Past the death of Batimos, the god of rot, Athenia's prison had turned into an office of sorts. Her clones had separated in the arbiters of life and death, one winged an angelic white and the other dark as a demon. What they held in common, however, was their likeness to the goddess herself–turning the prison itself into a curious circus when watched from a throne lifted up above.
"Marking people for death, bringing about life in the world…" Heaving a sigh, Athenia placed her pink wine glass on her armrest. "Who would've thought that once I've started the records, it will all fall on me to record the coming of life and the passage of the dead."
