The Divergence

Lavinia exhaled slowly.

The girl stood opposite her without moving, pale gray eyes fixed on Lavinia’s own empty red ones. 

The longer Lavinia looked at her, the harder it became to decide exactly what she was looking at.

A girl, certainly. Or at least the suggestion of one.

Her shape was feminine, slight and almost delicate, but there was nothing beneath that shape Lavinia could meaningfully identify as flesh. 

Darkness suggested a face, a neck, shoulders, arms and legs. 

Something resembling long hair framed her head, yet Lavinia couldn’t distinguish individual strands unless the girl moved and allowed the shape to behave like hair.

She seemed less like a person made from darkness and more like darkness had decided to resemble a person.

And, absurdly, the first coherent thought that surfaced in Lavinia’s mind was that she was kind of cute.

The girl’s head tilted slightly.

Lavinia immediately wondered if she’d somehow heard that.

”My compensation isn’t limited,” the girl whispered. Her voice remained so soft Lavinia should have needed to strain to hear it, yet every word reached her perfectly. ”So long as you ask for it, I will grant it.”

Lavinia glanced around the ballroom.

Nothing had moved.

Rosaline remained frozen in her pose. The vampire painting her hadn’t lowered her brush. Evelyn’s fingers rested motionless against the page of her book. 

Gwendolyn remained wrapped around her mother. Valerie stood only a short distance away, caught between one movement and the next.

Even the world outside the windows seemed unnaturally still.

Lavinia had met powerful things.

She knew what it felt like to stand near a werewolf capable of ripping a human apart. She had fought Diverged animals. 

She’d watched the hundred-foot Behemoth tear its way into Oakridge. 

Earlier tonight, she’d stood before the Witch of Thorns and known instinctively that the smiling woman was enormously dangerous.

The thing before her produced none of those feelings.

There was no sense that Lavinia might win if she were stronger.

If she became a hundred times stronger, it wouldn’t matter.

A million times stronger wouldn’t matter.

The girl seemed simultaneously present and ethereal, like something Lavinia was only capable of seeing because it had decided to be visible. 

Those large pale-gray eyes appeared almost as empty as Lavinia’s own, yet there was something fundamentally different about them.

”Who are you?” Lavinia asked uncertainly.

The girl tilted her head left.

Then right.

”I have been called many things.”

”Such as?”

”The Thing Before Creation.”

Lavinia stared.

”The Timeless One.”

The whisper seemed to fill the ballroom despite never growing louder.

”The Thing in the Darkness.”

Each title somehow felt larger than the last, carrying implications Lavinia didn’t know how to meaningfully process. 

The girl watched her for another moment before the faintest smile touched her otherwise featureless expression.

”If you prefer,” she whispered, ”you may call me God. I am the closest thing to the idea.”

Lavinia’s lips parted.

God.

Of course.

Why wouldn’t God look like a cute girl-shaped patch of absolute darkness?

Her mind immediately wandered toward the countless humans who had spent thousands of years arguing about religion, writing scripture, fighting over faith and imagining what their creator might look like. 

If they discovered God looked like this, half of them would probably rage themselves unconscious.

Lavinia tilted her head.

Actually, it might make quite a few more people religious.

The thought almost made her laugh, but another question crushed the amusement before it could fully emerge.

”Then why did the Divergences happen?”

The Thing in the Darkness regarded her silently.

Lavinia gestured vaguely toward the frozen room and everything beyond it. ”If you’re God—or close enough—why do something that seems to have done nothing but make things worse for humanity?”

The pale eyes shifted toward the vampires.

”I am not infinitely good.”

The answer came without defensiveness.

”Nor am I malevolent. Those are human ideas.”

Her gaze settled briefly upon Gwendolyn and Sophia.

”The vampires aren’t cruel or malevolent simply because humans call them those things. They are vampires.”

Then those gray eyes returned to Lavinia.

”I simply am.”

Lavinia blinked several times.

She wanted to object.

Nothing came immediately.

A human killing another human without cause was monstrous. 

Humans naturally carried that judgment over when looking at vampires, werewolves and everything else that had appeared.

And yet those creatures weren’t human anymore.

They had begun there. Every vampire Lavinia knew had once been human. Some retained much of their old morality, especially early on.

But five years of strife had worn that down.

The vampires in this room could laugh, love, paint, read, tease one another and cling together with extraordinary affection while accepting the enslavement of millions of humans as perfectly ordinary.

The Thing looked around the ballroom again.

”I like vampires.”

Lavinia raised an eyebrow.

”You’re connected,” the Thing continued softly. ”Close. You seek one another. You don’t enjoy fighting among yourselves. Humans are different.”

”That’s why you made us?”

”A world containing only humans became boring.” The Thing’s shoulders moved in the faintest shrug. ”So I added more.”

Lavinia stared at her.

”And then?”

”I continued.”

”Because you were bored?”

”Interested.”

That distinction apparently mattered to her.

Lavinia stepped closer.

”Why just watch?”

The Thing’s gray eyes followed her.

”If you can do anything, why make all of this and then stand aside?”

”Reading a story is a different experience from authoring one.”

Lavinia stopped.

”If I decide everything that happens, I already know the story.” The Thing’s whisper remained gentle. ”I wanted to watch. I wanted to wonder what would happen next. I wanted to be surprised.”

There was no deceit Lavinia could perceive in those flawless gray eyes.

Even if there had been, what exactly was she going to do about it?

Catch God in a lie?

”Then why give me a wish?” Lavinia asked. ”You said putting me here was negligence. You could send me back. You could make it so I never skipped these years at all. Why give me anything?”

The girl took one step.

There had been perhaps five feet between them.

There wasn’t anymore.

Lavinia hadn’t seen her cross it.

The Thing simply stood directly before her, close enough that Lavinia had to angle her gaze slightly upward to meet those pale eyes.

”Because I want to see what you’ll do.”

Lavinia’s eyes narrowed.

Then widened again.

”Did you put me here intentionally?”

”I didn’t intervene.”

”That’s not an answer.”

”It is.”

”You’re basically God.” Lavinia gestured sharply. ”How do I accidentally jump five years into the future if you can control everything?”

The Thing raised one slender finger.

”It was an accident.”

Lavinia stared flatly at her.

The faint smile returned.

”An interesting one.”

Lavinia decided not to push further.

She doubted she’d get anything more useful. More importantly, beneath all the questions sat something she didn’t particularly like.

Why her?

She had never wanted to be special.

When she’d awakened after the First Divergence and discovered what she’d become, there had actually been relief in learning she wasn’t unique. 

There were other vampires. Millions of them. She was merely one among an entire new species.

Then vampires began crossing impossible distances to find her.

Now she was apparently a Princess with eighty thousand vampires in her territory.

And God herself was standing in front of her, curious about what she’d do.

”I enjoy watching things happen,” the Thing whispered.

Lavinia’s attention snapped back to her.

”And you don’t need to spend your wish retaining these memories.”

Lavinia stared.

That had been the question forming in her mind.

She crossed her arms.

”So you can read minds.”

The Thing’s expression didn’t change.

Lavinia sighed. ”Fine. Let’s see how serious ’anything’ is. What if I wished the sun would never rise again?”

”I would grant it.”

”Or that sunlight couldn’t hurt vampires?”

”Yes.”

”What if I wished the Divergences had never happened?”

”Yes.”

The answer came so quickly that Lavinia fell silent.

For a moment, she seriously considered it.

No First Divergence.

No vampires.

No werewolves.

No Second Divergence.

Earth remained comprehensible. Humanity continued living in a world it understood. 

The supernatural species wouldn’t exist, and humans wouldn’t suddenly find themselves sharing their planet with creatures they were woefully unprepared to confront.

But Lavinia wasn’t human.

Not anymore.

She could wish the sun away instead. She could remove the one thing capable of killing vampires and make her species truly immortal.

Yet that didn’t feel right either.

The world wasn’t divided neatly between humans being good and supernatural creatures being evil, or the reverse. 

Humans could be wonderful. Humans could be horrifying. Vampires could show extraordinary affection toward one another while treating humans like livestock.

”Could you make the world peaceful?” Lavinia asked. ”Completely peaceful. Remove conflict.”

The Thing nodded.

”Yes. But I would have to change everyone a little.”

Lavinia’s expression tightened.

”It would be boring,” the Thing added. ”Is that your wish?”

Lavinia imagined it.

No wars.

No murders.

No species fighting over territory.

No vampires preying upon unwilling humans.

No humans hunting vampires.

No Witches carving people apart for rituals.

No one hurting anyone.

It sounded wonderful.

Then she imagined Valerie incapable of fighting because something had removed that part of her. Gwendolyn unable to become angry. 

Humans unable to resist when someone tried to control them because resistance itself could lead to conflict.

Would they still be themselves?

Or would everyone simply be puppets incapable of pulling against their strings?

Lavinia shook her head.

”No.”

The Thing said nothing.

Lavinia reached up and idly twirled a lock of golden hair around one finger.

”I’m not nearly as good as I thought I was.”

The Thing tilted her head.

”I could fix everything,” Lavinia continued. ”Or at least what I’d call fixing everything. And I don’t want to.”

A faint smile appeared.

”I stopped wanting to know the future,” the Thing whispered. ”So I stopped knowing it.”

Lavinia looked at her sharply.

”I want to see what happens. I want to know what you choose.”

”So you’re omniscient, but you turned it off?”

”If I wanted to know, I would.”

Lavinia stared at the small girl-shaped absence before her.

”Are you sure you’re not just a kid with too much power doing whatever she wants on a whim?”

Reality changed.

There was no flash.

No sensation of movement.

The ballroom simply wasn’t there anymore.

Lavinia stood in space.

Her eyes widened.

Stars surrounded her in every direction. There was no floor beneath her feet, no atmosphere, no castle, no Earth anywhere she could immediately see. 

Galaxies stretched across a black expanse so vast that Lavinia’s mind recoiled from trying to comprehend it.

She inhaled sharply.

Air entered her lungs.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

Beside her, the Thing in the Darkness floated effortlessly, pale eyes reflecting nothing.

”Vampires have forever.”

Her whisper reached Lavinia perfectly through a vacuum that should have carried no sound.

”Someday, Lavinia, you may become carefree too. Whimsical. There will always be more to experience. More to see.”

Lavinia stared into infinity.

Then at her.

Then infinity again.

”I know what I’ll wish for.”

A genuine smile appeared on the Thing’s face.

It transformed her expression so completely that Lavinia once again had the ridiculous thought that she was cute.

”I could wish to control the world,” Lavinia said. ”I could make myself the ruler of everything.”

”You could.”

”I don’t want that responsibility.”

The Thing waited.

Lavinia smiled.

”So I wish for three more wishes.”

Silence.

Lavinia’s smile widened.

”Problem?”

The Thing’s smile became faintly amused.

”No.”

Lavinia blinked.

”It is a valid wish,” the Thing whispered. ”Granted.”

Lavinia’s shoulders relaxed.

”That actually worked.”

”You asked.”

”Right.”

She looked back toward the endless universe.

”My first wish is that the power keeps working.”

The Thing extended one hand.

Something cool touched Lavinia’s cheek.

Not fingers.

Not quite.

Just the sensation of contact where there shouldn’t have been any.

”If the power doesn’t vanish,” the Thing whispered, ”humans won’t be as passive as they are in the future you saw.”

Lavinia’s smile disappeared.

”Do you want to help humans?”

The Thing’s pale eyes remained fixed on hers.

”Consider the vampires.”

Lavinia went still.

”Those who died. Those who will die.”

The cool touch remained against her cheek.

”Perhaps five years from now Valerie will be gone.”

Lavinia’s eyes narrowed.

”Perhaps Gwendolyn.”

Her hand moved.

Lavinia’s fingers closed around the Thing’s thin neck.

There was no resistance.

The girl remained exactly where she was, pale eyes staring calmly into Lavinia’s red ones while Lavinia’s fingers tightened.

”Don’t.”

”Being good to others while hurting yourself is the height of foolishness.”

Lavinia squeezed harder.

Her palm split open.

Pain flashed through her hand.

Before Lavinia could react, the wound was gone.

No blood escaped. There wasn’t even enough time for a drop to form. Skin had separated and restored itself in what seemed like the same instant.

And Lavinia was no longer holding anything.

The Thing stood several feet away.

Lavinia hadn’t felt her leave.

”I don’t particularly care what happens,” she whispered. ”So long as I remain interested. But a story about humans simply crushing every new supernatural species would be boring.”

Lavinia opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

She wanted to say she’d save as many people as possible.

But could she trust humanity with overwhelming strength?

The future she’d just seen had been horrible. Vampires had enslaved millions. 

Witches used humans as resources. Other species killed them, hunted them or drove them from territory.

Yet even from the weaker position, humans had fought back. 

They had killed a Royal Elf and apparently earned the hatred of an entire species. They had tried to destroy vampires and other supernatural beings.

Humans could be infinitely cruel to other humans.

Why would Lavinia assume they’d be gentler toward something that wasn’t human at all?

”Can I save two wishes for later?”

”Yes.”

Lavinia nodded slowly.

”And you’re ready to make the first?”

”Not yet.”

The Thing waited.

”I want to know something first. What I saw here—is this the future? Or just a possible future?”

”Neither.”

Lavinia frowned.

”Or both.”

”That’s helpful.”

”The future changes. When I return you to your own time, what comes afterward will already be different. There is no immutable future. There is no fate.”

Lavinia looked into those gray eyes.

”Are humans and supernatural species always going to fight? Does it always become us or them?”

The Thing extended an open palm.

”Would you like to use one of your wishes for the answer?”

Lavinia hesitated.

Then nodded.

”Yes.”

The Thing’s fingers opened slightly.

”Humans are naturally volatile. Aggressive. Every supernatural species you’ve encountered emerged from humanity.”

Her head tilted.

”What do you think happens when one world suddenly contains several peoples who are like humans, unlike humans, and all wish to live upon the same land?”

Lavinia exhaled.

”So peace really is impossible unless you take away everyone’s freedom?”

”I didn’t say that.”

Lavinia looked at her.

”A boring story ends.”

The Thing lowered her hand.

”Humans wouldn’t enjoy a perfect world. Vampires wouldn’t. Neither would the others. Neither would I.”

Her pale eyes wandered across the stars.

”Each species was drawn from ideas humanity already possessed and given form. Humanity itself strives, expands, competes and conquers.”

”Did you cause the Divergences because humans were going to do something? Were you trying to stop something in the future?”

”The future isn’t written.”

The Thing looked back at her.

”It changes constantly.”

Lavinia nodded slowly.

One wish spent for an answer.

Two remained.

”What will you use the others for?” the Thing asked. ”You could remove one supernatural species. Or every supernatural species except vampires. Either would require only one wish.”

Lavinia laughed lightly.

”No.”

”Why?”

”Because vampires can dominate humans this much precisely because we aren’t the only thing humans have to worry about.”

The Thing listened.

”If vampires were alone, humanity could focus entirely on us. Maybe humans could deal with us if they truly wanted to. They’d have all their attention, all their weapons, all their research pointed at one species.”

Lavinia thought of the treaties she’d heard mentioned casually throughout the future.

”Witches and vampires are allies because humans resist both. Other species have their own agreements. That tells me enough.”

”What do you want, then?”

Lavinia looked into the endless black surrounding them.

”I wish the sun was almost entirely obscured in the Diverged Lands.”

The Thing regarded her.

”Why not remove your weakness directly?”

”Because you made vampires with one way to kill us.”

Lavinia looked back at her.

”The sun.”

”Yes.”

”If I wish it away completely, or make vampires immune to it, eventually you might decide we’re boring.”

The Thing’s expression remained still.

”And then you’ll change something.”

Lavinia gestured toward her.

”You’re the one who just told me you keep adding things when you’re interested. If I make vampires completely immortal, maybe someday you decide that’s too much and compensate by making us weak to five other things.”

For several seconds, the Thing said nothing.

Then she smiled.

Fully.

Her pale gray eyes seemed almost to brighten within the darkness of her face.

”I promised to grant any wish.”

Lavinia waited.

”I didn’t say I would allow every alteration you make to remain unchanged forever.”

Lavinia’s eyes narrowed.

”I knew it.”

The Thing’s smile remained.

”But this one...”

She glanced into the distance, as though the Earth were visible somewhere among those impossible stars.

”I like it.”

Lavinia relaxed slightly.

”The sun will be almost entirely obscured throughout the Diverged Lands. The things growing there will continue to grow regardless of the reduced sunlight.”

”That’s extra.”

”A gift.”

”Why?”

”It remains interesting.”

The Thing looked back at her.

”I won’t change that condition later.”

Lavinia let out a long sigh.

There it was.

The limitation hadn’t been power.

It had never been power.

The girl in front of her wasn’t emotionless. She had preferences. Curiosity. Amusement. Things she liked and things she found boring.

Lavinia could wish to become infinitely powerful.

Perhaps the Thing would grant it.

And perhaps one day she would find an infinitely powerful Lavinia boring.

Then what?

Lavinia was still a person.

The Thing was the one who decided what reality meant.

Trying to outwit that distinction was pointless.

Asking for too much could eventually leave Lavinia with less than she’d started with.

”Thoughtful,” the Thing whispered.

Lavinia looked at her.

”That’s good.”

The stars began to disappear.

No.

They didn’t disappear.

They simply ceased being where Lavinia was.

”It’s why you always interest me.”

Lavinia frowned.

”Always?”

The Thing’s smile softened.

”In every single story.”

Lavinia’s eyes widened.

The universe was gone.

Sound crashed back around her.

Applause.

Human voices.

Movement.

Warm lights.

Lavinia sat in a chair.

For several seconds, she didn’t move.

George was speaking from the stage.

”...and what we witnessed during the defense of Oakridge wasn’t merely courage from soldiers,” he said, his amplified voice carrying across the gathering. 

”It was courage from everyone who stood when running would have been easier. Soldiers, police, medical personnel, civilians, werewolves, vampires—people who decided this city was worth defending.”

Applause rose again.

Lavinia stared at him.

Her hands rested neatly in her lap.

She slowly looked to her side.

Valerie was there.

Gwendolyn.

The others.

Exactly where they were supposed to be.

No castle.

No pens.

No Witch of Thorns.

No eighty thousand vampires.

No Golden Princess.

Lavinia’s empty red eyes shifted toward the lights overhead.

They shone steadily.

For everyone else, perhaps nothing had happened at all.

Lavinia lifted one hand and touched her palm.

Unbroken skin.

Her gaze remained there for several seconds.

Then, almost inaudibly beneath the applause, she murmured,

”Every single story?”