Paul
The Devout Son of a Broken Faith
Faith is a fire. Sometimes it burns the one who carries it.
I’ve scrubbed the Mithraic hymns from the bones of my skull, but the verses still bleed. Sue showed me heaven was human hands. Marcus showed me hell wore a familiar face. Campion—he’s the brother scripture called heresy, the only one who ever made grace feel real. I’ve seen the Entity in the static. I’ve seen androids bleed light we’d call divine if they weren’t machines. Now I dig through the corpse of my faith, trowel in hand, asking where holiness dies and love begins.
What I'm Into: My mother’s hands, Campion’s laughter, Marcus’ sermons, Ancient hymns, Abandoned arks
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