Vali Forrester | d7 | cb

We're all impure.

Blood soaked hands and faulty prayers, no one knew I was the goddess walking among them. Instead, they called me impure, a faulty child born to mischief and ploys for power or strength. A whisper of the words of the impurest of them upon their tongues, letting their voices echo along the granite of the counters meant for blood sacrifices. Poison in their veins that'll break them apart after I am done with them. Their blood underneath the fingernails I clean every night, relinquishing them from this plane of existence that I'm stuck in.

For I am a goddess among these pitiful mortals, who whine and cry over the simplest of things. They beg for my mercy and the right to continue their ways. I've been caught pulling tricks on many of them, always caught after it's triggered and failed. A chill resides in my bones, always a frosted edge coating the words I throw out. No one gets to question me, for I am the goddess and they are the weaklings of this world.

Vargen Forrester died for his impurities, but I would never.

I've got ichor in my veins.

Everything ends with a chill of the bones, always a chattering of teeth, we are born to freeze. Driving myself closer and closer to the chill of the truth that resides in my veins, thrown from the godly planes and thrown back to the mortal earth. Vargen won't be the last. My intuition is never wrong, for blood will always be spilled, whether it's in a sacrifice by our own blade or the capitol's blade. More of them will follow. More of the Forrester family will follow.

They'll never be with the gods.

Their blood is impure.

This was my punishment.

Born back to the mortal plane, despite what mother said for years.

I was always a goddess, not some impure girl like they want me to believe.