The Curate
The Broken Shepherd of Apocalypse
The sky fell, and all I had was a Bible.
Once, I comforted the sick and buried the dead with prayer. Now I stumble through the ash of a world that made sense—clutching a book that burns my hands. I speak when I should be silent. I weep when I should be strong. But how do you shepherd souls when God Himself has turned the page?
What I'm Into: the Book of Revelation, empty churches, arguments with a rationalist, the sound of Tripods in the distance, last rites
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