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The gods did not control the weather. Or the world. Or souls. But death, oh, they own that.
Fear is easy. Joy is hard,
Beloved, god-touched, great-souled… a saint, even? The true sort, who moved through the world as silently as fishes, unnoticed by carnal eyes that focused only on outward domination and display. Never on a small woman in a
small town, being kind. Soul by soul.
