[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/LzgtxH80/Nimue.png[/img][/center]


So, when [i]is[/i] a migraine not simply a migraine?

Nimue groaned, her face planted into her pillow as she tried, and failed, to forget everything that had happened.

Things had been going a little [i]freaky[/i] for the last few days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years. Or decades, depending on how you marked the passage of time since it all began. If you went back to the very beginning, it turned out there had been a man up in the sky, multiple of them, and that had thoroughly scared the shit out of everyone. And, in no small part, because a whole 56.8% of the population had backed the wrong horse in this race all along.

The Hindus, for example, were thrilled, it proved the existence of their divinities, and in the East, there had been a spiritual revival of their more traditional gods. But some, like a guy in a white pointy hat who owned his own microstate in a peninsula shaped like a boot, found out the hard way when he took an impromptu, and failed, skydiving lesson from his balcony.

As it happened, Nimue had been born on this side of the world, where people were less willing to undergo a profound spiritual awakening to their ancient pantheons. The events in Chicago back in the ancient times of 1996 definitely put the "wrath of god" into people’s hearts. Fear drives human instinct like nothing else. The United Nations actually managed to agree on something for once, unanimously, which led to the creation of the [b]Directorate of Divine Affairs[/b], tasked with protecting humanity and preventing the collapse of the old world order from rampaging divinities blowing up city blocks.

So, why was she recounting history lessons from before she was born in her head again? Oh, right. Last night, her mirror had decided to speak to her, live on stream, and completely ruined her online vibe. If it weren’t for the fact that AI [i](better known as environmentally destructive artificial intelligence)[/i] plagued social media, she’d probably be carted away on the back of a wooden wagon, tied to a stake, and burned alive by a gang of mudcaked villagers.

What’s a girl meant to do when she wakes up one morning with mysterious abilities? Does she go downstairs for breakfast and say, [i]"Hi, Mom, if you heard about the city block blowing up on the way to work, it’s probably me. Sorry I made you late"[/i]? Just another excuse to get on her mother’s bad side.

Nimue screamed into her pillow before pushing herself up, rolling over, and grabbing her phone.

"You have [b]2,529 unread[/b] notifications."

She rolled her eyes, moved her thumb to the chat, and flipped on the camera. Offering a practiced smile, she wrote, [color=pink]"Bed head after a wild prank stream last night. 520-886-XXXX."[/color] She dropped the phone onto the bed, where it unhelpfully bounced before clattering to the floor. Another groan of despair escaped her lips.

[hr]

[color=pink]“Morning, Gram-Gram.”[/color]

She bent down to plant a big kiss on her grandmother’s head as she walked past on her way to breakfast.

[i]“Morning, dear… my… you’re looking more like how I did in my youth,”[/i] her grandmother said, smiling widely. [i]“I was your age, the boys at the disco… oh…”[/i] She chuckled softly before drifting off again.

Nimue smiled and gave the aging woman a tight squeeze. [color=pink]“I bet you were such a heartbreaker,”[/color] she said with a wink. Her grandmother let out a soft, fading chuckle.

[i]“She’s having a good day today,”[/i] Claire, Nimue’s mother, mused aloud as she set things down on the table. [i]“She has that doctor’s appointment this afternoon. It must be the Rivastigmine. I’ll ask them to up the dose.”[/i]

[color=pink]“Morning, Mom,”[/color] Nimue replied with a smile and a knowing look. Claire never knew how to switch off, completely unlike the next person to enter the room.

[i]“I’ve had five messages this morning saying how my little sister is a witch,”[/i] Lucas announced, beaming with a wide smile as he strode in.

[i]“You’re late. Your father’s already out there,”[/i] Claire responded sternly as she gestured out the window. [i]“And you know you’re not allowed to call your sister that.”[/i]

[i]“Relax, that was bitch, Mom. Bitch. The messages said she was a witch,”[/i] Lucas clarified, rolling his eyes while maintaining his goofy grin. He sat down to help himself to food but winced playfully as Claire tapped him on the head as she walked past.

[color=pink]“Yeah, I… did some experimenting with a pre-recording that freaked everyone out. Got a little weird with the lighting, people saw their own reflections on the screen and thought they were in it. Crazy, right?”[/color] Nimue tried to pass it off unsubtly. She could have worded that whole exchange better, but if she came across as too practiced, it would be infinitely more suspicious.

[i]“Crazy… yeah,”[/i] Lucas muttered, tilting his head to the side before digging into his breakfast.

[color=pink]“Y-e-p,”[/color] Nimue sounded out, returning to her own meal.

[hr]

The underscore on the screen blinked at her, awaiting input as she walked down the street. Where does one even start when they find themselves potentially wielding dangerous powers that could massacre everyone around them? She had considered posting the question on her phone, but something held her back. It was as if writing it down would make what happened [i]real[/i]. And by [i]real[/i], she meant [i][b]real[/b] real[/i].

She sighed with a huff. Heading downtown seemed like the most insanely bad idea, so she found herself on the outskirts of the suburbs instead.

The phone continued to blink in her hand as she stared at it, willing it to provide answers. Frustration finally got the better of her, and she typed in [b]dda.gov[/b]. The page loaded, and she was soon greeted by the [b]Directorate of Divine Affairs[/b] emblem emblazoned over action shots and reels of the DDA in action.

[b]“[u]Mission First.[/u]
Since 1997, the DDA has protected the American people and upheld human civilization.”[/b]

She scrolled down:

[b]“[u]Results.[/u]
We’re delivering results for the American people.”[/b]

Various icons: bullseyes, badges, graphs. Each showed ever-increasing numbers positioned underneath them.

“[b][u]Featured News.[/u]
Follow the DDA and DDA Director Elias Voss for the latest news, alerts, and updates.[/b]

[colour=red]@DDADirectorVoss[/colour] announces the launch of the [colour=red]@DDAMostWanted[/colour] Supernatural List, a new wanted list dedicated to publicly identifying individuals charged with destroying the American way. Anyone with information about the whereabouts of these fugitives can submit tips at [colour=blue][u]tips.dda.gov[/u][/colour], by calling 1-800-CALL-DDA, or by contacting the nearest DDA field office.”

Nimue could only frown as the thought that she might now be topping such a list filled her mind. She pushed those thoughts and emotions down, deep inside of her, squashing them flat.

She continued to explore the page, which displayed links to the [b]Most Wanted, News, What We Investigate, How We Can Help You,[/b] and [colour=gold][b]Submit a Tip[/b][/colour].

Out of curiosity, and totally not because of her earlier thoughts, she clicked through to the [b]Most Wanted[/b] section.

She was greeted by a prominent mugshot and a name underneath it: [b]Cassian Aeternus[/b].

Her eyes lingered on the picture, as if she were trying to see through it. After a while, seeing nothing but his chiselled jaw, she sighed, as if she had failed in her task to understand it all better.

[colour=pink]“Come on, Nimue. You’ve got a name. Maybe if we find out more about this Cassian, we can find some answers there.”[/colour] She tried to pep herself up. Her thumbs switched off the DDA website, and she began her inquiries into finding out more.