Goddess of Muted Tongues, Deity of Failed, Sex-
less Marriages, you have your daughters and they
have their husbands. You have your sons and
they have their wives. Your daughters have
children and your sons have theirs. Hell, they
even have one another. Then you have me. And
whom might I have? Whom might I speak to
about the fire of anger, and the smoke of memories?
I have the World—that’s who. So do not be angry,
Pandora, I am your heir— The God Of Botched Child-
hoods—and you have your worshipers still whom you
eat like moths. So do not turn in your grave, Father
of Candles and Beerbottle Gestures. No, not when
you hear your names pass over these lips or spoken by
the wives, and the husbands, and the children I claim.