After waiting for a long time—several days, by the end of it—Kurgarru and Galatur were still on the road, though they should arrive soon. Ereshkigal sat upon her throne, awaiting their arrival.
As she waited, she crafted cages and chatted with Annanu.
For the past few days, Ereshkigal and Annanu had been alone together.
During that time, Annanu discovered a new trait of Ereshkigal's.
She was a chatterbox.
She truly loved asking questions—asking about this and that, asking about everything. She even asked Annanu what he ate every morning, whether eating really consumed magical power, whether he needed to excrete waste, and things like that.
Though Annanu was somewhat impatient, he still answered most of Ereshkigal's questions. As for the few things he had never encountered himself, he did not dare make anything up.
Still, Annanu had inexplicably come to feel something—a rather profound realization.
Ereshkigal was probably truly lonely.
Otherwise, she would not have so many questions.
She had never seen the countless wonders of the surface. From the moment she was born, she had remained in the Underworld, wielding authority over this bitterly cold land, unable to leave.
Unable to leave, ever.
This was her home. Here, she made prisons for dead lives so they could rest in peace—but was the Underworld not also her prison?
Even if she treasured this place, even if she sincerely loved it, that could not change the fact, could it?
Of course, Annanu merely thought so. He was not Ereshkigal, after all, and could not truly experience either her loneliness or her love for this place. His descriptions could ultimately remain only descriptions; there was no way for him to make Ereshkigal truly feel the beauty of the surface.
Wait.
Annanu stroked his chin.
There was no need for him to prove