Flickering flames, stone swept clean. Meat and cakes of honey and flour.
Skin unclothed, covered in clean clay. Six times washed with water pure, six times covered again.
Endless prayers whispered to walls, the mantra flying on winds so cold.
No mist can swallow true worship. It helps to believe, but I never did. It is for foolish, the hopeful.
I never believed. I know my gods all too well.
Even the weakest amongst them deserve sacrifice.


Incessant monotone shouting, shortly followed by wizened form of the village healer running to the river and back again several times, clad in nothing but her skin may have woken some inhabitants this dawn. The strange sight was accompanied by flickering lights: The dented bronze braziers before the temple doors are ablaze, signaling a time of worship.
Few may remember the last time such a period began... And those that do will surely lock their doors tonight, shivering at the memory of what stalked the nights a year ago.