Mikhael had never believed in gods. His mother had never whispered stories of righteous men to him as he drifted to sleep, or brought him before shrines erected for ancient deities to kneel and pray for good fortune. In the Islands, religion did not exist - at least, not from what he had known. If it did, it was concealed to the shadows, out of sight from prying eyes. Perhaps there might have been whispers, if he had paid close enough attention. But he found no purpose for religion, no need to bow his head in prayer.
Still, he would be a liar if he said he hadn't considered it before. After Evren birthed their daughter, their little girl with her mother's coat and a heart that didn't beat (how he wished it would), Mikhael was fraught with guilt and grief. It had felt as deep as the sea, as black as the night, as cold as the winter. It settled like ice in his veins, consuming his soul until there was nothing left but his sadness, a shell of a man that could not stop wondering what if. When he had exhausted all his what ifs, there was only one question left to ask: if life could be given so easily, and taken so easily, then what was one meant to do with the time in between? It was this question that almost made the nonbeliever bow to whatever gods might be looking down on him.
Alas, he did not. For there was no use in praying to a god he didn't believe in.
And now he couldn't help but wonder, was it better to pray to a god he didn't believe in - in order to better blend in with those around him - or to reject the faith that others seemed to embrace wholeheartedly? He had no answer. Perhaps, he thought, he might find this answer in the most obvious of places. And so he found himself at the temple of the gods. How ironic, he mused as he ambled up the winding mountain path, that a skeptic would find himself seeking out a temple. He wasn't sure what he intended to find here, what he hoped might be waiting for him.
Perhaps he should have expected that others might seek the same solace he did here on the peak. As he rounded the final corner, his sight settled upon the body of another. He stilled upon seeing her, head turned and good eye trained on her lithesome frame as she glided from shrine to shrine, sweeping away the dust and decay that had settled about them. She worked meticulously, tending to each altar as if it were her life's purpose. Maybe it was. He knew what it was like to hole oneself off from the world, seeking refuge in solitude. For a moment, he simply watched her, not wanting to impose on such a private affair. It was not until the last of the cobwebs had been cleared away that he stepped from his place, nickering a soft greeting to the ghost-woman.
"Hello." He greeted her brusquely, head bowed as he took another step into the carved-out clearing. "I hope I didn't interrupt your prayer."
@Grainne
Still, he would be a liar if he said he hadn't considered it before. After Evren birthed their daughter, their little girl with her mother's coat and a heart that didn't beat (how he wished it would), Mikhael was fraught with guilt and grief. It had felt as deep as the sea, as black as the night, as cold as the winter. It settled like ice in his veins, consuming his soul until there was nothing left but his sadness, a shell of a man that could not stop wondering what if. When he had exhausted all his what ifs, there was only one question left to ask: if life could be given so easily, and taken so easily, then what was one meant to do with the time in between? It was this question that almost made the nonbeliever bow to whatever gods might be looking down on him.
Alas, he did not. For there was no use in praying to a god he didn't believe in.
And now he couldn't help but wonder, was it better to pray to a god he didn't believe in - in order to better blend in with those around him - or to reject the faith that others seemed to embrace wholeheartedly? He had no answer. Perhaps, he thought, he might find this answer in the most obvious of places. And so he found himself at the temple of the gods. How ironic, he mused as he ambled up the winding mountain path, that a skeptic would find himself seeking out a temple. He wasn't sure what he intended to find here, what he hoped might be waiting for him.
Perhaps he should have expected that others might seek the same solace he did here on the peak. As he rounded the final corner, his sight settled upon the body of another. He stilled upon seeing her, head turned and good eye trained on her lithesome frame as she glided from shrine to shrine, sweeping away the dust and decay that had settled about them. She worked meticulously, tending to each altar as if it were her life's purpose. Maybe it was. He knew what it was like to hole oneself off from the world, seeking refuge in solitude. For a moment, he simply watched her, not wanting to impose on such a private affair. It was not until the last of the cobwebs had been cleared away that he stepped from his place, nickering a soft greeting to the ghost-woman.
"Hello." He greeted her brusquely, head bowed as he took another step into the carved-out clearing. "I hope I didn't interrupt your prayer."
@Grainne
