Chapter 1

The only orientation in the dark is the green illuminated boxes of the emergency exits.

It's night.

The sounds that creep into the event hall through the Grand Hotel's lush façade and windows are absorbed by thick curtains. Above the ascending rows of chairs where tomorrow more than twelve hundred people will be placed according to a precise choreography, a slight smell of carpet cleaner still hovers.

Nothing stirs in the hall. Tomorrow the twelfth edition of the McP "Milano catwalks Paris" fashion show will be held here. Above the gables and towers of the building the full moon is shifting through the sky and in another smaller ballroom a Russian wedding is taking place, unnoticed by thick walls and ramified corridors.

The front rows of chairs are already covered with precious handmade cards enscribed with the names of famous people, while quite a few uninvited guests have already made their way into the hall.

When a few hours ago the twilight retreated over western India, a huge peacock rose from there into the sky, turned into the tone D in one turn and flew towards the setting sun. At about the same time, fish in the Atlantic Ocean were amazed when a swarm of B-tones rushed past them towards Gibraltar, which they mistook for swordfish because of its speed. From Spain, goats in a chain mowed one F further over the Pyrenees along the French coast.

The D first landed on the roof of the hotel and found its way through the ventilation shafts into the interior of the hall. The B sloshed onto the beach, then onto the promenade and flowed through window cracks into the hall, where it shook itself dry. Due to the lack of goats in the immediate vicinity of the hotel, the F had had to take such a run-up from the mountains that it blew as F sharp through the narrow keyholes into the hall and had to calm down by a half tone.

A subtle movement began to take hold of the hall, the plant decorations of the column capitals began to roll out their fern leaves and a gentle revitalization settled over plaster and stone. From the gold leaf of the decorations, insects detached themselves and dispersed like fireflies. The tones swelled on, and out of the fruit high above beings began to peel out, pushing the acanthus leaves aside and sliding down the columns. They were amorphous, partly removed from description by words or pre-verbal. They greeted each other in small groups, exchanged pleasantries and then sat down on chair backs, window frames or in the air.

On the stage around the lectern the floor began to warm up until it changed color and small flames became visible. It became brighter in the hall. A hunting scene appeared on the wall, reminiscent of cave paintings, and on the ceiling a cuneiform writing pushed the plaster apart.

Then with one blast, all the doors seemed to open at the same time, a window opened and blew the curtain in. Several groups of people entered, some with entourage and flute players, carried by slaves, small flashes of lightning in their hands, some antique-clothed, some naked, with animals in between, either as an attribute or the center of their own flock, a golden boar, two ravens, cats and lions. All of them took their seats in the front rows, one after the other, their togas or fish tails between the armrests.

Meanwhile, in the flames on the podium stood a female figure with a long robe and an excessive kohl rim around her eyes. She had a hair clip in her mouth while she straightened her piled up curls and waited until everyone had found their place.

The last to enter the hall was a red-bearded man in Viking dress who sat down at the edge. He had got drunk in a bar in the old town and almost missed the beginning of the meeting. The taxi driver thought he was a bachelor party tourist.

The lady on the stage stepped up to the lectern.

"Good evening, fellow FGA members."

"Good evening Hera!" it chorused back.

"I'm glad you all came again, welcome to the newcomers, and a special thanks tonight to our local deity Nike...", she glanced through the rows of the audience and briefly waved at a lady in the middle of the front row, wearing huge sunglasses and a perfect smile. "And as always at the beginning of a meeting I want to read our program to remind us all why we are here.”

She took a tablet, held it quite far in front of her eyes and began to read:

"The Fallen Gods Anonymous community is open to all entities from whose worship and cult people have turned away. Our quest for healing is based on the following 12step program:

First: We admit that we are powerless in the face of our dependence on external attention in the form of cult, worship and faith - and can no longer cope with our existence.

Second: We recognize that a power within ourselves that does not come from outside can restore our mental health and authority.

Third: We choose to take care of our inner authority ourselves.

Fourth: We make a fearless and thorough analysis of the human world.

Fifth: We admit our failures to ourselves and to another god or goddess unveiled.

Six: We are ready to eliminate all errors.

Seventh: We humbly eliminate our shortcomings.

Eighth: We make a list of beings we have harmed and are willing to make amends to them.

Ninth: We make amends with these beings - wherever possible - unless we hurt others.

Tenth: We continue the fearless and thorough analysis within ourselves.

Eleventh: We seek to deepen the conscious connection with the inner power through introspection and reflection for our own knowledge and for the will and power to implement it.

Twelfth: After we experience a spiritual awakening through these steps, we will pass on this message to fallen gods and goddesses and orient our daily lives according to these principles."

She folded the cover over her tablet and placed it on the desk as “Thank you, Hera!” echoed back from the meeting in front of her.

"All those who are here with us tonight for the first time, please give me a sign," Hera continued and let her eyes wander through the hall.

All present looked around curiously and stared at the single shyly raised hand. It belonged to a girl in her late teens, in a coarse and rather shabby dress, who held her head under her arm, which she did not stretch up.

"What's your name, love?" Hera asked.

"My name is San... Cathlyn of Sidford."

"Hello, Cathlyn,"replied Hera, making her hold her head a little tighter.

"And would you tell us what brought you here, love?"

She cleared her throat.

"Well, I was considered a saint in the face of Roman oppression and therefore I was brought to Isca Dumnoniorum in 263 to be beheaded. Then three years ago the Office for Canonization Processes in Rome announced the revocation of my sainthood, because now they claim I left false traces to cover up the fact that I ran away with a legionnaire...and, well...I really don't know what to do.”

"Traitor!" hissed from a corner.

"Calm down, people," said Hera, "we all know the poison of competition," and, addressed to the new member, "Fallen Christian saints are also covered by our statutes. Welcome, Cathlyn!"

A cat with a thick accent said, while she stretched her front paws with a yawn,

"The least she could do is put her head back on. It looks cheap."

"Bastet please -" The lack of emphasis in her voice betrayed that this was not the first time had Hera said that. She looked at her tablet again: "After sharing, we are going to hear a lecture today on 'Is Psychiatry the New Inquisition?'. Unfortunately, Barrex got stuck in traffic tonight and won't make it to us in time. As we are technically very well equipped here, we will later have a video conference. But now first to sharing. Who wants to share with us today? You know that everyone's got ten minutes. Xiuhtecuhtli is kind enough to stop time today."

"Oh, Mr. Sexy...!"

"Bastet, please -"