Is this hell? An eternity of people trying to convince me to live?
Madness string 348
When I was little, I would read the leaves. The veins were lines, the patterns stories, the intricacies were the pasts and presents and futures of all my little worlds. I also sometimes made sandwiches out of them.
In the seven hundred years that I have been a temple statue, I have never heard someone utter the words "a god" in the same tone that one might describe, oh... foot fungus.