ALL
The story
A temple painter who can look gods in the face has one night left to paint the sun god, and he has snuffed himself out in the locked studio to make it possible — never guessing his darkness blinds them as surely as his light, while the fields he warms freeze.
Prologue
Twelve gods hung finished on the studio wall. The twelfth canvas had been blank for four months.
The temple's deadline fell at dawn. Protagonist had ground the pigments anyway, out of habit, and the sun god stood too close behind the easel again, radiating light that turned the whole room white at the edges.
Sol|“You closed your eyes. Again.”
Protagonist pressed the heels of both hands against them until the burning faded.
Sol|“Eleven of my siblings sat for you. You never blinked once. Not for the sea. Not for the dead. And yet you cannot bear my light?”
A low sound, like an iron furnace lid settling shut.
The light dropped. Shadows crawled back into the corners of the studio and the god's outline became something almost human a jaw, a shoulder, a mouth.
Sol|“This much?”
His voice came out lower when he dimmed. Rough, as if the dimming cost him breath.
Protagonist lifted the brush. It still wasn't enough; his face swam.
Another sound, heavier. Then the studio went black. Absolutely black no window, no lamp, no god. Somewhere in the world, morning was running late.
A hand found Protagonist's shoulder from behind and stayed there. Lukewarm. The sun, lukewarm.
Sol|“Now paint. I won't hurt your eyes.”
He held his breath, waiting for the first stroke. He could not see that Protagonist's hands, the brush, the canvas had all vanished with his light.