Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

Three nights later, I couldn't sleep.

The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that settles into walls and stays there, thick as dust and twice as annoying. Moo Moo was curled on my pillow, his small green body rising and falling with each breath, his little feet twitching like he was chasing dream-worms. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster like a mortal counting sheep. Or counting regrets. Same energy.

And then I heard it.

A sound from downstairs. Soft. Muffled. The kind of sound that wasn't meant to be heard. The kind of sound that said, "Go back to bed, Sera. Nothing to see here. Just normal family things."

Naturally, I got up immediately.

"Ooh, are we sneaking?" Human Sera appeared beside me, her translucent form glowing faintly in the dark. "I love sneaking. I was terrible at it when I was alive. I used to giggle. Every time. Ruined all my own surprises. One time I tried to sneak up on Mina and she heard me coming from three rooms away. Called me a 'stompy little goblin.' I wore it as a badge of honor."

"Can you talk quietly, and don’t make any sounds," I hissed.

"Ah! Rude.. The last I checked you celestial goon, I'm a ghost. I don't make sound. You're the one who stomps like a baby elephant. Also, nice pajamas. Very cute. Very 'I just woke up and chose chaos.'"

I slipped out of bed. Moo Moo stirred but did not wake—the traitor. I padded down the hallway, past Mina's room (her light was still on, pencil scratching against paper, the familiar rhythm of someone chasing a deadline and losing), past the bathroom, down the creaking stairs that sounded like a family of angry geese.

"Those stairs," Human Sera said fondly, floating beside me. "I used to count them every night. Seventeen stairs. The third one always creaked. I'd step over it. You didn't. You stepped right on it. Very bold. Very stupid. Very you."

The kitchen was dark. But the living room had a single lamp on, casting a small circle of light in the corner like a spotlight on a very sad play. I snuck past Dad—who was not in the kitchen—and hid behind the wall between the kitchen and living area. I made myself one with the darkness. I was one with the shadow. I was a ghost. I was very sneaky.

"You're not, and Yes I heard you cause you are whispering out loud again" Human Sera said, floating through the wall beside me. "Your foot is visible. Also, your elbow. Also, your entire face, which is very pale and very obvious. Also, you're breathing really loud. Like, Darth Vader loud. It's impressive, actually. You should be proud. Cheez, I really now wonder, how the heck do you hunt those monsters when you are so loud?"

I moved slightly.

"Better. Still terrible. But better."

And there was Dad.

He was sitting on the couch, hunched forward like a man carrying the weight of the world, his shoulders shaking. In his hands, he held a photograph. I knew which one before I even saw it. The hospital photo. The one of him holding Human Sera—the original Human Sera—tears running down his face, looking at the camera with an expression that screamed, "I cannot believe this is real and also someone is cutting onions."

He was crying.

Not the quiet, dignified crying of someone who had accepted loss. Not the "one tear and a stoic stare" kind of crying. This was the ugly kind. The kind where your face crumples like wet paper, your breath comes in gasps, and you press your fist against your mouth to keep the sounds inside. The kind where you look like a sad, wet walrus.

Next to me, Human Sera went very still. Her translucent face—my face—softened into something sad and tender. Something ancient and young at the same time.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, Daddy."

"Sera," he whispered to the photo. "My little girl. She would have been so proud of the now Sera. She would have loved this. She would have drawn little diagrams with arrows and funny faces. She would have—"

He stopped. His voice broke.

"I'm right here, Daddy," Human Sera said softly, floating closer to him. She reached out a translucent hand toward his face. It passed right through him. He didn't feel a thing. He never did. "I'm right here. I never left. I just got... quieter. I'm still your little girl. Just a different shape. Same heart. Same stupid jokes. Same bad handwriting."

"Sera," Dad continued, his voice cracking. "I miss you. I miss you so much. And I know we said we don't care about memories, but I can't—I can't stop—"

"Then don't stop," she whispered, kneeling in front of him, her ghostly face inches from his. "Remember me. Please. Remember me. I don't want to be forgotten. I just want you to be happy too. That's all I ever wanted. For all of you. To be happy. Even without me."

His voice broke like a cheap pencil.

Behind me, footsteps.

Mum came down the stairs in her bathrobe, her hair a disaster, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She saw Dad. And she understood immediately, because that's what mums do. They understand things. It's their superpower, right after finding things you've lost and making you feel guilty about nothing.

"Oh," she said softly.

She walked past me into the living room. I stayed in the shadows, still being very sneaky. Definitely not eavesdropping. Just... adjacent to eavesdropping.

Human Sera floated back to my side, her eyes glistening with tears that couldn't fall. "She always knew," she said quietly. "Mum always knew when someone was hurting. She'd just... show up. With tea. And bad advice. And love. One time I was crying in my room because a boy was mean to me, and she showed up with a pint of ice cream and said, 'Boys are stupid. Eat this.' She was right. The ice cream was good. The boy was forgettable."

"Honey?" Mum said, sitting down next to Dad on the couch. "Oh, honey, why are you crying?"