Accepting strange invitations via cookie may not be a great way to live your life, but it's the only way I’ve ever known. If I end up waking up in a tub of ice missing a kidney, so be it. I show up at O’Halligan’s, 10 PM sharp. The bar has cheap drafts, heavy pours, and is way less divey than the absolute garbage fire of a venue across the highway. Not really sure who would be signaling an S.O.S. here of all places.

My eyes scan the scene and I see a pair of guys neatly tucked away in a corner booth. Two men who are the picture-perfect example of an odd-couple pairing. Seriously, if I took a picture of them and added a generic title and credits, you’d swear you’ve seen that movie poster at least a half-dozen times in your life. One guy is clean-cut and put together in a swanky sport coat and slacks, looking like a young undergrad embracing the professional world for the first time. The man across from him looks like a grad student five energy drinks into an all-nighter with uneven stubble, bags beneath his eyes, hair that hasn’t been combed since grade school picture day, and a collared shirt half tucked into ill-fitted jeans.

These guys look like polar opposites… and in accordance with the incredibly popular cliche, are attracted to one another thanks to a shimmering grey line connecting them. Although… the tense atmosphere between the two does little to reinforce my growing belief that not all grey lines are doomed to fail.

What’s going on here? I wasn’t sent here on assignment, right? I’ve never received a job in such a covert, carb-forward way before. Usually, a text comes through with information about the people I’m supposed to sever the link between, I don't traditionally receive messages via seemingly random stoner gifts. This doesn’t make sense.

“Hey, Brother Eric!” A large, rough hand lands on my shoulder as a familiar face leans over to greet me. “Long time no see! Nice to see you out and about after you left the dorms! Wait a sec… are you on this case too?” Standing above me is Reese, an incredibly tall woman with short-cut, dark-brown hair and a smile a mile wide.

I stand up tall to greet her properly but still have to look up to address her face-to-face. “I didn’t think so, but I saw the line. What a coincidence, huh?” She shrugs and the two of us walk over to a nearby booth to catch up. “So… I take it you were assigned here by the priestess?”

“Yes indeedy, you should call her, by the way, I think she misses you.” No amount of effort could prevent me from rolling my eyes at this and Reese laughs. “Yeah yeah, too cool for your family.”

Yeah… no. It’s not that I’m too cool– Actually, I mean, if the shoe fits, sure. I am also too cool. But the main reason I want nothing to do with my “family” is because I fucking detest my mother. Now just recently discovered that my father might be alive. My family is pretty fucked up if you ask me. “So… what’s your play here?” I ask, wondering how Reese intends to do the grisly deed before her.

The woman chuckles and points at the scruffy guy. “Come on, Eric, we both see the weak link here. This kind of thing will be an absolute cakewalk. Betcha I have this all wrapped up in about ten minutes.”  My eyes flash to the nearest clock, ten thirty-seven. Fuck.

I don’t know jack shit right now. My fault, really. I’ve had actionable information and leads aplenty lately, and I’ve been too afraid to follow through and have my worst fears confirmed. What I do know, is that while there is even a shred of doubt that the grey lines are truly wrong, I’m not letting another one be severed when I can save it instead.

Nodding with understanding, I shrug. “Well, shit. Looks like you don’t need me hanging around here after all. You obviously have things under control. Oh, you do have your implement, right?”

With a smug grin, Reese, moves her jacket aside so I can see the nondescript black bag we keep our blades in clipped to her belt.

I’m never going to fucking live this one down.

As soon as the tool is in sight, I reach out and grab it, pulling the blade and its cover off her person in one fluid motion. My prize in hand, I turn to run away, but feel one of Reese’s gargantuan hands clutching my collar. “What do you think you’re doing?” She growls as the people in the bar start spectating the scene.

“Testing your reflexes?” I say, trying and failing to sound cute while my guilt becomes more and more apparent.

“Give it back. Now.”

Holy crap she went from friendly to threatening real quick. “Come on now, you know I’m just kidding around, right?” I hear nothing from the woman who still has me seized in her grasp. “If you would let go of me I could turn around and give you back your shit.”

“It’s not shit, it’s a holy item. What’s wrong with you?” Reese responds, her usual jovial nature nowhere to be found.

“You know what I mean… you’re kind of freaking me out.”

“We do not fail our missions. I will not fail mine. The Goddess has a plan, and we do not question the faith.” The woman I’d always seen as a big sister figure rattles off canned phrases I’ve heard too many times over the years. The way she speaks... is unnerving, as if her body is no longer her own as she rattles off the jargon we've had drilled into us without a hint of feeling behind any of her words.

I look over my shoulder and see a vicious contemptible glare pointed at me. “Reese, something weird is going on. I’ve served dutifully for years. So you must know that it’d take something major to freak me out. But there’s something wrong with the lines.”

My vision blurs as I feel my entire body pulled by an overwhelming force. Yanked by my shirt, I’m drawn backward until my head bounces off a wooden table and I lose all sense of self for a moment.

Good. Suffer for your insolence.

Who’s voice is that? Why does it sound so familiar?

In my haze, I drop the tool and it’s retrieved by Reese. Things have already gone poorly for her, as the entire bar stares at us. Introducing herself naturally and getting under the man’s skin won’t work anymore. Her expression is panicked as she looks around, a sea of staring faces reflected back at her as she tries to figure out a way out of this mess.

DROP IT!

The strange voices hisses in my ears and Reese drops her blade. She throws one last withering glare my way before fleeing.

Pick it up. Now.

I ignore the voice in my head as one of the guys, the well-dressed man, comes up to me. “You okay? What in the world happened there?”

Still a bit disoriented, I manage to nod. “Yeah… all good. Would you believe it if I said it was a lover’s spat?” My head throbs where it was bashed against solid oak. “Maybe a bit more than a spat.” Lying is simply second nature when on the job–

Wait, I’m not on the job.

Yes, you are.

The well-dressed man chuckles a bit. “I… actually kind of get it. A much less violent version of it… but, love makes people say and do some really fucked up shit.” As the well-dressed man’s focus turns to the past, I see the grey line start to fray, just a little.

That’s your in. Use it.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite the story yourself, stranger,” I manage to say while pulling myself into a nearby chair. The man looks back at the scruffy guy at his original table in time for the disheveled man to turn back to his drink. The well-dressed man takes the seat next to mine and signals the bartender for another round.

“I guess I do.” The man takes a long sip of his fresh drink when it arrives before continuing. “Have you ever done something you know is wrong? Like, down to your very core, know for a fact you’re going to regret immediately, something?”

Every line I’ve ever cut passes through my head in an instant as I shake my concussed cabeza. “Nope, I’m pretty much a perfect human being.”

The well-dressed man has a laugh at my outlandish claim. “Yeah, I thought I was too… thought I deserved everything and more. I had everything.” He steals another glance at the man he left behind as more of their line wastes away. “And… I wanted more.” He pauses at that, the implication clear. “It’s taken weeks just to get Spencer to agree to meet up again… and… it’s not the same as it was. How could it be?”

Twist the knife. End this!

My eyes trace over the clock on the television. Ten forty-five.

“Sounds to me like you already know everything you need to… reclaiming the magic after something like that… it’s damn near impossible.” More threads fly freely away from their waning line.

Pick it up.

Ten forty six

Pick. It. Up.

The man’s face twists in agony and guilt.

Pick It Up!

I look at the small bag, just feet away from us on the floor.

PICK IT UP!!!

“But… isn’t it worth it to try? If what you two had was that special to you, the journey being difficult shouldn’t matter. What you did was wrong, you should be guilty, and your partner has every right to be furious. But Spencer being here now means he hasn’t given up. You shouldn’t either.”

The man doesn’t respond to my words… in fact, the world has just sort of… stopped. The ambient noise of the bar ceases as everything becomes dormant. Yeah, I'm totally concussed...

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A powerful voice booms from the doorway as I turn to the bar’s entrance.

Holy shit.

“Eleanora?” I ask the woman who is a dead ringer for Mom’s freaky wall painting.

“In almost fifty years of the grey line plague, not a single one has gone unsevered and made it to fruition. Fifty years… and now, all because some little mortal shit has the AUDACITY to go against my authority…” The unnaturally tall woman ducks under the doorframe to enter the pub. She walks toward me and stares at the unsevered grey line with spite and hatred that mortals simply aren’t capable of replicating. “But it’s okay… because in failure, there is a chance at redemption. These two are almost at the point of no return. Once their love is affirmed… once they’ve both accepted each other completely, it’s game over. You need to stop that from happening.”

I’d always assumed that coming face to face with a deity I’ve been pressured into worshiping my entire life would leave me some degree tongue-tied. Yet, considering all the bullshit I’ve been put through in her name, I feel oddly entitled to speak candidly. “And what makes you think I’m willing to play your game?”

Eleonora snaps her fingers and I feel my chest catch fire. My heart beats a million miles a minute as something heavy weighs down on me… The pain is familiar, it aches deeply like I’ve only felt one other day of my life. I close my eyes and breathe through the awful sensation. Once things have settled, I open my eyes to find a single, red line extended from my chest. “What?”

She nods. “Interested in my game now? This line, this once severed line, I’ve found a way to make it work in the grand design. A way for you to have what you’ve always desired.”

Now, I’m speechless. “But… why now?”

The Goddess’ expression shifts to a gentle smile. “Child, this kind of boon takes a while to set up. I’ve seen your family's dedication to me, and your prayers have not gone unheard. Your faith had been strong for years and I would have blessed you with this eventually… but I do not wish for you to ruin my goodwill.” She gestures to the bag on the floor, the tool I could use to sever the grey line before me… like usual. “If you want to keep that line, to stay in my good graces... Do your job. Now.”

Looking down at the glowing red line, I’m almost moved to tears. Everything I’ve ever wanted. The life I felt was stolen from me. All of my pain, bitterness, hatred, envy… lifted away in an instant. I look at the man in front of me, and his partner alone at their table. “But… I would be stealing their happiness for my own. And–”

“You saw the logbook, yes?” Eleonora says, casually shifting the conversation away from the consequences of my desires.

“How did–”

“I’m a Goddess, darling, I know way more than you want me to… how do you suppose that name made it into the book to begin with?”

A chill runs through me. Suddenly I feel seen… exposed, in a way I never have. “That name–”

“No, darling. Your name. How do you think your mother would react if I told her that she was wrong? If I were to appear before her in a vision very much like this one and order her to accept you for who you truly are? Wouldn’t you like some divine intervention? I can even introduce you to the Goddess of beauty, giving you the appearance you’ve always dreamt of but never thought possible. Imagine the future you could have.”

I can see it. Almost as if it was right in front of me. A life… MY life… a good life. A PERFECT life. Coming home to a wife I adore. Cold days spent cuddled together on the couch under a single blanket. Holidays spent ducking calls from our family and eating microwavable TV dinners to avoid awkward thanksgivings. Pets, caring for them, feeding them, walking them, but doing it together. Forgetting anniversaries, the random yet welcome declarations of love, bitter arguments, tender kisses, years spent listening to and telling the same stories, and years yet adoring every repetitive meaningless moment shared. My love.

My... self. Staring into a mirror and seeing the person I felt it was wrong to desire being. Wearing what I want. Speaking in a voice that doesn't grate on my nerves. Actually giving a shit if I wake up every morning. People knowing me, not as they have, as a son, a "brother"... but being truly free. To not feel disconnected or far away from myself. To just... be.

“If… if you can do all this for me… why can’t you sever the line yourself? Why test me like this?” I look up at her, hands still clamped on my chest, afraid that if they let go, my lifeline will fade away once more.

“Because… I can only impact things within my domain, and these grey lines… they are beyond my control. I need my faithful to cleanse them, to perform this service for love where I am unable to.” She coos and ruffles my hair gently. “I need you. I need Estella, my faithful follower.”

The scene remains frozen as I slowly get up and walk to the black bag on the floor.

I pick it up, the blade feeling heavier than normal.

Removing the tool from the bag, I turn to face the fine line between joy and despair.

The Goddess has a plan, and we do not question–

“Goddess,” I say, prompting the woman watching my actions with glee to look me in the eyes. “What are the grey lines?”

Eleonora chuckles. “That’s not for you to know, dear. It doesn’t matter now.”

“But… if your domain is love, shouldn’t you have power over them… enough to destroy them, surely.”

“None of this matters, cut the goddamn–”

“What are you the Goddess of… really?”