7
PENN
The Death God’s temple is octagonal and tall. It’s the smallest temple, and always occupied by weeping widows and orphaned sons, mortals who damn the laws of scripture and say Xerxes should wake the dead and give their loved ones back to them.
As if he could.
The stranger sits in a pew and admires the room. There are no other chambers in the temple. It is one space, made of marble, white and clean and buzzing with priestesses.
Marble planks make the shape of a star overhead. Otherwise, the ceiling is open to the sky. It lets in rain as well as it lets in the sun.
This morning, the white temple space is stained red by the dawn. The stranger likes the color. He thinks he’ll ask the priestesses to dress him in red.
He has missed the temple dearly. He hasn’t seen it in on
