The beginning, middle, and end.
Gods: A pair of sisters of disparate ages. One of the brink of puberty and one in almost full bloom. A natural beauty recalling Roman statues still gaudy with neon paint that have yet to age and become even more ravishing.
There were once a family of gods owing to continual ritualistic incest and sacrifices. Depictions of which would be unjust and inconclusive unless you’ve lost everything and looked up at the sun from a mud pit. To someone who has nothing the inconsequential can be mountainous and life-changing. For them incest and butchery were an every day occurrence bereft with minute hassle eventually leading to the usual drama, usual treachery, usual madness and therefore the usual suicidal plunge ending in Pyrrhic victory. What other fancies could describe the mundane?
The two sisters were all that remained and they went on a voyage to the sea; walking atop water, worshipped by no creature, promised no gift of speech to win a far off love, but into fog and blue set dressings. With each step they are being modified physically and mentally. A new neuro-peptide starts and finishes at each heart beat. The flesh becomes something more than human, lacking any flaw, and lacking less and less any existential ponder on the good and badness created. As though the air was an invisible chisel their bodies are enlarged and all the same become more refined. An increased height and hair length, skin becoming evermore bronze and reflective, and pairs of grossly enlarged tits like a Mona Lisa at a strip club.
Pardon my fantasies. Eventually the sisters arrive at a massive door, blueness shifts to grey then a phospherence like there being enough cum to turn to fog. The door opens, they enter, nothing.