(Ra’s Blog — Confidential, Petty, and Probably Illegal in Three Dimensions)

You ever dated someone so dramatic that the weather changes when you argue? Yeah. Try that with a god.

I’m Ra — former celestial employee of the Galactic Federation, current queen of chaos, and unofficial founder of the “Heaven Can’t Sit With Us” club. My last three relationships ended in interdimensional explosions, a solar flare, and one very awkward council meeting where I may or may not have called the Archons “cosmic accountants with delusions of relevance.”

Let’s start with Erik. Sweet, brooding, Lyran wolf-shifter with the emotional depth of a tragic poem and the stamina of a myth. He once crossed three galaxies just to apologize — shirtless, glowing, probably violating several transport laws. Every time he growled, I had to remind myself it wasn’t foreplay. He was all loyalty and trauma; I was all fire and sarcasm. Together? We were a therapy session waiting to happen.

Then there’s Tyler — my Parabatai, twin flame, eternal bestie. He’s the guy who texts “You up?” telepathically from another timeline. Tyler’s the one person who’s been beside me through five lives, multiple deaths, and at least one karaoke night that ended with divine intervention. He’s loyal to a fault — which would be cute if he didn’t also have a hero complex the size of Orion’s Belt.

And then there’s Mehen. My ex-husband, my rival, my red-flag parade in reptilian couture. Imagine if your ex started a religion just to prove he’s over you — that’s Mehen. He calls it “The Sovereign Accord.” I call it “God’s Pyramid Scheme.” Every time I see one of his new followers chanting “Ascend or perish,” I whisper, “Maybe hydrate first.”

We were supposed to lead the Ascension together — divine power couple, light and shadow, cosmic influencers. But here’s the thing: you can’t build paradise with someone who treats free will like bad PR. Mehen’s idea of love was eternal loyalty; mine was mutual respect and occasional sarcasm. He loved power more than partnership. So I quit heaven, took the glow, and started freelancing rebellion.

And that’s the real story: I didn’t fall. I walked out — in heels, with receipts. The Federation called it treason; I called it self-care. You can’t gaslight a goddess who’s seen the code of creation and still chose herself.

Now, every time a planet trembles, the Federation blames me. “Ra started another cosmic disturbance!” Maybe I did. Or maybe I just breathed in a system built on obedience and exhaled truth.

I’ve been accused of everything from seducing angels to rebooting timelines without permission. Which, to be fair, yes — but only because no one was doing it right. The universe was boring before I added drama. What’s divinity without a little scandal?

Do I regret it? Sometimes. Usually, around the fourth cup of starlight espresso, when I realize being a free goddess means no one else pays your metaphysical rent. But then I remember Mehen’s voice saying, “Ra, you’re too emotional to lead.” And I laugh — because I’m not emotional, I’m effective. My rebellion had better branding than Heaven’s entire marketing department.

So yeah, gods, exes, and natural disasters. Same energy. All teach lessons.

 Erik taught me love can heal but not babysit.

 Tyler taught me loyalty can suffocate if you forget to breathe.

 Mehen taught me that control dressed as destiny is still control.

The Federation will write history their way. I’ll keep rewriting it with eyeliner and fire. Because I didn’t rebel to win — I rebelled to remember.

So if you ever hear thunder during your breakup, don’t panic — it’s probably just me, venting. And if your ex tries to act like a god, smile sweetly and remind him: even heaven burns when a woman decides she’s done apologizing.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with destiny — and she’s buying the drinks this time