She wondered if she had ever been a religious person.
The spiritual did not call to her as it might others - she did not find herself particularly impressed simply by the gods and spirits not only existing but apparently being rather friendly after a fashion, rather viewing it as a complex new natural law which, when faced with the opportunity to observe it first hand, she couldn't say no to this glaring opportunity.
If anyone asked, it was like the shrine wanted to be found. She didn't go looking, she'd have insisted upon interrogation. It practically came to her.
In her efforts to grow more familiar with the shelves she had simply stumbled upon it, and it didn't take a genius (idiot) to find the handholds, or figure out how the shelves pulled away. She she'd been stood here a moment, a very long moment, stood here staring at the orb, gnawing at her lip as her fingers stroked the place between her eyebrows lightly, opposite hand drumming against her elbow impatiently.
The more she looked at the shrine, the more the dust bothered her. How it looked so disorganized... so... forgotten. She fussed, picking up what looked to be a carved wooden figure of a plant surrounded by intricately carved vines and thorns and began to gently buff away the ages, blowing the dust from the fine grooves and niches as her brow furrowed.
The spiritual did not call to her as it might others, but the sentimental? That was a siren song. "You too, yeah? I can't just leave you like this, can I?"
The spiritual did not call to her as it might others - she did not find herself particularly impressed simply by the gods and spirits not only existing but apparently being rather friendly after a fashion, rather viewing it as a complex new natural law which, when faced with the opportunity to observe it first hand, she couldn't say no to this glaring opportunity.
If anyone asked, it was like the shrine wanted to be found. She didn't go looking, she'd have insisted upon interrogation. It practically came to her.
In her efforts to grow more familiar with the shelves she had simply stumbled upon it, and it didn't take a genius (idiot) to find the handholds, or figure out how the shelves pulled away. She she'd been stood here a moment, a very long moment, stood here staring at the orb, gnawing at her lip as her fingers stroked the place between her eyebrows lightly, opposite hand drumming against her elbow impatiently.
The more she looked at the shrine, the more the dust bothered her. How it looked so disorganized... so... forgotten. She fussed, picking up what looked to be a carved wooden figure of a plant surrounded by intricately carved vines and thorns and began to gently buff away the ages, blowing the dust from the fine grooves and niches as her brow furrowed.
The spiritual did not call to her as it might others, but the sentimental? That was a siren song. "You too, yeah? I can't just leave you like this, can I?"
