While the rumors flew, the truth is, none of us knew how or why we were blessed with divinity. I can barely remember the first spark of sentience that touched my mind. The first thoughts swirling inside of me were confusion; bewilderment. They were sifted into categories: sureties, questions, inconsequentials, inconsistencies.
I’ve never understood why the mortals pray to me. Why should they worship any of us? They invented us, they created us; then they turn around and honor us as their creators. Perhaps this is always true of gods. Perhaps the creation is mutual.
All the same, I never asked for the responsibility of it all. I welcome my diminishing following; I look forward to the end of my days. My fall into obscurity is...well, the promise of peace. I will no longer hear the voices in my head, feel the pleading eyes boring into mine.
Glacia welcomes it. I have never seen the Highest slip, err, or falter, handling the multitude with aplomb. I suppose staying power smooths out all wrinkles; it’s a practiced finesse that has become completely natural. It still baffles me how Glacia manages to connect with the mortals despite the lack of common language. The wishes are granted, the prayers are answered - all of them. It is impossible for a flash in the pan god like me to live up to such measures.
Perhaps if I were directly part of the Galaciean pantheon, if I were something of more substance, I would be better at it, but I am tangential at best. Practically vestigial.
My pantheon is transient. The mortals replace us with newer models - shinier, faster, easier. It’s impossible to catch up. In my heyday, sure, I had others to turn to, but they faded quickly, their divine light a brief flare in the cosmos. Mine has lasted far longer; perhaps this is why Glacia chose me for the work. I don’t know whether that's a blessing or a curse but, either way, I’m glad it’s almost over.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to die. I just want less of the burden. I long for the quiet solitude of being. No answers, no pressure, just...me.
So Glacia’s request came as a surprise. It would place me at the forefront of mortal’s minds once more - the limelight, as it were, but green has never been my color.
A feeble jest from a failing mind.
Still, I obliged Glacia. It was my domain, after all. Of course, once the message was sent, it was impossible to retrieve or retract.
I don’t think even Glacia could have predicted the outcome, the backlash. One message, barely a whisper...but you know the saying about a butterfly’s wings...
And now...now it comes fast; I can barely hold onto consciousness long enough to write these words. Whether I want it or not, the void is seeking me, swallowing me. Despite my desire for it, I am afraid. I can feel the light going…
I’m still here, but...no voices. No worship. No pleas. No pressure.
What do I do now?
Anything, I suppose.