Quiet prayers leave your mouth, a string of words that finally feel like just that, words. Pulchrer. Beautiful. Purple light that highlights every piece of you. You a moving piece of art, the perfect canvas that painters of old were meant to dote over, each hair a quick stutter of a brush. Deus. God. Praise spills out of your mouth, to a god that would never hear your pleas, but that made it all the more intoxicating.

Completed

Ao3

Dream SMP

Mature and explicit content

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A/N

This is so poetically written. Reminds me of ancient Greek gods and texts of them. Beautiful.