A Pale Woman in a Black Dress

Reader's first reaction on seeing the woman across from him was an immediate rush of lust. She was... well, he had a lot of types, but she matched one of them to a T. Straight black hair, long enough to cover one and a half of her deep blue eyes. Cherry lips smiling kindly and a little mischievously. Well-fitted black dress revealing the curves of a runner, or a swimmer. Reader couldn't take his eyes off her. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be nineteen and horny, across from a woman in the same situation, until just now.

"Reader. Welcome to the waystation," the girl said in a voice that echoed strangely in the bare room. "Do you need a minute?"

Reader considered the question. "For what?" he finally asked. The girl's only answer was a smile.

"Am I dead?" he asked before the silence could stretch too thin.

"Far from it," she said with that same, mysterious smile still curling her mouth. "But you did just die. This is where you'll decide where to go next".

"I decide?" Reader repeated, "there's no judgement or anything?"

The girl's smile lengthened, became humouring. "What do you think the last 84 years have been about?" she asked rhetorically. "You don't need more evaluation here, in a room with nothing but yourself and a goddess for company"

Reader nodded, a hint of trepidation colouring the wild energy he felt at his regained youth. "So how'd I do?"

"How do you think you did?"

Reader considered. "Not that well personally," he had to admit. "I don't feel like I achieved much. Maybe without knowing it, through the butterfly effect and one of my students. But things didn't turn out like I'd planned"

"You didn't achieve much, and you can't take credit for the butterfly effect" she said matter of factly. "But you never stopped trying. Even in your last days, with your eyesight and brainpower fading, you were writing letters to mentees and trying to decide how your will would do the most good. And you were the last of your line. Together those qualify you as a holy martyr."

"Holy Martyr?" Reader repeated. "What's that mean? 72 virgins?"

The pale woman hesitated, then frowned and nodded. "If that's what you want, but I hope I can do better. It might be some very clever thing by the one who made your universe, that just takes a long time to work. But to me it looks like a terrible waste of both heroism and virginity".

"The one who made my universe? That wasn't you?"

She shook her head. "All the gods make our own worlds, but welcome of a heroic soul can be done by any of us. The one who made your last world is busy on another project, and he doesn't communicate much with anyone these days. He got very upset when so many insects went extinct in your latest lifetime. He loves beetles you know, most worlds only have a few dozen species".

"Sorry about that" Reader said, a little ashamed.

"Like I said, you kept trying" she said encouragingly, "That's more than most did".

A thought occurred to Reader. "What's the closest I came?" he asked, curious about the meaning of his life now it was over.

The goddess smiled, clearly expecting the question. "Remember the better cooling device you worked on those two summers in your thirties? If you'd spent a third summer, you might have cut humanity's reliance on fossil energy by nearly ten percent. Saved a few species-"

"Fuck!" Reader shouted. "Fucking coolers, I knew-" he broke off, shook his head. "no I didn't. If I'd known I would have spent the third summer, instead of..."

"The less said about her, the better" the goddess's voice came as an icy wind. "In case you're wondering, she is a human again, but that's mostly because... because reasons. Before I explain too much about the context we're in, there's an option I have to tell you about. I hope you won't take it, but I'm required to tell you that it is an option".

Reader motioned her to continue.