As I prepare the body, it's quiet. The war has moved further out towards enemy territories. Many of the folk believe this to be a show of our strength but I feel its only a trick, a simple strategy to inflate our soldiers' egos. The father I mentioned before now sits in the corner watching me wrap his son in old molding rags that I spent all night trying desperately to wash. I was informed this morning that we were no longer providing coffins, a proper and individual burial for every man, woman, and child. we have instead finally entered the era of mass graves. How many souls will be lost in the desecration? Please Holy Father I will not question your judgement but I do hope you have your eyes on us. Dear lord I pray, for victories and for the safety of us all.
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The Angel's Trumpet
FantasyDelysia Jones The patron Saint of Rebellion. Of those who pray to her, those who awake in the night staring into the eyes of a dead king weighing on their chest, those who sail in blood and bury luxury within the earth. Pray to her when war wages...
