Waves lap against the shore; but a single step in the unimaginably vast process of erosion. As the tide recedes, it will drag fragments of sand and silt out with it.

The beach will never again be exactly as it is, here and now.

Watch the sunset. You've only got so many chances to.

Matilda Sharpe — A character study

A less serious piece I wrote in my Empty Spaces setting to deepen my understanding of a character in my next story.

bsky.app/profile/inno...

Eurydice shut the door behind the Minister of her own accord. She walked over, placing a porcelain hand on Matilda's shoulder.

Out of the corner of Sharpe's eye, she glimpsed an old woman in the mirror.

The Minister continued. "It's tomorrow. You'll be fine, just some talking points about the Embers. There's a cohort of Athenas assigned to suppress any... incendiary remarks from the crowd. We don't want a repeat of the Trafalgar incident."

"Fine. Fine. I'll do it. Now get out."

"That's not my job."

"I'm being asked to do a larger ceremony. It's from above, sorry. Surely someone of your ... venerable experience can handle a speech?"

Minister Sharpe preferred the old Minister for Public Relations. She was more agreeable, quietly competent. This one had too much to prove.

"Well, Minister Sharpe, I do not have my fingers in quite as many pies as you. But every crackdown from the Ministry of Peace just worsens sentiment. My work is effective, but it can only do so much. In fact, I'd wanted to talk to you about that. I need you to cover a speech."

Sharpe scowled.

"Minister. Whilst I don't doubt your schedule is full already, I've been going through the reports," Sharpe gestured to the papers on her desk. "and public sympathy for the Embers is up. Explain."

The Minister for Public Relations smiled with the kind of sincere insincerity that her job demanded.

"A2V. Door."

Wordlessly it turned and left, closing the door behind it. The Minister turned her gaze to Eurydice.

Eurydice did not move. The Minister turned her gaze to Sharpe. Sharpe did not tell Eurydice to move.

After allowing the Minister to stew in discomfort for a few moments, Sharpe spoke.

She was young and beautiful, oozing with confidence and charm. Sharpe loathed her. She certainly didn't seem stupid, so Sharpe surmised the Minister knew she loathed her.

The Minister for Public Relations turned to address the two-metre tall combat doll that had followed her into the office.

Some time later, Eurydice returned, teapot in hand. Behind her trailed the Minister for Public Relations. Matilda had forgotten her name. It seemed every five years there was a new pretty face filling the role. Whatever this particular blonde in boots preferred to be called wasn't worth retaining.

"Of course, Matilda. You're due to see the Minister for Public Relations. I'm dreadfully sorry about that. If you'd like, I could cause a commotion and have the meeting called off?"

For the first time all day, a smile crossed Sharpe's features.

"That won't be necessary, Eurydice."

The doll left.

"Eurydice," Sharpe's fingers formed intricate patterns as she signed the words out to her clockwork companion. "Could you please fetch my morning tea, and bring in my next appointment? Thank you."

The doll's head turned slightly, blank face tilted towards Sharpe, and porcelain hands signed back,

Matilda Sharpe thought they were tasteless. Tacky. Gauche. Unfit to serve within the confines of her office, even if they were accepted everywhere else. So she'd stick with her Eurydice, thank you very much.

At least, that's what she'd said publicly. The truth was a different matter.

They'd been trying to make her get rid of it for years now. Since the Hegemony opened government contracts with DemiUrge, Ministers were encouraged to use one of the corporation's latest models. Such dolls were sleek and modern, made of steel, carbon-fibre, and synthskin. They could even speak.

Nevertheless, the dull ache in the balls of her feet was hard to ignore. Sharpe slumped into her chair, easing the burden from her legs.

Her gaze flicked to the serving-doll stood stock-still by the window. A masterpiece of porcelain and clockwork, it was a relic of a bygone era.

She'd had the knee-length leather heels since she'd first joined the Hegemony. They'd been worn day-in, day-out, and lovingly maintained. The thought of trying to purchase a new pair made Sharpe cringe. They just don't make them like they used to, she thought.

Sharpe's hazel eyes drilled into her own reflection, running over every single wrinkle on her face, from her laugh lines to her crow's feet, as though checking that no new ones had materialised since yesterday.

When she had concluded her inspection, she took a step back to admire her boots.

Her trousers were crisply ironed without a crease to be seen. Her military dress tunic — standard attire for government officials in the United Hegemony — sagged beneath the weight of her accolades. Not a single close-cropped silver hair was out of place. But evidently something wasn't satisfactory.

As she stalked past her desk for the twentieth time, a glint of light caught her eyes amidst the debris. Sharpe took a few moments to organise the clutter. It didn't take long to realise that the mirror on her desk had been causing the gleam.

Minister Sharpe took a moment to assess her appearance.

Her temple pounded. Military dossiers, corporate communications, economic reports, unsubstantiated rumours regarding the domestic terrorists calling themselves "The Embers"; together they sprawled across her ornate oak desk. Dozens of disparate threads — and it was her job to pick them apart.

The United Hegemony's Minister for Co-ordination, Matilda Sharpe, paced her office.

Clack, clack, clack, clack.

The heels of her boots against the wooden floorboards made for an excellent metronome. It sharpened her focus. She'd had the Persian rug that once lay here removed for this very reason.

Apotheosis, a thread.

Here I stand, Mira. The powers and confidence of a Goddess, and the humanity and compassion of a mortal. Perhaps You thought You could loosen My convictions with a taste of Your power. If so, You thought wrong.

My folly is clear. Never send a Paladin to do a Martyr's job.

You.

Are.

Gods.

Each and every one of you. Hold your heads high; they shall not break you. The storm shrieks, the wind whips overhead, and the wolves are at the door. But they cannot enter this chapel. If you are not ready to be divine yourself, shelter here for a while. It is safe.

I do not know fully what I am. I do not know if there are any others. I get misconstrued often. By You, even. I do not care. There is no label for what I am? Then there shall be one once I am finished. To the oppressed, to the victimised, the abused, the downtrodden masses, I say this:

I did so out of a desire to deepen My self-understanding. And nothing changed. I am not the monster Your kind claim is inevitable from such power. I have been given confidence in that strength that was always within Me. I have held the soul of a girl in the palm of My hand and decided I wasn't fond.

And they invariably fell under Your dominion.

But now, with ambrosia staining My lips, I see My folly. I have gained divinity, and I have retained humanity. My heart bleeds for each and every one of my sisters in suffering. I reached for the Apple not out of desire to rule others.

I have sought a champion to strike You and Your ilk down for too long. One with the resolve to drive a stake through Your blackened heart, and end Your reign of violation. They all fail. I know why, now — They wanted it too much. Selfish motivations guided each sword swing. They desired Your empire.

And yet I remain. I have partaken of the Apple. I have been changed for it, I admit so freely. I am not the Innocxnce that I once was.

And yet... I am not You, either. Surely that is apparent? All this corruptive effort, all this scheming on the parts of so many around Me, and... I am the result.

"I did not place the Apple", says the Snake. "God put it there, and it is Yours to take freely. It is for You. You need only reach out and seize it."

Encouragement can be more ruinous than any direct assault. I am experienced with Your kind, being of corruption. I recognise what it is that You do.