3 gods. Of a cult not worth their time. Though, this cult was all that worship them, they rather go long forgotten. They did not answer to their rituals. Or ceremonies. They slept.
A God of anger, yet guardianship. Known as the protector. Their unending amount of hands folded across their chest, holding glowing, fading in and out like a heartbeat, hammer.
A God of love, elation, nothing more then enjoying yourself to the fullest. The God of excess, of overflow, people would whisper. They dream of bigger, finer, happier things, spreading joy to all they touch.
Lastly, but not leastly, the God of mourning. Of grief. Of sorrow and tears and loss. A bleeding heart who's wound is never yet to heal. Her tears heal all they touch but they cannot heal herself or the unending pain she has come to know as comfort.
And when they woke, to the first sacrifice of many, words garbled into unending, unknowable texts and sounds and shrieks as they held this lost, fallen child. The cult was ecstatic. The child, neck bent at a cruel angle, crimson dripping from her crown, as tears flowed from a never ending mourning god, slowly rised. Her neck straightened, the wound healing, the crowd cheering.
They had given the Gods form! Yes, yes, of course. That's what they had done. Not angered them so, not caused an unforgivable and irreparable mistake beyond their limited knowledge. And her eyes- the child's eyes, the same hue as before but filled with so much more, with colors blending and folding into each other to create the illusion of the color, yet having a rainbow-esque quality to them, they were just as unknowable as the Gods themselves!
As the child's mother approached, as if to congratulate her child, or to chastise her and her sins and tell her this is her mortal punishment, she was struck down. But not dead. She laid unmoving for a moment, the Gods punishing her with the unending pain she had granted upon her daughter when she decided the only just punishment was death. Then she rose, laughing, smiling, ecstatic, but dared not to touch her again.
The child belonged to the Gods. The child was them in human form. They were not allowed to touch her. Not again.
Yet, they made this mistake again. Thinking it was a gift to them, the Gods. They did not know it would lead to their lack of existence.
theartofmadeline
stormborns
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
titsay
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
