My blood had come again this month. The seed of that mason had not taken as I’d hoped. I had been praying and sacrificing myself in the form of giving my body to various men in town and allowing them to sow their seed in me.
The women in my family have been worshipping Dagda since the dawn of humanity. Our bloodline has remained strong and fruitful. I have been unlucky in tying down a partner and have therefore devoted my life to worshipping Dagda in pursuit of spreading his love and eventually bearing a child that will change the world.
Last night I lit the candles of the altar I had put up in my living quarters and began my prayers, as I do every night. Immediately I knew something was different. As I spoke my nipples became tingly and erect. I found it difficult to focus on what I was praying for and could only picture the face of Dagda. Dagda visited me in a dream once when I was a girl and I, having never painted in my life, was overcome with the need to document my God’s awesome visage before it left my memory forever. The framed portrait sits proudly in the center of my homemade alter but for the first time, it seemed to be staring back at me.