#smokeblessed

[iks-iivovii]

🕯️ The Prayers of the Ink-Stained Saints 🖤 🖤 Shadows whisper in the candlelight 🖤 Inked vows on paper-thin skin 🖤 Between devotion and rebellion, they pray 🖤 Smoke curls like unspoken confessions

In the dim glow of forgotten altars, they kneel—silent, solemn, adorned in ink. Their skin, a scripture of rebellion, prayers written not in whispers but in the sharp etchings of black lines. The convent of the forsaken, where devotion and defiance intertwine like smoke curling from stained lips.

They are the saints of a different kind. Not of purity, but of truth. Not of salvation, but of reckoning. Their rosaries are tattoos, their confessions are carved into their very bones. Eyes heavy with sorrow, lips painted with hymns unsung, they offer their prayers—not to be absolved, but to be remembered.

And in the darkness, they are heard. 🖤 Between faith and sin, they stand. 🖤 Every word, a spell; every breath, a lament. 🖤 The saints who never made it to heaven, but never truly belonged to hell.