Jana says the soulless were Angels once, the template for all of us gone terribly wrong.
I asked how He could make such a mistake. The priest slapped me so hard I slammed into a pillar. After a day on my knees where the terrible things happen, I didn’t ask again.
Mama cried because my beauty had been spoiled and penance had made me worthless.
Headaches came, like spikes in my brain, every time I passed the church.
I prayed, and Angels came to paint the cathedral red. I sprinkled them with water, blessing their recycled souls.
No one kneels anymore.
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