When her blade cuts through the air, it gives off a scent of green tea, and when she leaps into the air, petals the color of fresh blood swirl all around her, as though prefiguring imminent hot sprays of blood. Each time I entered her shrine I knew it might be my last act in life, but I cannot do otherwise, for the Goddess is my wife and I love her with my every cell. On the last day of history I will take her hand and step with her into the jaws of time, where we will either restart the universe or not. That time is now, or is infinitely postponed, and she is the jubilance of random death or the somber witness to unexpected nothingness. And it’s our anniversary next week.