“Dakini burped and looked at Nandini. “My mother’s a witch,” she whispered.”
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The phone is in her hands. She doesn’t want to switch it on for fear of this coffin-like space keeping her safe and trapped, she doesn’t want to see Aditya’s face in that pale blue glow, the blood marking out a crimson grin in a ghost mask, she doesn’t want to see that he’s not Aditya at all, but something else, that ancient god behind dead eyes, animated by the rutting of horrible men from across time.
The trolls washed against Devi 1.0 in thundering armies, calling into question her very existence, for daring to be—she was an insult to the real goddesses that bless the glorious nation of India by mimicking them, this quasi-Parvati, this impostor-Durga, this coded whore trying to steal followers from the true deities