MONACHOPSIS

Chapter 3: A Divine Disruption

     There was a time when Bacchus awoke buzzing with excitement, having witnessed Minerva and Jupiter bathed in glory. All he had ever desired was a trace of that adulation, a morsel of gratitude, a token of praise. But over the centuries, that yearning had transformed into an insatiable hunger, a competitive sport. Humans were right about one thing—the Gods here were selfish, willing to do anything for a drop of praise from a mortal's lips

      He longed for the days when mortals had revered him without reservation again when they had danced and sung in his honor with boundless fervor. Now, their devotion was divided, scattered among a pantheon of gods who vied for their attention.

      Humans remained blissfully unaware that this realm was a dimension layered atop theirs. The universe refrained from performing miracles in their everyday lives, respecting its own boundaries. The Gods here were born with a gift, one that the universe itself had kissed upon their heads. It was a gift of connection, an understanding that the divine and mortal realms shared a symbiotic dance. They were the custodians of ancient wisdom, threading fate and destiny through the loom of human existence. Their timeless sense of fashion reflected an appreciation for the eras they had witnessed, each outfit woven with threads of history and myth.

       Yet, it was not a universe that wielded its magic for mere parlor tricks. The Gods here served in the hope of earning praise from humble mortals, a cycle that bound them in reciprocal existence. Bacchus, however, stood apart. His soul yearned for a deeper resonance, a connection that transcended the superficial trappings of adulation. He embodied a spirit that echoed with the rhythms of tradition, a heartbeat that reverberated through the ages.

       Amidst the cosmic dance, Bacchus found himself enraptured by the universe's ineffable mysteries. He marveled at the delicate ballet between creation and dissolution, the pulsing cadence of galaxies, and the whispered secrets of constellations long forgotten. Yet, simmering beneath this awe was a quiet tempest of frustration. It stemmed from the reduction of the divine to a singular, all-encompassing entity. When had the pantheon of unique beings, each with their quirks and nuances, given way to the monolithic 'God'? The question lingered, an echo of a time when diversity and complexity were celebrated, not simplified.

       Lucile, with her characteristic trot, entered, her uneasy expression a rare sight. Bacchus despised discomfort and urged her to speak her mind and depart.

      "Hey B, I may or may not have good news," Lucile began, peeking at him from beneath her lashes, something hidden behind her back. She was a nymph with a streak of mischief, a glint in her eyes that often forewarned Bacchus of impending chaos.

      Bacchus' nerves tingled, but he tried to reassure himself that it was likely nothing major; Nymphs were known for their drama. He leaned forward, an eagerness rising in him as he sought to uncover Lucile's little secret.

      "Alright, let it out," Bacchus said, his curiosity piqued as he tried to catch a glimpse of what Lucile held.

      "You've got mail!" Lucile exclaimed, causing Bacchus to rise slightly from his seat. Perhaps today would deviate from the routine.

      Lucile held out her long, elegant fingers, halting Bacchus from fully rising. "Don't ask, I have no clue who left them on my desk" she said dismissively, her tone carrying the air of a mother anticipating his questions. The thick bundle of letters made its way to the corner of his desk, and Bacchus couldn't help but feel a subtle energy emanating from it, like a whisper of forgotten voices.

      "Holy hell, alright, I guess. Thank you, just leave it on my desk," Bacchus said to his impish assistant, unfazed by her sly excitement. In this business, mail was mail, and every prayer had to be answered. Except, these may have expired, which happened quite often.

      Lucile shot him a mischievous grin, her eyes dancing with mischief. "You never know, B. These might just be the prayers you've been waiting for. Or maybe, someone's finally gotten wise to your stash of ambrosia."

     Bacchus, though not one for easy banter, managed a small, polite nod. He didn't share Lucile's enthusiasm or her inclination for playful teasing. His focus remained on the task at hand, the weight of his own bitterness hanging in the air.

     Walking around his mahogany desk, designed for one, Bacchus picked up the envelopes piled atop it. There seemed to be a considerable number of prayers, "This can't be" Bacchuss thought to himself as he picked up the stack. Nervously, he began examining the dates on the letters. "Logos, what a mess," Bacchus muttered quietly to himself, realizing that these letters had been left unanswered for eons.