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By the Grace of God: After the Storm by @theriverscribe

Hecate aka Goddess of Witchcraft, Necromancy, Protector of Children and Mothers, Keeper of the Crossroads and an authority in many realms: Earth, Heaven and Underworld.  A three-form deity, she shifts between the visage of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone.


They walked past several pens, each a sprawling field that held about a dozen dogs. There were ponds and small shelters and firepits all tucked together with beds of flowers. The fireflies followed them until they stopped at a gate, then they danced along the bound branches that formed the fence.

“I want you to meet someone, but before you do, you must know something.” Hecate turned to face him. “If he decides to go with you, I do not part with him lightly. He is the last of my first.”

“Hecate…” Gabriel whispered breathlessly.

“You need someone capable of dealing with a powerful, out-of-control child who doesn’t trust. There is only one among the pack who qualifies.” She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled a series of notes. The howling fell silent. From the far corner of the pen, a tiny speck flew over the field toward them.

where i find my modern gods

Morpheus is in the legs that fall asleep and the eyes you can’t keep open, and the endless cups off coffee that didn’t work, caffeine immunity creeping in. He’s the sand in your eyes the day after an allnighter, coaxing you to pause, letting you know the world can wait a few hours. In the vivid daydreams and dizzy thoughts that conjure themselves into vision even when you don’t close your eyes. He’s the sudden smells that take you back a decade and are gone as quickly as they come.

Hades stands not in graveyards but on every corner and every bridge. He crosses the street with you as you contemplate the oncoming cars. Dutiful accountant, he knows your name, and it waits on his tongue. He’s not there to rush you, nor help you. Perhaps his presence is enough. Even in ideation, Hades is in cold fingers and forgotten teas, crumbled leaves that tell you he’s taken her away again. He’s in the rinds of fruit and discarded husks, the plucked leaves, the end, always waiting at the core of everything.

Persephone is in the fresh fruit, ripe and ready to burst, eating them, destroying them feels like a sin, like delicious betrayal. She’s the first sharp bite and the way the juice rolls down your chin, in the decisions you hold steadfastly onto. she’s in defiant stares and the way you walk in like you own the place, because as long as she’s by your side, you do. When people whisper your name and pretend they don’t see you, she’s there, by your side, lifting your chin. Fear may also be hate, but it is also fear, and that is your power.

Aphrodite is in the crisp line of lipstick, and the boldness of a sharp cateye, but also the next day when it’s smeared and freckled with chipped mascara, the glance in the mirror when you see yourself like this and shrug, ‘not so bad’. She’s in the burst of warmth and weak you feel when you watch a child laugh with its grandmother. She’s there in that moment you fit into those jeans, she’s there when you slip into sweatpants and have a second slice of cake. When you shit talk your ex she’s there, nodding and making sure you know he was no good for you.

Dionysus walks in when your friends do, carrying his revelry on their shoulders. With a bottle of champagne, -a treat-, he's not so much in drinking it as he is shaking it up and popping the cork, the laughter and the mess that ensues, the sticky fingers that last the night. He’s there in the morning next as well, surveying the damage and grinning like a king when you scrape chips off the couch.

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Hypnos: the personification and god of sleep, son of Erebus, the primordial god of darkness, and Nyx, the goddess of the night, and twin brother of Thanatos, the personification and god of death; he was married to Pasithea, personification and goddess of relaxation and meditation; they had three children, the Oneiroi: Morpheus, god of dreams, Phobetor, god of nightmares, and Phantasos, god of surreal dreams; he and his brother resided in the Underworld, in a cave by the river Lethe; he was a calm and gentle god, and owned half of all mortal life

Original cover art by Dave McKean from the Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes, published by DC Comics, September 1991. 

From the auction listing: “The wonderfully colored egg shaped stones are placed in a wooden printer’s typeface box, along with some sections of painted board that form the face of Morpheus looking out at you. The left half of the image was intended for the back cover, and indeed the driftwood was used, however, the sheet music was edited out in favor of a sheet of typed text reviews and quotes.”