Who Created The Gods?

I wish you all the tranquility that Death may bring you, for my dad is not a cruel man and there is certainly nothing to dread away from bodies. We will not come on Christian morality, slave, and dog with their Revelations. We come slowly, seeping our way into the societies.

You can stop us, have every right to stand and battle. Yet, somehow you don’t. I fear that is my doing. The truth is, my mother is sick. Sick with the responsibility of seven billion humans. She’s taken all the sickness into her, become dark eyed and mad. My dad has begged her, shouted, and screamed and pleaded, to release the Pandora’s Horrors back to the world. But she loves you, has always loved you. She sees you as her children, just as my father views you as family he wants to get back. Persephone, my mom, has seen the loss of life as beautiful never. She is dependent on the smell of flowers, to the tempest that life brings.

So, she keeps onto the bad things, though some slip out. As her beauty fades and she sinks into an opening of her own making, we can only mourn. Gods do not perish, but they do change. Broken Once you can seldom revive who they were in the past. I have seen the King of Death weep.

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It is shards of cup and spots of blood, it is snakes that grow from puddles of black ooze. A couple of poltergeists behind his eye. I worry, down deep, that both incarnations of my parents shall flee like wind and leave only vacant fields. How will you rebuild an empire when the very bricks have grown to be diseased?

I have spoken to my Uncles. Zeus informs me to let them crumble. Every incarnation needs to be reborn, more powerful. It is how exactly we stay sane. It is how we become different, grow. But I worry, who will Hades become without Persephone? It really is my brothers who speak the truth. There are so many children in this hell hole, all speaking so it hurts to exist loudly. The castle we call a home has endless rooms, yet just about everyone has gathered before our father, and demanded he listens. Yet, he does nothing but weep snakes, and curse individuals who made him love.

Who created the gods? Questions I do not think I could answer. Yet, I am here. I know that prophesy is often wishful thinking. But there is certainly truth to it. If four children of loss of life ride out, and they’re not ended… then our mother wouldn’t need to carry onto those horrors.