My parents were dragged in shackles to the Saint’s hydroelectric dam, a year after I was born.
They were dragged there, they were sentenced, and they were tossed off the side into the churning waters, and the last words they ever heard were that they were to be devoured by something they did not understand.
Because the dam was new and unconsecrated, and a god must feed, and these false-faith renegades from deep in the fens made for the easiest sacrifices.
I will not hear that the world is a better place than it was, because now there’s process.
I won’t, and I can’t.
— Chapter 12: And To Fight Is Just To Choke.













