It comes not by neither man nor maiden on their knees, nor any beast to suffer a god’s ‘unfortunate’ wrath. It comes on a storm, unnatural for the season, springing out of nowhere. On ball lightning that shakes foundations but does not -cannot- touch another’s holy grounds. The letter is singed at the edges from haphazard treatment when it finally brushes the altar, but the coffee in its cup -flavors Near Eastern in origin- is pristine. The letters gleam, “Oh Grievous Wound. Laugh for me.”

The sky rattled from the gale, but it did not disturb the unnatural calm that resided within the god’s grounds, that marked his territory and his influence. For all its blight and bluster, the winds did not dare pass that boundary. And yet it came so close, like a child dancing in circles about what they knew they were not to touch. How audacious.

The shadow cast by the cup of coffee, resting innocently on his shrine, began to ripple uncomfortably beneath it. Oily black coils rose up, wrapping around the glass as a serpentine apparition appeared and began to strangle it. Tighter and tighter it grew, until the porcelain gave way and shattered. Its contents splattered over the already singed letter, sending waves of steam curling lazily into the cool air.

The manifested serpent reared its head, flashing wide it’s maw and revealing teeth formed of gold. A prayer answered, if only in vaguest interpretation. Laughter rang in the heavens, callous and mocking in its disapproval. Certainly not a threat, but perhaps a genteel warning not to trespass so again, or else invite his genuine discord. 

If my Muse was a Deity, what Offerings Would you Leave at Their Shrine?[CLOSED]