chaele
worship like a dog
Between their skull mask and mud-stained skirts, Chaele has made something of a home for themself in the Feverlands. It is not a long journey from their last camp site, now flooded by the swamp’s fickle waters, and the shaman has come prepared.
The wings of moths and butterflies, plucked from the hunted insects’ bodies, are flattened onto the paper walls of the lantern with a dried paste of water, flour, and nectar. They are placed meticulously close but without overlapping, causing the light to shine out between them in a winding, spidering pattern. The light itself is intermittent, a gentle flashing from the abdomens of fireflies trapped within.
They attach the lantern on a free branch, carefully guiding it to steadiness where it hangs. The sweet nectar and delicate protein will surely attract other hungry denizens of the marsh eventually, breaking down the paper and freeing those trapped within. So it will return to the earth, as all the dead do.
Chaele had mostly eaten wingless insects for the past day, so they are delighted to discover the assortment laid out for the festival. Having not engaged in the tradition that so many others have, they approach the table with fresh eyes. Their attention is immediately drawn by some sort of mammalian skeleton made of hardened sugar, the red cake within resembling wet innards. Without hesitation they snap off one of the ribs and raise it beneath their ivory mask, sucking idly on the candy shard as they look silently over the gathering crowd.
The wings of moths and butterflies, plucked from the hunted insects’ bodies, are flattened onto the paper walls of the lantern with a dried paste of water, flour, and nectar. They are placed meticulously close but without overlapping, causing the light to shine out between them in a winding, spidering pattern. The light itself is intermittent, a gentle flashing from the abdomens of fireflies trapped within.
They attach the lantern on a free branch, carefully guiding it to steadiness where it hangs. The sweet nectar and delicate protein will surely attract other hungry denizens of the marsh eventually, breaking down the paper and freeing those trapped within. So it will return to the earth, as all the dead do.
Chaele had mostly eaten wingless insects for the past day, so they are delighted to discover the assortment laid out for the festival. Having not engaged in the tradition that so many others have, they approach the table with fresh eyes. Their attention is immediately drawn by some sort of mammalian skeleton made of hardened sugar, the red cake within resembling wet innards. Without hesitation they snap off one of the ribs and raise it beneath their ivory mask, sucking idly on the candy shard as they look silently over the gathering crowd.
at the shrine of my lies
