"a god prefers a broken will, it fits better in their hands." @pezeshk is speaking as he works. first, skin starts to yield; next, sinew unravels from bone. the body opens into unwilling layers until viscera is laid bare beneath the sterile lights. ambrosius observes. their smile is as sharp as the scalpel he wields.
"naturally." one leg crosses over the other. "intact wills are troublesome. they disagree. they negotiate. occasionally they develop opinions. far easier to take a person apart until obedience becomes indistinguishable from faith, then congratulate yourself on being worshipped." an elbow rests on one corner of the dissection table, hand loosely curled at their temple. their other fingers drum idly against the metal surface. "of course, one needn't be a god to find those qualities irritating. plenty of mortals arrive at the same conclusion once they're given enough authority and a sufficiently compelling justification. kings, priests, conquerors — scholars." their eye shifts from the anatomy-in-reverse to il dottore. then they lean back in their seat, head hanging slack.
"everyone insists they're acting for some greater purpose, or believe that their hand belongs on the reins. divinity merely grants the luxury of calling it destiny." an exhale, followed by a vague gesture. "after a few millenia, the distinction begins to feel largely cosmetic."
