Mine ancestral passenger withers at the heart of this world, his flesh hexed by swarms of crosses. I knew of whence his pain was born from the hideous claim they’d lain through seasons that burnt from the brightest blue to the most hideous grey. Mine own craft sought to rip them from the world, those devils dressed in the skin of angels. What a fraudulence they were! Cloaked in their dreary ‘finery’ and bleating for something that was never there to hear them anyway. My mouth summoned the plagues to the blight their flesh. And now triumvirate I stand here, for I am my own god. A caricature of divinity. Mine ancestral passenger has now faded into the ether, never to return. And I shall not mourn his passing.
