❛ i’ve begun to understand why god died . ❜
❛ what part of it do you even understand...? ❜ as always, claudine lets out a sigh. she looks on, suspicious and a tiny bit perplexed.
claudine imagines it: the devil, piercing the holy and incomprehensible corpse with a knife forged from sin. the ruler, already on their knees, ichor dripping down like their skin’s the most grandiose fountain known to man. ah, man. the accomplice, is he not? distracting the supreme one’s many, many eyes with a facade of goodness until they’d let their guard down. betrayal is in the nature of man, the potential for good and for evil setting the scene for potential trickery. that’s not evil. even god had lied once. the grandiosity of it all’s like the renaissance paintings claudine had been able to see since she was a child, but only to a fault. none of them had dared to blaspheme. none of them were claudine.
she wants to be the one to hold that blade, gripping it and slowly, painfully, pushing it in further. the blood on her hands would be the most cleansing absolution. she won’t be the devil—she’d be the one to usurp him.
and we all know who ‘god’ is.
she doesn’t let maya answer, then. claudine dares to guess. ❛ what’d be his last words? ❜
to those vehement. accepting.
