sleeping in a coffin

Perhaps it isn't that the gods do not listen. Perhaps it is simply that there is so much death, so much horror in this longest of nights that they themselves need time to weep, to rest, to recuperate. Perhaps. A warm and gentle breeze rushes through the shrine, flickering the candles there, caressing Kiada's arms and stroking at her hair, as if to bring some semblance of peace. There in the quiet, in the darkness, it rustles the note in her hand and almost sounds like comfort. Like friends. Hush, it seems to say. It will be alright.