The Real Her

When Mariella sauntered in, the courtroom erupted into a cacophony of shifting seats and poorly repressed coughs. A few people excused themselves, including two of the jury. The bulky bailiff could’ve easily stopped them, but he hardly noticed. His focus, like everyone else’s, was completely, entirely, and irrevocably on Her.

The judge cleared his throat loudly, wiping a veritable waterfall of sweat from his brow. “A-Attention, please,” he whimpered, hammering his gavel weakly, as if scared to smush a finger. “Attention, everyone. I kn-know it’s hard, but—”

“You’re damn right it’s hard!” a man in the audience shouted, standing up in more ways than one. Luckily, the bailiff came to (enough of) his senses, swiftly expelling him from the courtroom. Unluckily for everyone else, the bailiff did not return.

Mustering some semblance of conviction, the judge once again cleared his throat. “You may, um, be seated.”

Those who sat had to collect their jaws from off the floor first. Those who didn’t just looked stupid, though they hardly knew it because their minds were otherwise occupied. Several collapsed from the mere effort of standing in Mariella’s presence, what with their legs trembling as they were.

The judge flicked a glance toward Her, still standing. He exhibited as much self-control as could be expected in this situation. “You may be seated ass—as well, My Lady. Ahem. Pardon me.”

Mariella smiled, but did not sit. Really, there was nowhere She could have sat. For the Goddess of Beauty, like all Her fellow divines, was 12 feet tall. Of course, being a deity, She could have conjured a seat befitting Her stature easily enough, but She decided She would let the fact that the mortals hadn’t properly prepared for Her arrival sink in.

To be fair, She couldn’t call Herself properly prepared, either. She had no clue why She had been summoned—and to a courtroom, of all places. But, since She only had a million better things to do, She stayed and humored them.

The effects of Her smile were still rippling throughout the courtroom like a boulder hurled into a pond. One man rushed to a trash bin and emptied his lunch into it. A woman close on Her left shut her eyes and started praying to Iloren, God of Mercy. And someone in the back actually fainted.

As the Goddess of Beauty, Mariella had a fitting effect on mortals: they saw not what She actually looked like, but their ideal definition of Beauty, realized on a 12-foot scale. It was, as usual, overwhelming to them.

The fun part was knowing how they saw Her. The man who threw up saw a blonde with a tight ponytail, haughty hazel eyes, and T&A so large She could nearly feel them weighing her down. The woman still praying to Iloren saw her high school volleyball coach, sporting a neon green unitard and a frilly sombrero. And the person who fainted… wow. That was new.

She laughed, looking directly at the judge (who viewed Her as a symmetrical combination of his second and third wives); She stood tall enough to have to tilt Her head down even though he sat on a raised podium. “I’ll stand, thank you. Is someone going to tell me why I’m here?”

“W-Well, I th-thought You already—”

“I could know,” She said. “I could reach into your mind and discern your intentions—clean intentions, no doubt, being the good little boy you are. But I would rather hear it from you.”

If She didn’t intervene soon, the judge might get on his knees and start barking. Ah, fetishes…

Turning toward the remainder of the courtroom and spreading her arms, each nearly as long as some of the mortals were tall, She put her thumbs and middle fingers together and—

SNAP!

Everyone reacted all at once.

“I can’t see! I can’t see!”

“Get… this… thing… off!”

“Oh, Iloren, God of Mercy, spare me—spare us all!”

Satisfied, Mariella waved Her hand and a properly sized chair appeared. “Calm down,” She said as she sat, legs crossed and fingers intertwined on her lap. “The blindfolds are irremovable, but temporary. They’re to help you focus.”

For extra effect, she sent a blast of pheromones throughout the room. The mortals would’ve listened to Her either way, but why not have a bit of fun at their expense? It might’ve even made finding out why they summoned Her even more interesting.

It took about a minute, but most of the courtroom settled down. Not fully, of course; the imagination could be a powerful thing. Still, She knew mortals better than the other gods, having spent the most time among them, and She knew they relied on sight more than anything. Deprived of that and assured they were safe, they would remain (relatively) docile.

“So,” She said, turning once again toward the judge, whose blindfold sported a photo of him in doggy position just the way he liked. He perked up, aware he was being addressed from the direction Her voice came from. “Let’s start again: Why am I here?”

Miraculously, behind the safety of the blindfold, the judge lost his stutter. “To apologize, My Lady.”

Mariella mock-gasped, putting a hand to Her heart even though no one could see. “Apologize? Whatever for?”

“I… believe that will become clear soon enough.”

She could’ve smitten every mortal in and around the courthouse (and not in the sexy way) for an answer like that, but She would play along. Playing with mortals was Her favorite pastime—unlike Iloren, who preferred to keep His distance, or Hoshal, Goddess of Agriculture, who made for a model goody-two-shoes.

“As a goddess, we cannot convict You of anything either way,” the judge continued, “but an apology would provide many of Your worshippers with peace of mind.”

Interesting indeed. “Lay it on Me, mortals. Or… would you rather just lay on Me?”

She watched as everyone squirmed. Blindfolds were one thing, but she wouldn’t provide earplugs. Where would be the fun in that?

The judge tapped his gavel. “May the first witness come to the stand?”

A young man dressed in a slightly oversized suit took his place by the judge. She ensured that, even with his blindfold (which had nothing but the word “Lucky” written across it in bold, oversized, shamrock-green letters), he found the stand without so much as a covered-up stumble.

Mariella needed only look at someone to know everything about them, but She let things take their course—for the moment, at least. “My name is Ebi Olander,” the young man said. Before he could continue as intended, however, She found She was unable to help Herself and compelled him to state how he saw Her: “My Mariella is an Irishwoman. Natural red hair, freckles, a brogue—the whole bit. Tight ass, too.”

A collective gasp filled the courtroom, but Mariella assuaged them with a joke (accompanied by more pheromones). “Top of the mornin’ to ya, Ebi.”

Everyone laughed, Ebi included.

“Alright, Ebi,” the judge said, “tell Our Lady why you’re here.” Mariella would let the trial run its course, but not in the boring, uptight way she knew mortals liked (or pretended to like) to do it.

Speaking of which, She noticed for the first time that there were no lawyers present—not in an official capacity, anyway; several were peppered throughout the audience. Even sans Her divine intervention, this was far from a normal trial. It seemed the mortals just wanted to talk with Her, though She was still curious what kind of apology they wanted.

Well, perhaps Ebi would lead Her one step closer to finding out. “I’m recently single, Goddess.”

“Yes, Ebi, I know,” She said. “I know everything there is to know about all of your relationships—platonic, romantic, and TBD.”

“Should’ve figured. You know why I’m single, then?”

Ah, so that’s where this was going. “Because your ex was worried she didn’t live up to the image you had of Me, so she broke up with you preemptively.”

Ebi slumped, mentally recalling all the depressing details of the breakup before Her eyes. “Right,” he said, voice softer now, tinged with resentment. “And, um, I want your apology for that.”

Mariella had the decency not to laugh, difficult as it was to repress her wry amusement at this whole situation. Before she could respond, however, the judge called up the next witness.

“I’m Caroline Hersch,” the older woman said as she climbed up to the stand—not proper procedure, but then, there was nothing proper about this “trial”. Her blindfold looked like blacktop covered in a splash of bloody red. Then, compelled as Ebi was: “My Mariella is my sister-in-law at 35. Woman was irresistible back in her heyday. Died in a motorcycle accident last year at 65.”

“You can thank Svarst-Ro for that,” Mariella said, naming the God of Travel. “I’d say God forbid someone takes better care of the roads in this Godforsaken country, but considering He and I are Gods Ourselves, I—”

A staccato wooden clack interrupted Her.

“M-My apologies, My Lady,” the judge said, setting his gavel down, lip quivering from the brief return of his stutter. “I know the kind of punishment I’d normally be due for cutting You or any deity off, but we’d like to all say our piece before You say Yours.”

There was a lot Mariella could’ve said to that, and even more She could’ve done in response. But… no. Let the mortals have their fun. The game wasn’t up just yet—not while there were so many juicy details left. Sure, She knew all the details already, but knowing something and experiencing it were two very, very different things.

And so, She experienced Caroline’s pain. “My husband had no idea I was lesbian—not the way I whupped his ass in bed.” That drew a chuckle from the audience. “But one day, he found the shrine I built to You and my sister-in-law. I hid it in the attic because he had a fear of ladders, and our attic could only be accessed via a pull-down. One day, though, I wasn’t home, and he needed something from up there. So he swallowed his fear and climbed up, and, well, you know what he found. The pictures there were of my sister-in-law, which would’ve been bad enough on its own, but…” She paused a moment, taking a breath. “But then he beat me until he got the whole truth—said he’d divorce me only after I gave it to him. I told him that when I saw my sister-in-law, I saw You, and vice versa. There was basically no distinction in my mind.”

“There is now, though, I imagine,” the judge put in. “Even if you still see Our Lady as your sister-in-law.”

Caroline huffed. “You could say that.” She began descending the stand as she finished. “I want a personal apology from You, Goddess.”

And so it went, one witness (if they could even be called that) after another.

Chuck Williams, 35. Blindfold featuring his children, Cynthia and Mikey. Saw Mariella with his wife’s face and a runway model’s body, which his “stumpy” (to use his word) wife did not have. Divorced with minimal visitation rights. Wanted an apology in writing and divine permission to see his kids again.

Alex Soo, 27. Blindfold made to look like colorful feathers falling from a rainforest canopy. Saw Mariella as a pirate with an eyepatch over his nethers. Fired from managing an exotic pet store for viciously refusing to sell any parrots despite their abundance in the store. Wanted an apology and a galleon packed with enough Spanish gold to comfortably live out her life on the seven seas.

Xander Soo, 29—Alex’s brother. Blindfold of his sister. Saw Mariella as… his sister. In the continued absence of the bailiff, Alex was more than happy to escort him out herself. She also wanted an extra apology.

Gunther Frederickson, an incredible (for a mortal) 101. Blindfold marked with a simple red cross. Saw Mariella as the nurse who practically brought him back to life but didn’t survive World War II herself. Didn’t want an apology—just revenge. His pistol, of course, was ineffective against a goddess. She spared him because of his age and honorable service, though She telepathically contacted Orinth, God of the Underworld, telling Him to take special care of ol’ Gunther when his time came.

Bharathi Nibhanupudi, 49. Blindfold a complete mess of shapes and colors. Saw Mariella as a handsome farmer she glimpsed on the road as a little girl. Owing to the brevity of the glimpse, her mind had filled in the details. As she grew up and her preferences changed, so, too, did the farmer’s looks. Wanted an apology for how her constantly shifting standards for the farmer caused her standards for men she dated to be way too high, leaving her single all her life.

Lionel Chang.

Kit Walsh.

Veronica Sfogato.

Priya Umiak.

Earl Franklin.

And on.

And on…

And on…

And on…

And… on…

Now, Mariella was a goddess. She’d been born when the universe had been born, delegating what was Beautiful and what wasn’t from the get-go. In other words, She’d been around a long time—and had spent the past few millennia dealing with mortals.

So why did this, a “trial” that hardly lasted a few hours, feel longer than the rest of Her eternal existence combined?

And… what exactly was She apologizing for, again? Her job was to maintain Beauty Itself, not to cater to the mistakes mortals made because of Her.

Finally, the last witness took the stand. Mariella nearly exploded, reached into his mind, and told his story for him, but she relented when she realized he wasn’t a him at all. No: he was a Him.

Iloren. God of Mercy.

All gods could read all mortals’ minds, but They were barred from accessing each other’s. Some, like Karoushenta, Goddess of Mischief, had attempted to delve into Their fellow deities’ heads, only to be stripped of Their godhood and forced to live mortal lives. So if Mariella hadn’t caught Herself in time…

She shuddered to think of it. As much as She loved playing with mortals, She’d never even dreamed of living as one. Not that gods dreamed (or slept, for that matter), but figure of speech.

With godly power, Iloren sized the stand up to fit his proportions, making sure not to harm the judge. Then, dignified as ever, He sat.

And strapped on a blindfold. Stark white.

Straight as an arrow, Iloren didn’t believe in performance (an essential element of certain kinds of Beauty). If He strapped a blindfold on, then He had truly blinded Himself.

“W-What brings you to this circus, Il?” She asked, hating that She involuntarily stuttered as the judge had. Beauty was absolute; It didn’t stutter. “I figured if anyone else was going to show up, it might be Calsha.”

“The Goddess of Justice is otherwise occupied,” He said. Then, turning to the mortals: “I am Iloren.” And then, uncompelled by Her as the mortals were: “My Mariella is as She always was, and always will be.” That He didn’t elaborate disturbed Her greatly.

The courtroom, however, woke as if roused from slumber.

“I do not seek an apology from You on My Own behalf, Sister,” He continued, silencing the din with the unrivaled power of His voice. “Nor do I seek an apology on behalf of the people here.” Iloren categorically refused to refer to mortals as “mortals,” choosing “people” instead. The philosophy behind His choice hadn’t gained much traction in the wider pantheon, but then, Iloren’s convictions always mattered to Him more than anything or anyone.

“Then why show Yourself?” Mariella asked. “Why bother coming at all?”

“I was called.”

The woman who cried for His Mercy earlier stood, faced Him as if She wore no blindfold (hers, like His, was stark white), and genuflected. Compared to how everyone had reacted to Her earlier…

Iloren nodded back. Mariella had no doubt He had well and truly blindfolded Himself, but a god was still a god. “Do You not come when summoned?” He asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I? These mortals wanted an apology for… something, so here I am.”

“And have You yet apologized?”

Mariella shifted in Her seat, as uncomfortable as everyone else had been when She walked in.

“I thought not. It’s not like You to give way so easily, Sister.” He smiled. “I’ve always respected that about You.”

Despite Herself, She smiled back.

“What will it take for You to apologize?” He asked.

Mariella faced the pews. “Understanding. You all have your own problems with Me, and all want different apologies. But… I still don’t quite understand why I’m apologizing over your collective lack of self-control.”

To Her surprise, it was Gunther, the gun-happy, nurse-loving veteran, who stood, wobbling as he did but receiving support from nearby mortals. “Self-control, pah! What You did when You walked in here… that was all You. It’s always been You. Sure, we view You like we view You, but You enjoy that. Revel in it. Amplify it until we squirm.”

Mariella… had nothing to say to that. But She said something anyway. “I don’t believe a goddess should ever owe a mortal an apology, but I promise, My intention was never to ruin your lives.”

Gunther snickered. “Ever hear the one about what the road to hell is paved with?”

“Considering one of My brothers runs the place, yes.”

At that, Gunther sat—likely from age as anything.

Mariella turned to Iloren, but the stand stood empty. As usual, He negotiated what He could and left the rest to everyone else. Typical.

But… He had helped Her open a dialogue with these mortals. An honest dialogue that might actually lead somewhere. No games. No pheromones. No manufactured visions.

Sighing, She stood, removed everyone’s blindfolds with a snap, and let them see the real Her.