Nothing like a warm drink

It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight

Wessex blinks slowly, probably mostly in confusion, as she tries to wrap her head around the idea of humans inventing Gods as a means of control. It was easy to breeze past his statement about real mythical beings without acknowledging the core of it - that his world doesn’t have any. Or, as he puts it, that they’re fake. It takes a moment for her to sort a response out, his background also zipping in one ear and out the other, more or less.

“So… if they were invented, and you know this, then I assume others know it too. How are these Gods still… important? Worshipped? It sounded like they’re still relevant.” And then there’s the horrible thought about Abasi and his Gods. “What about my friend’s Gods? The one from Egpyt.” On second thought, maybe it was a good thing Abasi was dead. He’d be devastated if he heard that the Gods he so adored were fake.

Her own history is a bit of an afterthought, nowhere near as interesting as this theological discussion. “The Theskyras.” Impulsively, she sheds whatever is covering her arms and reveals a circular dragon tattoo that Astor usually forgets about around her bicep. “I’m the last of my family and unless there are distant relatives  in other parts of Caido -” at least six generations distant “- there’ll be no more.” Not biologically, at least. “My father disappeared, but my mother and sister were saints. Deserved better than dyin’ early.”