Divinity

Lot of good divinity’s done me, huh?

Fuck’s sake. Thought I was so clever, I’d come down from the seat of Gods and fool all the proles into forking up their hard-earned gold. Everyone else seems to do it, so why not me, huh? I’m a smart girl, right? Ha.

‘Course, I did it the wrong way, didn’t I? I was too lazy to put together some scriptures or edicts or whatever the hell, come up with some ideal these tossers could believe in. I wanted the quick way, so I went with the obvious thing that everybody worships every day of their lives: survival.

It worked! I’m a bloody genius! Just like every damned time before, divinity cursed me. Whether it’s that rat-fuck jackarse Yhiraam torching my hand, or it’s this stupid fucking jar that’s starting to weigh more than I do, I’ve got absolutely piss-all for luck when it comes to reaching for the ol’ firmament. How thick was I to think it’d work out? Nothing ever has!

Now I live in fear. Great. I always lived in fear, though, so hey, what’s changed besides the fact that I have to lug that fear around on my back like the absolute twat that I am? I get these folk comin’ in, day in, day out, and I have to smile at ‘em and thank ‘em kindly for their contributions. When I’m finally done with filching money from poor folk, I can sit down to a lovely meal across from the Grim fucking Reaper. Turns out, when you’re staring down death in a bottle, eating food paid for with stolen money, everything tastes pretty bitter.

And really, isn’t this what I deserve? 	The head on me, eh?