Utu descended to find Ereshkigal sprawled across the gnarled roots of the tree. Pallor had drained her skin, and the red upon her hands and mouth could only mean one thing. The fruit was near poison to mortals—though she was only half. She would survive. The Underworld would still have its queen, regardless of whether or not she took its crown.
He sat down, set his gift of oils alongside her, and gave her a few strong pats on the back. It was strange, having a sister. Granted, he did have his twin Inanna, but with her ferocity and cunning and political scheming, he felt less like a brother than a hesitant rival.
Ereshkigal was something different. Soft in a world without softness. Firm on principle in a selfish world.
A gasp and shuddering cough broke the silence.
“Good morning, Lady.”
