shit, after twenty-five years here, I really, really wanted to vent to someone about how odd this whole place was. I wanted to talk about how wild it was that all these people were dedicating their lives to the dream of one day getting banged by a demiurgus. I knew Violet agreed with me, but there weren’t many places to be truly alone here, and it was too risky for us to talk about it often.

Judging by what Greid had just said, he found it as strange as I did. The idea of talking to an actual demiurgus about it all was really tempting.

And for some reason, I wanted him to know that I didn’t subscribe to any of it. That I wasn’t a mindless follower of the cult. That I did not believe he was some ethereal sex wizard.

Even though… he did kind of look like one, with his fancy suit and long black hair and sharp, angular features. I could grudgingly admit it—only to myself, and never, ever to anyone else. Especially him.

“Okay, so…” I took a step closer to him and kept my voice hushed, just in case the high priest had his ear pressed to the door. Not that his hearing was that great. “My aunt is the general manager here, but she doesn’t believe in any of it either. I came here to live with her after my dad abandoned me when I was ten, so I grew up here. But I’m not really a follower. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not interested in your big demiurgus dick.”

His ears fluttered wildly. “I’m—I don’t—”

“I could’ve left when I turned eighteen,” I continued with a shrug. “But I just… didn’t. I like it here well enough, aside from all the sex cult stuff. And, I mean, it’s not like I’d be able to go and get a normal job and afford my own place. Who’s gonna hire me? I’m thirty-five. I’ve spent most of my life living in this place, and my only job has been tending to the vineyards.”

“Vineyards?”

“We make wine here. Including nightberry wine for demiurgus.”

“You make nightberry wine?” He perked up. “Is it any good?”

“You tell me,” I said flatly. “I don’t drink it, but we supply basically everywhere in the city. People like locally sourced products.”

“Oh.” He fidgeted a little. “It’s good. I, uh, I drink it… sometimes.”