He took me to the chapel, long abandoned by the dead. You’d think spirits would linger to protest the removal of their corporeal forms. There was nothing but monsoon winds without water, as if the ocean knew better than to rise up against him as we had.
He took me in the chapel, by the altar of a fickle god, no murmured endearments, no matrimonial promises. I knew the moment I changed, transcending from human to that which serves, ever ready, never sated. Then I knew nothing but His love, His will, His truth.
Thus was the world made new.
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