open !
“the sky is a mirror,” jehanne explains, a hand motioning toward the night’s bare heavens. “what are stars but reflections of souls taking rest in the sea?”
jehanne makes certain her roots are indistinguishable. she speaks slowly, tone controlled. her accent is a patchwork of handpicked traits from every kingdom: the gentleness of arvum, the sincerity of calx, the certainty of imber, and beneath it, the artfulness of littus. she leaves no trace of pestis — history has had her homeland carry connotations of untrustworthiness, the lot of them likened with pirates and thieves.
of course, they aren’t wrong. religion was just another brand of trickery, painting over the gaps of what was yet to be known with LIES disguised as prophetic wisdom. it offered two things people this age so desperately craved: salvation and some bullshit explanation.
and it paid. oh gods, it paid. “let me weave your souls into GOLD so you may find your place in the heavens.”











