The fire crackled as Sam passed his hand through the flame. There was heat, and there was pain, but there was no damage from it. Max had thought it a great idea when this office was made to put an enchantment on it that would prevent damage.

He remembered Max’s words, “I wouldn’t want someone we pulled through to throw a fit and hurt whoever was working as greeter.”

It was silly thinking about it; no one they pulled through would be able to hurt anyone. However, they could always hurt the person pulled through. Max had put the enchantments on to keep the souls we brought through the gateway from being damaged by the greeter or perhaps other gods who wanted to mess with the expense.

However, that same kindness that had been done for the thousands of souls brought through was keeping him stuck here. If he could have killed himself, he would have after the first 10 or so years. Yeah, the books that he got helped some, but he didn’t know how to read most of them.

Stuck in this blasted stuffy office for almost a thousand years was enough to make anyone want to kill themselves. The first twenty or so were the hardest as no one came at all. Most of his friends were killed in the war, and their gods were exiled. It was a hard time for everyone. There may be a few of his friends still kicking around out there, but unless they found a new source of power, their lives would all have ended.

As Sam was sinking further into his dark memories, there was a knocking at the door. Not the gate as that wasn’t active, but the one that led to the rest of the realm. Unfortunately, there was only a handful who would come visit him these days, and all but Bartholomew were there to cause him problems.

Sam yelled from his stuffed chair by the fire. “Who is it?”

The door opened, and a sweet voice floated in. “Sam dear, it’s me, Stephine.”

Sam sighed and got up. It wasn’t that Stephine wasn’t a kind person; it was just her domain made her hard to deal with. He was one of the few champions that could, and that was because he had almost risen to the level of god before the war.

He walked over to the door and finished opening it with a bow, “What can I do today for the goddess of poetry and unrequited love?”

The blond goddess sashayed through the door. She had her left hand up in front of her, slightly drooping, and her right hand was on her hip. As she walked in, the heels of her shoes clicked even through the fur coverings on the floor.

She smiled with a bright practiced smile, then, in her oh so sweet voice, said, “Sam darling, why don’t you offer your guest a drink?”

Sam rolled his eyes and closed the door behind her. This was a game they played and had played for as long as he had known her. First, she would come into a room, no matter who was there, and would make a dramatic entrance. Then if he was there, she would turn to him and treat him like the host. It was slightly funny the first dozen times or so and turned ironic now that he was a prisoner.

“Stephine what can I get for you?”

Stephine smiled and spun around and gently sat down on the edge of his desk. She leaned back and posed as if he was going to paint her. It never ceased to amaze him that with how flirtatious she was that she ended up picking the domain of unrequited love. The poetry made sense, but unrequited love… not so much.

“Oh you know, something special for your favorite goddess!” She said as she spun off the desk and started to walk around scanning the books.

Sam walked over to the liquor cabinet; it had been a gift. He didn’t know who it was from; he had a guess but not enough to even think of because it would be too much to hope for. The cabinet came through the gate of seasons about thirty years after he was imprisoned here. It was one of the many gifts that showed up that way.

“Here you go, Stephine, a clear for you, nice and smooth.” He said as he passed her a drink of the worst stuff he had. She grated on him with her freedom to move and act. She had stayed out of most of the fighting but had been one of Max’s friends. The only reason that she wasn’t exiled like most of the old pantheon was that she didn’t do anything.

Stephine took the glass and tossed it back, and winced. Then she coughed, “Wow, Sam, your drinks have really gone downhill if that is smooth.”

“Cut it out, why are you here?” He asked as he moved towards his bookshelves where she was.

Stephine picked up a snow globe and shook it up before setting it down. He could tell that she was agitated with how she was looking around. “You know, I just came to see an old flame and thought that he would be happy to see me.”

Sam laughed a kind of dry laugh. Then looked at the shelves where Stephine was standing. Most everything on the shelves had been sent through the gate of seasons to him after he was in prison. Sam walked over to the one thing that wasn’t sent to him. The one thing he had clung to when he was captured.

He picked up the snow globe that Stephine had just sat down and shook it. Max had started to make these dumb things about a thousand years before the fall. He said that “I made them to help you escape the pressures of the world around you.” As always, or almost always, Max was right about this. Whenever he looked at the idyllic scene in the till globe, he was able to, just for a moment, remember the good times.

Times when he could go see his friends and travel the world. He remembered this place too that was in the globe. It was one of his favorite places to be, the heart of the Grand Market. It was where he met his first wife, and then a hundred years after she died, he met his second wife. It was where he talked with his friends and went to relax after a difficult mission.

Max had given him the globe after the death of his eldest granddaughter. He told him, “I know how hard it is to see those you love die. But, cling to the memories of the good times because the ones of the bad will change you.” It was a few weeks later that he ascended to the level of demigod. He did what few would do at that point and stayed Max’s champion.

Sam pulled himself out of his memories and looked at Stephine, “I guess we could have been old flames if you weren’t always chasing someone else. Or if I wasn’t married the times that you chose to hit on me.”

Stephine smiled and walked to the chair near the fire. “Yes, you being married did keep you from being an old flame but your wives were always great friends to me. So I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.”

She turned herself to face him and leaned onto the back of the chair so that her body was arched. “But you’re not married now and we could be new flames?”

Sam started to laugh and set the globe back down on the shelf next to the dozens of others. He shook his head and smiled at Stephine. “I know better than to go down that line with you. You should know better about me too. I promised ‘Al’neah that if I was going to marry after her that either Max or my family would have to approve. It’s not like either of those is going to happen. Max is gone and I can’t leave to see if any of my family is even still around.”

The smile on Stephine’s face faltered just a little when Sam had talked about the promise. It was a real promise that was bound by magic. It wasn’t one that held him back but rather one that protected him from all powers of seduction even if the principles of the promise were gone. It made him a better protector until he failed and got locked up here.

Stephine gracefully moved around the chair he had been in before she came in. Her hands ran along the edges as she kept eye contact with him. Then she giggled, slowly; her giggle turned into a laugh like notes of music, and she fell into the chair.

“Oh Sam, our interactions never get old even with you locked up in this place! I have so many poems just from seeing you my inspiration! Tell me again about the day that they tried to take the books out of here.”

Sam sighed deeply. She finally said why she had come. Not just to see him and mess with him but because she wanted something to write. It sounded like she wanted to write about him again. It was hard knowing that you were her target and yet accepting that it was helpful.

“The whole story?”

“Yes the whole story! I love the way you describe Taphine as she tried to take it out! Oh and how Pramsu got so mad that he was unable to use his study skills on it that he tried to destroy them.” Her smile had turned from her almost seedy smile to the real one that almost wormed her way into Sam’s heart.

Sam sipped on his drink for a moment, trying to figure out where to tell the story. He had told it to her so many times that it amazed him some that she still came back to hear it again. It had to take power and connection to send things through the gate and not draw them. He smiled as he poured himself a drink, still thinking about the gifts, the books, snow globes, and drink.

Oh, when they first started to arrive, Pramsu’s pantheon was livid. Sam remembered that day well. It was one of the few joyful days that he had since being locked in here. So he laughed when he remembered the day Taphine the goddess of magic, came storming into the office and tried to take the books.

Taphine had come into the office acting almost surprised that he was there. Which was kind of funny since she was the one the bound the door to keep him from leaving. When she saw the first book on his desk, she snatched it off and yelled, “This book is obviously a tribute from beyond for the great king Pramsu, and you should have known better than to open it!”

Then she stormed toward the door. Her right leg passed through, and then when the book hit the edge of the doorway, it stopped. Which made her body pivot on the book before she fell to the ground. The following two days were her trying to remove the book. Then she opened it and tried to read it, but it was in a language that neither of them had seen.

Pramsu came next; being the god of scholars and research, he thought that he would be able to read the book. Yet, just like Taphine, he couldn’t. You would think that being the god of scholars, the god would have some ability to regulate his emotions, but he didn’t. So he spent a whole day trying to destroy the book he couldn’t understand. Yet, for the same reason that Sam couldn’t kill himself, the book couldn’t be damaged.

The process repeated for the next hundred or so books until, after four hundred years of getting books that no one could read much of, if any, the pantheon gave up. Then for the next two hundred years, the only people that Sam got to talk with were the summoned champions.

“I’m not sure where best to start with this one, you have heard it before where should I start for you?”

“Can you start when Max made the gate? I have ideas but I need details!”