I built a church to house my broken devotion for a god that doesn't let me breathe. I would drag the dead god around the churchyard all day. hungry for simple blessings, what more could I seek. it was beautiful, the god... utile. More so than when it was alive, anyway. Sometimes I would scrunch up my nose, the god reeked of memories. And the stench clung to my back like a nagging child, heavy and too free. Other days, that girl from the manor would tell me I was lucky, I have a god to pl...