“Say grace.” Darla scowls by her cast-iron stove.
“It’s your death cult, not mine.”
“Blasphemy.” She flips another pancake.
“Can’t be condemned if I never believed.”
“Someone neglected your education,” she says. “If enough people think you’re disrespecting their beliefs, you’ll hang for it.”
“Faith should withstand challenges and dissent.” I pour syrup over the flapjacks.
The perfect beauty of the Light-Bringer forms in the sticky liquid. No one would report this daily miracle. People have forgotten Him.
I swallow the divine, go to school, and wait to be blessed as a true believer when Iblis awakens the world.
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