Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
It is performative at best, the random scarce visits she makes to the shrines. Over the years her faith had whittled away, shrinking and shriveling beneath years and years of silence. Of death, of prejudice, of being cast away because of the way she was born, something she had no choice over. Now, in her thirties, Evie is a bitter wasteland of mock respect for the Gods. Her offerings are habit more than piety now, and as she walks away from the shrine she can't help the clench of her fists, the bow of her shoulders towards her center as if curling away from the cruelty of the world.
It makes her cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. Like a scolded child being sent away to her room without dinner. Furious at the way the Gods make her feel, at their disgusting bias against her and those like her. Have they ever considered that they are at risk of creating more Ascended by treating them this way? Of course the Abandoned would flock to a benevolent God with an open ear, someone who would care - though that's a convoluted mess she won't touch - and give form to the aimless faith most Abandoneds have. It hurts, and she hates that it still does even after all these years of silence.
It makes her cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. Like a scolded child being sent away to her room without dinner. Furious at the way the Gods make her feel, at their disgusting bias against her and those like her. Have they ever considered that they are at risk of creating more Ascended by treating them this way? Of course the Abandoned would flock to a benevolent God with an open ear, someone who would care - though that's a convoluted mess she won't touch - and give form to the aimless faith most Abandoneds have. It hurts, and she hates that it still does even after all these years of silence.
Or did you never want to be alone?
