Autumn's Fox God
Genevieve Adams
The grand reaching of the sky abandons me as I lay here in the tall golden wheat. The flames of the dawning sunrise that greet the horizon’s ever stretched out arms float up into the masterpiece of breath.
My nose is tickled in the gentle wind as I let out a small sneeze. I shake my head instinctively as my eyes open.
Roused from my peaceful slumber, I awake to the flaming quiet morn of dawn’s light.
The humans will soon hunt for the gold of the earth I slumber within. Their silver blades will steal away my warm nest of comfort.
Rising to my paws, I stand and yawn. The crimson leaves of autumn blow in the air as a strong gust of wind sweeps through the seemingly endless fields of riches. Deeper yet is the gold of the mountains that tower in the distance. Their pride to which stands high for all to see and none to claim.
I walk forward as my white coat shimmers with an icy glow while light showers down from the sky that’s born anew. The shades rapidly falling away as they are replaced by the softer shades of bright blue.
I make my way to my shrine. There is a new on built each year. My home to which I am an outsider to. The humans don’t praise my gifts or enjoy my songs. They are the songs of death and joyless tunes. They’re words of warning to all who follow them. No warmth or words of adoration for the lonely white fox. I am begged to keep my wrath from their homes. All I’m ever asked for is my absence. No one calls for me.
So alone I walk as humans avoid my omens and signs. My unpleasantness has its own power. My rage brings the worst of harvests while my laughter yields fruits of every color.
An Autumn Fox God born with white fur was mistaken for the winter Hound. He is never spoken of and my fur is to blame. I am to blame.
His loneliness and rage grow with each passing year he is neglected. While we are gods to the humans, we are nothing but the pawns of the greater gods’ power in truth. Our emotions dictate what shall occur the following season, but winter was robbed when I was born with this color fur.
The God of Autumn thought it a funny jest to give his vessel a white coat. Now…the seasons are in discord. More and more Humans die each winter from the cold howling winds of the Winter Hound God. His fury is met with ignorance while my innocence is met with blame.
I fear the Spring Sparrow God may never forgive me for my creation. He never speaks to me as he does the others. He flies over me without so much as a glancing courtesy. I’m used to it all by now though.
The Summer Mare God looks on me with pity. She believes herself to be greater than all of us. But I truly do pity her. She who would weep for whom which is hated and scorned by all who gaze upon my misfortune.
Stepping through the waving wheat, striding slowly. I am in no rush to see the feeble offerings of my own season’s prizes.
Proper offerings to the season gods are gifts from the previous season. Since I am mistaken for the winter god, I am offered my own season’s delights. My own fruit. My own leaves. My own crops.
I envy the others greatly. My shameful white coat is unbefitting of my role in this world. The humans glare at me as if I could simply change it if I so desired to. But they don’t understand how much I desire that same wish to be granted. I have grown to hate myself for this cursed beauty, but it is beauty none the less, even if it’s overshadowed by their hatred for it.
Autumn was never meant to be met with such hatred. They treat me as if I killed the Autumn god myself, unknowing that the very receiver of their scorn is all for my own honor and in my name for which they so hate me for.
Winter feels enraged. As he should.
Spring feels robbed. As he should.
Summer feels sad. As she should.
And I feel so very many things…no single emotion has ever visited me at a time. My mind swells with hatred for the ignorant humans and for the god who did this to me. Yet the sadness is all encompassing. It completely devours me when night falls over the sky. The joy of wondering if my season still fills a small part of my bruised heart. Envious have I spent these past few years. But it’s of no consequence to the humans.
I now see my shrine covered in the pelts of the autumn animals of my domain. Leaves of ever color woven into baskets. Plates of blackberries and the like.
I sigh in defeat as I climb into the shrine.
This place belongs to no one but the Autumn Fox god, yet I feel as though I am a stranger to this place. I have spent many days and nights here on this shrine, but it never feels as though it belongs to me.
A white fox among the red and orange leaves of fall. I sit there as some humans approach with their looks of hatred and spite. They are merely enraged by the previous winter. No matter the wonderful harvests I give them year after year, they still refuse to offer their love or gratitude.
They know not who I am.
I wish I could speak to them. Beg for their forgiveness. Explain that their harvests are my doing. But it’s forbidden to speak to the mortals.
I despair as more of my autumn harvests are laid before me.
To give a god their own seasons products is a symbol of rejection and a high sign of disrespect, but they do not know…they think me the winter hound, so they offer his rightful gifts to me.
I do not bow to them, as an Autumn god shouldn’t. Their gifts are not acceptable, so I cannot bow. I stare at the baskets of apples and corn. Two wooden carved bowls filled with cinnamon and other such herbs. A pumpkin. These are my own. Creations I have gifted them, and through their ignorance, they are here to give them back to me.
This is a cruel cycle of fate and pain.
I start to hear the humans shout at me for not bowing in thanks for the offerings. A woman cries out, begging me to answer her with what I desire. A man raises his voice and demands that I spare them a violent winter such as the previous year. And the year before. And the year prior to that one.
I do nothing but gaze solemnly at my own gifts brought before me.
I wish the humans safe this winter, but my wishes are meaningless to them. My wishes are meaningless to all. Each year since I was born with this fur, I have tried all that I can to appease the Winter Hound.
In the past, each day I would receive the Winter Hound’s offerings, I would bring them to him myself. He deserves them. He needs them. But he destroys them whenever I would. He wants nothing from me aside from my dead corpse at his feet. Perhaps preferably, within his own jaw.
No matter how many times I have tried to speak with him, he never answers unless to send me away before he unleashes his temper upon me.
More humans arrive. More of my gifts are given to me. Again, I do not bow. More shouting. More crying. More begging. More demands. And then they are gone. Returning to their homes with prayers and hopes of a safe winter that is never to come if this cycle is to continue.
I despair.
The Winter Hound demanded I never return to his shrine again. I have obeyed and I ask that the animals of my domain bring the gifts to him in my stead. He says nothing to them but destroys the gifts regardless.
I understand why he does so.
He wishes the gifts brought to him by the humans, not by the object of his wrath.
He thinks me his enemy and I do not resent him for it. His winter can be beautiful if only his emotions weren’t so temperamental and harmed. He’s been wounded by the isolation. Emptied by the jest of some god who thought the balance of the seasons a joke to be tampered with.
I hope that god has laughed his fill. My wish is that he will come down and grant me the scarlet, crimson, fur I so long for. It’s never granted though.
I remain alone…no one but the spirits of the domains to speak with. No one but the spirits who know my domain to be the Autumn Forests of the Changing Fates.
My closest friend and ally is the Doberman Spirit of the Storm. He bounds through my fields bringing rain upon the earth and barking thunder into the grey skies. Showering fire and light through the stormy night to which is his bliss. I miss his storms when he is not here.
He offers his advice to me while his storms roll over head.
As I remember his comfort, I hear the roll of the clouds and a bark of thunder.
Joy fills me as I bound out of my shrine to the open fields of Amber Heaven. This town is the closest to my shrine. I rush over the hills and race through the wheat.
The humans who are harvesting the wheat for their bread panic and hurry themselves inside while I sprint headlong into the stormy horizon.
Soon, the wheat gives way to the withering grass meadows. As I leap forward to reveal myself out of the golden crop, there, in the distance, I see him.
His black fur and silver eyes stampede forward. His paws like the roll of the rain that is soon to descend upon the ground. His bark is the comforting sounds of the storm that he leads onward. The breathlessness of the cool air floods the world around me. My eyes look upon his powerful form as he approaches.
The storm above passes over us and continues on without its commander.
“Autumn Fox god. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He states as he lowers his head in a respectful bow.
I return his bow and laugh as I leap up onto his tall back.
“But the pleasure is mine, truly, my old friend. I fear you are my last comfort in these times of ignorance.” I say joyfully.
He grumbles in anger. “How can they still be so blind? These humans who want nothing more than to see the next Spring blossom with their selfishness.”
He charges forward as I cling to his back, jumping and taking hold of the storm’s direction once again. His power in every step as potent as the storm hurtling above.
“They can’t help it. They’ve convinced themselves that their falsities are truth. Who could tell them otherwise? Each human is as unknowing as the last.”
“You defend them with your words, yet nothing is to blame for their misfortune but their own stupidity. That is why the parish in the winter’s wake. That is why you are so hated by your kin. Your wisdom and sympathy are with them. You are far kinder than I. Gifting them year after year with bountiful harvests. They deserve far less for their transgressions.”
“You’d persecute the foolish for what they do not know?”
“It is because they do not know is why they are undeserving of your kindness.”
“I think not. My domain’s food and gifts of harvest are what keeps many of them from the grips of starvation through the long, raging wrath of winter. If I do not care for them, they will all die. The very beings the greater gods put on this earth to rule it when the time of gods and spirits pass. My bitterness will serve nothing but to deliver them to the door of death.”
“I do not envy you. Your actions are like that of a mother caring for a child who knows not who she is. Why not be done with these uselessly ignorant creatures? Let the greater gods craft new beings. Ones that aren’t so fragile and foolish.”
“Your anger is refreshing, old friend.” I say with a laugh.
“And your anger is nowhere in sight, but I know better than that to think it truth.”
The silver clouds float and consume the light of the sky. The silver turns to gray as he continuous to bound through the fields. Thunder cries out as he barks at the sky. His barks are to summon the rain spirits across the land. His dark looming clouds are the sign of rain fall soon to lose down upon the earth.
The first Rain Raven appears, shooting up towards the sky into the clouds. She flies faster and faster until she disappears within the dark mists of the storm.
“If only the Winter Hound wasn’t the coward that he is. If he was to be seen by the humans who worship you in his place, they would grow confused and begin to worship him instead.” Growls the noir beast.
“I would like him to be worshiped as he should rightfully be.”
“I hear the fear in your voice, my young friend. You fear an empty and abandoned shrine. No offerings brought. No worshipers to give their thanks or scorn. You fear the fate of the Winter Hound becoming your own.”
“Do I not deserve such a fate to be my own? This discord is due to my existence.”
“No!” his voice booms as lightning crashes in the distance while he halts his steps.
I jump off his back and to the ground as his glowing white eyes look into my very being. I look away out of shame. My form shrinks in my meekness.
“Listen to me, my young friend. Your fate is your own. Autumn has yet only arrived for the year as this is the first harvest of the wheat. Your season is young still this year and much is to grow. The taste of Spring still lingers yet past the melancholy of Summer’s pity. He ignores you because he has nothing better to waste his time doing aside from spreading his misery to others.” His form steps forward, closer now. I stand up and look at him as he towers over me. “Ever faithful shall I be to you. This discord has sown me many things about the seasonal gods. Even yourself. Make your autumn your own. Show the humans that this is your domain as they have come to know and fear me within mine.”
He lifts his head and looks out to the horizon as shadows dance under his clouds. The breeze turns and pushes around as I grip my claws into the soil to stay upon my feet. He stands there; strong, bold and unmovable. The wind is almost visible in his fur as it blows past him. He barks again rolling the thunder. More Rain Ravens arrive and disappear in the clouds. Light cracks from within the brewing storm.
“I know you so enjoy my storms. I hope she will be to your liking as well. The gathering of the Rain Ravens will soon shower down. I wish you not to be drenched so hurry along to your shrine.”
“Thank you, old friend. I shall.”
White and grey fade from the sky as the darker shades consume the clouds. The darkness stands while light still shimmers from within the torch lights of the towns of in the distance.
“She is ready.” He says looking up to the newborn storm.
“Be safe on your travels, Doberman Spirit of the Storm.”
Looking back to me, he speaks again, “I thank you, Autumn Fox god.”
I sprint through the winds and hurry to the shelter of the forest. Blitzing past the leaves and the bushes of berries. I leap around the path to my shrine to race the rain fall.
Hearing the final bark before the downpour rippling through the clouds in the sky. I hear the distant tapping of water. It loudens as I push onwards as fast as my feet will carry me. I can hear its approach when I see my empty shrine void of gifts.
I jump so hard into the shrine that I unceremoniously slam into the back wall and land on the floor with a crashing thud.
Water screams down from the sky dousing everything in sight with the tears of the horizon. I look around at the emptiness of my shrine.
The gifts will have been taken to the Winter hound by now. Soon he will wake and ruin all of them, as he always does.
Lightning crashes in the distance with another bark of thunder.
“I hope the storm is long today. She looks strong.” I say to the emptiness that fills my shrine.
Will the Winter Hound’s fate be my own if he is seen by the eyes of those who should worship him? Can I handle the oppression of loneliness? The humans may hate me, but at least they care enough about the Autumn to hate me openly.
Hatred is better than nothing.
Their gifts are offensive but at least they’re trying.
I’ve decided…the forgotten god should be me.
My nose is tickled in the gentle wind as I let out a small sneeze. I shake my head instinctively as my eyes open.
Roused from my peaceful slumber, I awake to the flaming quiet morn of dawn’s light.
The humans will soon hunt for the gold of the earth I slumber within. Their silver blades will steal away my warm nest of comfort.
Rising to my paws, I stand and yawn. The crimson leaves of autumn blow in the air as a strong gust of wind sweeps through the seemingly endless fields of riches. Deeper yet is the gold of the mountains that tower in the distance. Their pride to which stands high for all to see and none to claim.
I walk forward as my white coat shimmers with an icy glow while light showers down from the sky that’s born anew. The shades rapidly falling away as they are replaced by the softer shades of bright blue.
I make my way to my shrine. There is a new on built each year. My home to which I am an outsider to. The humans don’t praise my gifts or enjoy my songs. They are the songs of death and joyless tunes. They’re words of warning to all who follow them. No warmth or words of adoration for the lonely white fox. I am begged to keep my wrath from their homes. All I’m ever asked for is my absence. No one calls for me.
So alone I walk as humans avoid my omens and signs. My unpleasantness has its own power. My rage brings the worst of harvests while my laughter yields fruits of every color.
An Autumn Fox God born with white fur was mistaken for the winter Hound. He is never spoken of and my fur is to blame. I am to blame.
His loneliness and rage grow with each passing year he is neglected. While we are gods to the humans, we are nothing but the pawns of the greater gods’ power in truth. Our emotions dictate what shall occur the following season, but winter was robbed when I was born with this color fur.
The God of Autumn thought it a funny jest to give his vessel a white coat. Now…the seasons are in discord. More and more Humans die each winter from the cold howling winds of the Winter Hound God. His fury is met with ignorance while my innocence is met with blame.
I fear the Spring Sparrow God may never forgive me for my creation. He never speaks to me as he does the others. He flies over me without so much as a glancing courtesy. I’m used to it all by now though.
The Summer Mare God looks on me with pity. She believes herself to be greater than all of us. But I truly do pity her. She who would weep for whom which is hated and scorned by all who gaze upon my misfortune.
Stepping through the waving wheat, striding slowly. I am in no rush to see the feeble offerings of my own season’s prizes.
Proper offerings to the season gods are gifts from the previous season. Since I am mistaken for the winter god, I am offered my own season’s delights. My own fruit. My own leaves. My own crops.
I envy the others greatly. My shameful white coat is unbefitting of my role in this world. The humans glare at me as if I could simply change it if I so desired to. But they don’t understand how much I desire that same wish to be granted. I have grown to hate myself for this cursed beauty, but it is beauty none the less, even if it’s overshadowed by their hatred for it.
Autumn was never meant to be met with such hatred. They treat me as if I killed the Autumn god myself, unknowing that the very receiver of their scorn is all for my own honor and in my name for which they so hate me for.
Winter feels enraged. As he should.
Spring feels robbed. As he should.
Summer feels sad. As she should.
And I feel so very many things…no single emotion has ever visited me at a time. My mind swells with hatred for the ignorant humans and for the god who did this to me. Yet the sadness is all encompassing. It completely devours me when night falls over the sky. The joy of wondering if my season still fills a small part of my bruised heart. Envious have I spent these past few years. But it’s of no consequence to the humans.
I now see my shrine covered in the pelts of the autumn animals of my domain. Leaves of ever color woven into baskets. Plates of blackberries and the like.
I sigh in defeat as I climb into the shrine.
This place belongs to no one but the Autumn Fox god, yet I feel as though I am a stranger to this place. I have spent many days and nights here on this shrine, but it never feels as though it belongs to me.
A white fox among the red and orange leaves of fall. I sit there as some humans approach with their looks of hatred and spite. They are merely enraged by the previous winter. No matter the wonderful harvests I give them year after year, they still refuse to offer their love or gratitude.
They know not who I am.
I wish I could speak to them. Beg for their forgiveness. Explain that their harvests are my doing. But it’s forbidden to speak to the mortals.
I despair as more of my autumn harvests are laid before me.
To give a god their own seasons products is a symbol of rejection and a high sign of disrespect, but they do not know…they think me the winter hound, so they offer his rightful gifts to me.
I do not bow to them, as an Autumn god shouldn’t. Their gifts are not acceptable, so I cannot bow. I stare at the baskets of apples and corn. Two wooden carved bowls filled with cinnamon and other such herbs. A pumpkin. These are my own. Creations I have gifted them, and through their ignorance, they are here to give them back to me.
This is a cruel cycle of fate and pain.
I start to hear the humans shout at me for not bowing in thanks for the offerings. A woman cries out, begging me to answer her with what I desire. A man raises his voice and demands that I spare them a violent winter such as the previous year. And the year before. And the year prior to that one.
I do nothing but gaze solemnly at my own gifts brought before me.
I wish the humans safe this winter, but my wishes are meaningless to them. My wishes are meaningless to all. Each year since I was born with this fur, I have tried all that I can to appease the Winter Hound.
In the past, each day I would receive the Winter Hound’s offerings, I would bring them to him myself. He deserves them. He needs them. But he destroys them whenever I would. He wants nothing from me aside from my dead corpse at his feet. Perhaps preferably, within his own jaw.
No matter how many times I have tried to speak with him, he never answers unless to send me away before he unleashes his temper upon me.
More humans arrive. More of my gifts are given to me. Again, I do not bow. More shouting. More crying. More begging. More demands. And then they are gone. Returning to their homes with prayers and hopes of a safe winter that is never to come if this cycle is to continue.
I despair.
The Winter Hound demanded I never return to his shrine again. I have obeyed and I ask that the animals of my domain bring the gifts to him in my stead. He says nothing to them but destroys the gifts regardless.
I understand why he does so.
He wishes the gifts brought to him by the humans, not by the object of his wrath.
He thinks me his enemy and I do not resent him for it. His winter can be beautiful if only his emotions weren’t so temperamental and harmed. He’s been wounded by the isolation. Emptied by the jest of some god who thought the balance of the seasons a joke to be tampered with.
I hope that god has laughed his fill. My wish is that he will come down and grant me the scarlet, crimson, fur I so long for. It’s never granted though.
I remain alone…no one but the spirits of the domains to speak with. No one but the spirits who know my domain to be the Autumn Forests of the Changing Fates.
My closest friend and ally is the Doberman Spirit of the Storm. He bounds through my fields bringing rain upon the earth and barking thunder into the grey skies. Showering fire and light through the stormy night to which is his bliss. I miss his storms when he is not here.
He offers his advice to me while his storms roll over head.
As I remember his comfort, I hear the roll of the clouds and a bark of thunder.
Joy fills me as I bound out of my shrine to the open fields of Amber Heaven. This town is the closest to my shrine. I rush over the hills and race through the wheat.
The humans who are harvesting the wheat for their bread panic and hurry themselves inside while I sprint headlong into the stormy horizon.
Soon, the wheat gives way to the withering grass meadows. As I leap forward to reveal myself out of the golden crop, there, in the distance, I see him.
His black fur and silver eyes stampede forward. His paws like the roll of the rain that is soon to descend upon the ground. His bark is the comforting sounds of the storm that he leads onward. The breathlessness of the cool air floods the world around me. My eyes look upon his powerful form as he approaches.
The storm above passes over us and continues on without its commander.
“Autumn Fox god. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He states as he lowers his head in a respectful bow.
I return his bow and laugh as I leap up onto his tall back.
“But the pleasure is mine, truly, my old friend. I fear you are my last comfort in these times of ignorance.” I say joyfully.
He grumbles in anger. “How can they still be so blind? These humans who want nothing more than to see the next Spring blossom with their selfishness.”
He charges forward as I cling to his back, jumping and taking hold of the storm’s direction once again. His power in every step as potent as the storm hurtling above.
“They can’t help it. They’ve convinced themselves that their falsities are truth. Who could tell them otherwise? Each human is as unknowing as the last.”
“You defend them with your words, yet nothing is to blame for their misfortune but their own stupidity. That is why the parish in the winter’s wake. That is why you are so hated by your kin. Your wisdom and sympathy are with them. You are far kinder than I. Gifting them year after year with bountiful harvests. They deserve far less for their transgressions.”
“You’d persecute the foolish for what they do not know?”
“It is because they do not know is why they are undeserving of your kindness.”
“I think not. My domain’s food and gifts of harvest are what keeps many of them from the grips of starvation through the long, raging wrath of winter. If I do not care for them, they will all die. The very beings the greater gods put on this earth to rule it when the time of gods and spirits pass. My bitterness will serve nothing but to deliver them to the door of death.”
“I do not envy you. Your actions are like that of a mother caring for a child who knows not who she is. Why not be done with these uselessly ignorant creatures? Let the greater gods craft new beings. Ones that aren’t so fragile and foolish.”
“Your anger is refreshing, old friend.” I say with a laugh.
“And your anger is nowhere in sight, but I know better than that to think it truth.”
The silver clouds float and consume the light of the sky. The silver turns to gray as he continuous to bound through the fields. Thunder cries out as he barks at the sky. His barks are to summon the rain spirits across the land. His dark looming clouds are the sign of rain fall soon to lose down upon the earth.
The first Rain Raven appears, shooting up towards the sky into the clouds. She flies faster and faster until she disappears within the dark mists of the storm.
“If only the Winter Hound wasn’t the coward that he is. If he was to be seen by the humans who worship you in his place, they would grow confused and begin to worship him instead.” Growls the noir beast.
“I would like him to be worshiped as he should rightfully be.”
“I hear the fear in your voice, my young friend. You fear an empty and abandoned shrine. No offerings brought. No worshipers to give their thanks or scorn. You fear the fate of the Winter Hound becoming your own.”
“Do I not deserve such a fate to be my own? This discord is due to my existence.”
“No!” his voice booms as lightning crashes in the distance while he halts his steps.
I jump off his back and to the ground as his glowing white eyes look into my very being. I look away out of shame. My form shrinks in my meekness.
“Listen to me, my young friend. Your fate is your own. Autumn has yet only arrived for the year as this is the first harvest of the wheat. Your season is young still this year and much is to grow. The taste of Spring still lingers yet past the melancholy of Summer’s pity. He ignores you because he has nothing better to waste his time doing aside from spreading his misery to others.” His form steps forward, closer now. I stand up and look at him as he towers over me. “Ever faithful shall I be to you. This discord has sown me many things about the seasonal gods. Even yourself. Make your autumn your own. Show the humans that this is your domain as they have come to know and fear me within mine.”
He lifts his head and looks out to the horizon as shadows dance under his clouds. The breeze turns and pushes around as I grip my claws into the soil to stay upon my feet. He stands there; strong, bold and unmovable. The wind is almost visible in his fur as it blows past him. He barks again rolling the thunder. More Rain Ravens arrive and disappear in the clouds. Light cracks from within the brewing storm.
“I know you so enjoy my storms. I hope she will be to your liking as well. The gathering of the Rain Ravens will soon shower down. I wish you not to be drenched so hurry along to your shrine.”
“Thank you, old friend. I shall.”
White and grey fade from the sky as the darker shades consume the clouds. The darkness stands while light still shimmers from within the torch lights of the towns of in the distance.
“She is ready.” He says looking up to the newborn storm.
“Be safe on your travels, Doberman Spirit of the Storm.”
Looking back to me, he speaks again, “I thank you, Autumn Fox god.”
I sprint through the winds and hurry to the shelter of the forest. Blitzing past the leaves and the bushes of berries. I leap around the path to my shrine to race the rain fall.
Hearing the final bark before the downpour rippling through the clouds in the sky. I hear the distant tapping of water. It loudens as I push onwards as fast as my feet will carry me. I can hear its approach when I see my empty shrine void of gifts.
I jump so hard into the shrine that I unceremoniously slam into the back wall and land on the floor with a crashing thud.
Water screams down from the sky dousing everything in sight with the tears of the horizon. I look around at the emptiness of my shrine.
The gifts will have been taken to the Winter hound by now. Soon he will wake and ruin all of them, as he always does.
Lightning crashes in the distance with another bark of thunder.
“I hope the storm is long today. She looks strong.” I say to the emptiness that fills my shrine.
Will the Winter Hound’s fate be my own if he is seen by the eyes of those who should worship him? Can I handle the oppression of loneliness? The humans may hate me, but at least they care enough about the Autumn to hate me openly.
Hatred is better than nothing.
Their gifts are offensive but at least they’re trying.
I’ve decided…the forgotten god should be me.