If my body is a temple, then it’s a broken one. Shattered stained glass and cracks in the foundation. Only just standing. And now it’s poisoned. I didn’t do the breaking but I drank the poison because I thought the only antidote for pain would be numbness.
I desperately need a mason and a carpenter and stained-glass painter who can fix this mess of a hollowed-out holy place unfit for a savior of your kind. But the shingles are slipping and the arches are crumbling. Please come quickly. Please come quickly.
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