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“I need you to find a child of mine.”
“This child have a name?”
“I assume so, yes.” Time frowned. I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t know said child’s name or because I thought she might. The old gods weren’t as clear cut in their expectations in modern times. Of course, they used to turn people into swans and spiders and shit just to spite their own siblings. So maybe they were never terribly transparent. Not with the world’s greatest game of one-upmanship perpetually on the line.
“What can you tell me about her, then?” I asked. “She’s a child, you said. Are we talking infant? Toddler? Tween?”
Time scowled at the label assault.
“I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”
“How old is she? Give me something to start working with.”
“Ah.” Time’s gaze rolled up, and I might swear to people other than Time that she used her fingers to calculate. “I believe she is just past her thirtieth birthing day.”
“Th—” The word stuck in my throat and I had to force it free. “Thirty?”
“I might be off by five or ten years. Mortal lifespans are so difficult to track.”
Tacky, but true. Time could blink and the world around her rewrite itself before she reopened her eyes.
“Find the no-name, no-age female of indeterminate origin. So that’s it?”
“Then you bring her to me.”
“Right.” My sarcasm was so thick, I could walk on it. Time might seem kind and wise and shit, but she could write me out of existence in a heartbeat if I didn’t measure up to her nebulous expectations. So I didn’t mention I was being facetious.
Find Time’s descendant.
Rescue the descendant from bad people.
GTFO of Dodge.
Bring the descendant to Time.
“Piece of cake.”
Come back on Friday for the next prompt!