The seventh gate to the Underworld waited. The stone was smooth, worn by millennia of bodies passing through. Moisture clung to the air, and damp moss to the stone. 

Ishtar felt the gatekeeper’s freezing breath touch the back of her neck. He was a thing unseen, pressing into the space behind her. He stood too close.

She wore nothing but the necklace.

Lapis lazuli lay against the hollow of her throat, the stone cool and dense. Its calcite caught the low light, flecked white like bone against the golden pyrite. It glowed, flaring. Ishtar’s pulse was racing, and she shivered, exposed. They had survived the six gates before. 

The presence around her thickened. The gatekeeper’s voice was low. Expectant.

“Remove it.”

Ishtar’s skin prickled at the predatory whisper. She was a goddess, without equal - on earth or in spirit. People of the great city of Uruk cried her name, burning offerings in war and in love. They prayed to her for justice, and for desire. She was the Queen of Heaven. This was not Heaven. 

Her fingers slid to the clasp, letting her last vestige of power fall to the mossy ground. The loss she felt was immediate and violent. Cold flooded her chest, and her breath turned shallow. The darkness pressed closer, intimate. The gatekeeper’s fingers closed around her waist from behind, his rough fingers sliding over the smooth curve of her hips.

Beyond the gate, something watched her. Its slow attention lingered on her skin. She stood naked beneath it, heart racing. 

Ishtar stepped through the gate, and darkness claimed her.

Her story is not over. The fate of Ishtar will soon be revealed.