In the little bedroom, the Woman still stood, her presence radiating invisibly throughout, never having diminished even while she was thirty million miles away in her own sphere. She gazed down at the sleeping figure on the bed, her expression wistful for the first time in lifespans of civilations. She could feel in her embrace of Lucas a little of the connection that Selene must feel to her, and it had stirred something in her. It had been millennia since she had last been closely connected to a mortal, and truth be told she had almost forgotten what it felt like. The transcendence of two different natures in one personal bond...it made her feel simultaneously small and yet part of something vastly larger - like mortals felt with their own little glimpses into even the limited infinity they could observe. She began to feel like she had missed this, even though she had almost forgotten it.
And now, this girl...this girl who so resisted what was happening to her - with such willpower she struggled! The Woman found herself desiring a connection with her. This little girl, so full of potential, but so closed to her influence... If Lilly would only submit to her guidance, with a will like hers she could grow into such a woman... She brushed an immaterial hand across the squirrel-girl's cheek. "You have so much to learn, little one," she said. "But you have so much potential, and more than enough time...if you would only let me teach you...if you would only open yourself to me..." But if Lilly wouldn't, she couldn't force it...nor would she. It wouldn't be the end of the world - there were born women who didn't fulfill their potential any more than Lilly did, as with so many aspects in the lives of so many mortals, and She counted them no less her daughters - but when she could be so much more...
Why did she resist so much? She was afraid of change, for one; most people were. Even some of the gods were wary of too-hasty change. And part of it was that she thought of being a "girl" as something trite and vapid, as too many mortals did; it frustrated the Woman to no end, this tendency to confuse the insubstantial for the substance. It was an aggravation she shared with the Man, affecting mortals' perception of His domain just as poorly; in every age it took a different form, but it always seemed to be so pervasive...she wished they could simply quash it once and for all and be done with it. If they could only see...but Lilly at least was being taught better, by the examples of her new friends. They weren't perfect examples themselves, but they weren't shallow or trite, and in many ways they ran visibly counter to Lilly's preconceptions. Given time, she should come to understand that she, as a girl, was no more bound to stupidity and shallowness than they.
Beyond that...she felt that the squirrel-girl was simply afraid of committing to this new identity. It was a difficult thing for a goddess to understand, that this tiny creature was less afraid of never quite coming to terms with her new self than she was of the possibility that doing so would result in some kind of nebulous loss that might be there simply because she couldn't see that it wasn't. It was a fear that taking on definition must mean suffering reduction. The Woman gazed off into the distance, out towards the outer reaches where nebulous things waited. "Quod est inferius est sicut quod est superius, et quod est superius est sicut quod est inferius," she murmured. "As below, so above, and as above, so below." The same fear that held back this little girl motivated far worse deeds than simple mental resistance, in things far larger than her and with far fewer principles. And yet even that distant struggle reached all the way back to this planet...how marvelously interconnected it all was! Perhaps, in turn, this tiny struggle might some day reach out to influence that far one...
Elsewhere in the house, Mr. Gordon sat back in his chair and sighed. What a day...it had been good to see Tom and make sure he was all right, but being hounded by that little fox-reporter...ugh. If there was one good thing about the accident at the lab, it was that it gave him a chance to stay home and rest for a little while. Night living did take its toll on him, and on top of how hard he'd been pushing himself at work...he could use a chance to rest and recharge, he really could.
"You seem upset, honey," Abby said. "Is there something else bothering you?"
Les gave a bitter half-chuckle. "Oh, it's nothing much. I just had an encounter with a reporter at the hospital; she was telling me that some people seem to think I'm working toward 'human purity' or somesuch."
"Oh, for the love of..." Abby stopped herself before going off into a rant. She was a very even-tempered woman, but people misinterpreting her husband's work was one of the few things that really set her off. This wouldn't be the first time - applied genetics had enough of a mad-science flair to it to really bring out the crazies - but still... "I'm so sorry, honey," she said, gently rubbing his shoulders.
Les shrugged. "Eh, let them rave," he sighed. "It just...I don't know. The reporter was pestering me to know if I'm afraid of changing, or of the changed taking over the world, or whatever. Of course I told her I'm not, but...I know that's not true in some ways, and I wonder if it's not true in others."
He stared at the floor. "I'm afraid of changing, myself," he said. "I know it might not be the end of the world, but then again, it might really be a problem. That doesn't mean I think ill of the changed, I'm just...scared. And..." He sighed. "Well, I don't know. I don't think I think badly of the changed, but then I catch myself treating Lilly as a problem to be solved...my own daughter..."
Abby shushed him. "Honey, you're just trying to help," she said, firmly. "I don't think you're always going about it the right way, but this is confusing for all of us. And it's not like we have a lot of precedent to draw from for knowing what the right way to treat our daughter is. You're not a bad person, Les."
He smiled. "Thanks, honey. But...to be honest, I do get worried about the world in general. It's not that I think changed people are any less deserving of a say in public affairs, or anything, it's just...I worry about what will happen to ordinary humans. She said there were estimates that the world is half changed now. Only estimates, of course, but even so...it's so likely that by the time we get anything like a practical solution worked out, the entire world will have changed, and I just worry that the human race is going to be nothing more than a museum curiosity for future generations...I don't know, maybe it's selfish, but I don't want that to happen. I don't mind sharing the future with other kinds of people, but I don't want us to vanish."
She nodded. "I understand," she said. "If it's any comfort, remember that a lot of those three or however many billion people were the ones caught off-guard when the sun first changed - I don't think the actual rate of conversion is as high as all that, now that people are taking reasonable precautions. But I understand. I don't think it will, though. It doesn't seem like it'd be fair."
Les smiled wryly, in spite of himself. "And how many times have we told our children 'life isn't fair,' Abby? We'd hardly be the first hominid species to go extinct. Hell, even Neanderthal man hasn't lived in thirty thousand years."
His wife shrugged. "Individual human life isn't fair," she said. "I'm not so sure about the universe at large, though. I don't know, I don't have a rational basis for this one...it's just a feeling I get."
This time his smile was genuine. "I wish I had your optimism," he said admiringly.
Abby snuggled up against him. "Well, maybe I can let you borrow it, at least."
