She'd made it. Floreca Scivolemulino's skin was as hot and red as clay pavement in the afternoon, and her feet felt like they were about to collapse under her weight. The water she'd brought was gone–she was always thirsty, with her illness. But she was here.

She'd never been so close to the angel-dwelling before. She hadn't realized how long it would take to reach. It wasn't really far, but her illness weakened her, and the path was unkempt–steep, muddy, and overgrown with those obnoxious, barbed weeds. The barbs got into her shoes and stabbed her feet with each step, but there were so many that if she stopped to shake them out every time one attached to her, she'd never have gotten anywhere. So now her feet were as beat-up and worn out as her old sandals.

She had looked relatively presentable when she set off for the angel-dwelling, fresh from the temple. Now her feet were caked in dirt, the poky weeds clung to her bloomers, and some of her hair had come loose. Would the Aĉaĵego be offended that she'd come looking so unkempt? But she couldn't spare the time to clean herself up. It was life and death–she hoped the Aĉaĵego would understand.

"Aĉaĵego!" she called. But there was no answer, and the cessation of movement had made it all the harder to keep standing. Her head ached and she could hear a waterfall in her head.

"Aĉaĵego!" she called out again. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Slamming against her chest as if trying to burst out and run away. But her heart couldn't run away, and neither could she. "Aĉaĵego! Come out please!"

It didn't come, so she went closer.

The angel-dwelling was bigger than she'd thought. What from home had looked like a snake hole now looked more like a small temple. The solid stone ledge protruding out from below the entrance was carpeted with eggflowers, as though they had been placed there in honor of Ĉieldiino–but, most likely, they'd simply blown down from the trees on the trail above. Floreca didn't avoid the puddle that had gathered at the cave mouth, allowing the cool water to soothe her feet.

The cavern was comfortably cool. She looked left, then right–statues, of Terdiino, the goddess of life with her hair of grass, and Ĉieldiino, the goddess of death with her hair of clouds. Thinking of heaven made her feel like a doll someone had dropped from a high distance, and all her limbs and innards were flying up above her as she fell. "Where is the Aĉaĵego?" she mumbled, forcing herself to focus. Between the statues was an even narrower cavern. This one did look like a snake hole; boulders had been stacked all along the bottom half, up towards eye-level. It was too dark to see anything beyond the gap from the boulders to the cave's roof.

"Aĉaĵego?" she called out, one last time, but in her nervousness she swallowed the last syllable and it came out as a whisper. She tried again, remembering the words the priest had told her to use. "M... my name is Scivolemulino! I come with the permission of the Temple of Terdiino!"

The boulders began to shake, and then to tumble and roll. Floreca had to clutch at her own skirt to keep her feet in place. A wing – bony and webbed like a bat's – emerged first. Then the other wing, and then two massive talons. A tail like a rat's uncurled itself and fell limp at Floreca's feet. Scaly, slick front legs pushed the rest of the creature's body outwards. Finally, once the creature had completely freed itself of the smaller crevice, it whipped around and faced Floreca, revealing a face like a roach, with a dozen eyes on each side of its head and rows and rows of large, sharp teeth.

Floreca fell to her knees and bowed her head perhaps lower than necessary; her eyes inches from the ground. She had seen the angel before–she and her older sister Karesema used to sneak out on the mornings of the sacrifice to watch it swoop down and snatch its victims from the offering spot–but she'd never been this close, let alone tried to speak to it. Just as she was about to open her mouth and start spouting the flatteries the priests had told her to recite–the Aĉaĵego bellowed, "What business hast thee here?" and her mental preparations disappeared.

"Do you have my sister?" Floreca blurted. She realized it was a foolish question as soon as she said it. The Aĉaĵego was just an angel; it couldn't see into a person's head like a goddess could. It wouldn't know who her sister was. "The girl, the one they just gave you, do you have her?"

The angel didn't respond. She swallowed and tried again. "The sacrifice! Did you... kill her yet?"

The Aĉaĵego hovered over her without saying anything; the shadow it cast did not even fidget. Could it not understand her? Was she not making sense? Was it angry because she hadn't praised it?

"Merciful Aĉaĵego," Floreca started up again, "please answer me! I know I'm merely an unworthy girl, but..."

She was distracted by the sound of footsteps; slow, unsteady, pebbles shifting and clanging as feet met with the ground. Floreca snapped back into an upright position, looking past Aĉaĵego to see another girl standing behind it, having stopped at the pile of pebbles. Her clothes were muddy, her braids were coming undone, and her mouth and eyes were half-open.

"Franjo!" Floreca scrambled to her feet, dizzy. "You're alive!"

The word franjo, the affectionate title that children use on their older sisters, awakened Karesema Ridemulino from her confusion. She looked around like she had just become aware of her surroundings, and let out an unintelligible yelp. Poor Karesema. They sent the sacrifices away with strong wine to help them calm down before they were killed– Karesema must have already taken hers, which meant Floreca had gotten there just in time. Floreca squeezed Karesema tight. "Terdiino listened to my prayers! I'm so relieved!"

"What– what are you doing?" asked Karesema. Her waist swayed, and Floreca held her tighter to steady her. "How... did you get here? ...Where's Jadinda?"

"She's fine," Floreca reassured, smoothing her thumb over Karesema's back. "I came by myself. Listen." She hesitated a bit, wondering if she was speaking too quickly for Karesema's less-than-sober mind to comprehend, but nonetheless finished her sentence.
"Listen. The judges granted me approval to be punished in your place. You can go home!"

"...What?" Karesema stumbled backwards a bit, but Floreca didn't let go of her. "You can't! You're... my little sister, you can't – "

Floreca was expecting this kind of protest. "Sssh," she soothed. "I know you want to protect me. But think of little Jadinda. She needs someone to be there for her, and I can't do that either way. It's better this way, Franjo."

"You... you can't!" Karesema insisted. "I'm the oldest sister! I.. just... can't!"

The oldest sibling was always responsible for the younger ones, especially when they didn't have parents. Their mother had died when Floreca was only seven, and their father had passed away the previous year of the sickness called soul-drain – the same illness Floreca was showing symptoms of now. The two girls weren't far apart in age, but Karesema was head of the household–expected to protect her sisters as a mother would protect her children.

For this reason, the judging-priests had argued against even allowing Floreca to come. It wasn't unheard of for the family member of a sacrifice to volunteer to take the sacrifice's place–Terdiino would accept these sacrifices, if it could be argued that said volunteer bore some of the blame for the sin. Usually, this meant parents could be sacrificed on behalf of their sons or daughters. It is, after all, a parent's responsibility to instill morals in his or her children. Failing at these responsibilities was a sin in and of itself. But this image of proper familial altruism was so ingrained that, even though Floreca had been complicit in the crime that had gotten Karesema put in prison, the priests were reluctant to allow her to take the punishment. It was only when Floreca pointed out that she was sick and dying, and argued that Karesema was needed at home by their youngest sister Jadinda, that they had relented.

Not everyone in the village would accept this. Karesema would be judged for leaving Floreca behind. But she would be alive.

"It's better for all of us," Floreca repeated. "Do you remember what it was like when Paĉjo was sick?" It had started as mere fatigue and an insatiable appetite; then as the months passed their father withered away, lost the ability to work and eventually to even walk. His last few weeks he'd just laid in bed, staring through sallow eyes. Somehow, he was even more terrifying that way than he'd been before he got sick. "I don't want to die that way."

Karesema stared dumbly at Floreca as if searching her face for a rebuttal. But in her drunken state, she wasn't able to hold the eye contact.

The Aĉaĵego had been silent. Floreca twisted her head just far enough to get a glimpse of the angel. It was watching them with its insect eyes, no readable expression on its face.

She still hadn't properly introduced or explained herself.

She separated herself from Karesema and helped the older girl gradually lower herself to the ground before kneeling down herself to bow again. "Forgive me, Aĉaĵego. I don't know if I was clear. My name is Scivolemulino. This is my older sister, Ridemulino. Though, I suppose you've met her." She used their true-names instead of the child-names they used among themselves. Child-names were expressions of parents' hope for the children, given at birth. When they became adolescents, they'd received true-names, which reflected their actual personalities. It wasn't proper to introduce oneself by her child-name; upon receiving a true-name, one was called by her child-name only by family and friends.

"I care not who thou art," said the Aĉaĵego. "Why didst thou come here?"

She hadn't expected the curtness, but kept steady. "The priests sent me to request an exchange of punishment. My older sister, Ridemulino, was sent to you for trying to steal, but it's only because I'm sick and she couldn't afford medicine for me. She was only doing what I would have done for myself, if I was strong enough. Take me instead of her."

The angel looked back and forth between them. "Nay."

Nay? She'd expected to be tested; people in stories always had to prove themselves before receiving favors from an angel. She hadn't considered that she would be outright denied. "But," she protested, "the priests said – "

"The priests have no authority over me. Thou art scrawny and sickly; the other one is healthy and plump. I would prefer to eat it over thee."

"I..." She wasn't sure what to say. The Aĉaĵego didn't kill out of pleasure; it killed out of necessity. That's what every angel-story said. Floreca looked at Karesema as if she might have a solution or at least an explanation. The older girl had always been quicker to react to the unexpected, and had a keen ability for catching on to people's motives–if this was a test, Karesema would know how to pass. But the gaze she returned expressed only resignation.

"It's better this way, anyway," said Karesema, squeezing Floreca's hand. She broke eye contact with her and looked towards the Aĉaĵego. Though her voice was steady, the speed at which her eyes darted from the angel's head to its feet and wings betrayed her fear. "You still have months left."

"No!" Floreca pushed away from her sister. She knelt down again, but this time she didn't press her forehead to the ground–instead she looked up at the angel like a beggar would. "Please, Aĉaĵego, at least listen to me! I promise, if you let my sister live she'll serve Terdiino faithfully!"

"'Terdiino'." The angel made a snorting sound that resembled a scoff. "I have heard that name from other sacrifices, but have never met the being to whom it refers."

What? Floreca looked back at Karesema. The Aĉaĵego was Terdiino's angel, her chosen servant. She was the one who'd sent it to the mountain. There was even a statue of her right outside! "I don't..."

Aĉaĵego made a clicking sound in the back of its throat. "I eat only the humans I am given. But I have now received my sacrifice, and I will not trade it, save for a larger and plumper human."

"I see," said Floreca, sinking down to sit on her ankles. She didn't understand, but it wasn't her place to argue with an angel. "If that's the case, then please send both of us to heaven."

"What?" Karesema gasped.

"Jadinda's already at the orphanage, with Pastrino Afablulino," said Floreca, brushing her lips with the end of her one of her braids. "She agreed to look after her until you get back–and she already said she'd be welcome to stay, if you don't make it back at all. The way Paĉjo was, at the end–I don't want to live like that. I don't want Jadinda to have to see me like that."

"So you just abandoned her? Does she even know?"

Floreca nodded, trying not to think of Jadinda's hysterical sobbing as Floreca told her that she wouldn't be coming back, whether the Aĉaĵego agreed to exchange her punishment with Karesema's or not. She tried to tell herself that this was best for Jadinda. That it was best to lose her now, while all their memories together were happy. She knew, if she stayed home, if she let Jadinda watch her die slowly, she'd regret it.

But that didn't make it easier.

The Aĉaĵego was flicking its rat-tail back and forth. After a final glace at Karesema's red face, and trying to put Jadinda out of her mind completely, Floreca bowed and said, "I still wish you'd let my sister go. But if you really won't let her go, then, please... send me to heaven with her."

"I agree," said Aĉaĵego.

"No!" shouted Karesema. She staggered trying to get to her feet, but then yanked Floreca off the floor with more strength than Floreca expected–then dropped her. She landed on her hands and knees, her wrists taking the impact. Karesema, usually the stronger of the two, tried to grab her under the arms and drag her, but she was still recovering from the effects of the alcohol, so her advantage was not as pronounced. Floreca stayed in place, wincing.

"Get out!" Karesema shouted, and kicked Floreca in the back of the knees. Floreca lost balance, and Karesema caught her by the waist – perhaps she was planning to carry Floreca outside by force, but instead she lost her balance and toppled over. Then they were both on the ground, with Karesema tugging at Floreca's arms and Floreca trying to push her way as gently as she effectively could. But before either could gain on the other, the Aĉaĵego grabbed both of them with its tail and threw them past were the wall of boulders had been, into its lair. "Vexacious humans," it muttered. Still restrained, Floreca avoided Karesema's furious expression.

Finally the Aĉaĵego released them. There was a tense silence as it crawled through the snake hole. It stopped about a foot in front of where it had left the girls and, after a second, nudged both girls with its tail until they moved forward.

The narrow tunnel opened into a larger area. A small hole in the side towards the top let in just a bit of sunlight, but there wasn't much to see–just rocks. Notably, there was no sign of human remains. That was a comfort.

Floreca slumped down. Karesema grabbed her by the collar of her dress and glared into her eyes. For a minute she looked as if she were about to hit her, but instead she let go and turned her back. "You're no better than our mother," she said, and walked away.