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The battle still fresh on his mind, himself shaken, Mire entered the room once more. Catching his breath, he let out a long sigh to see he was well indeed alone.

Only a single plaque seemed to fill the space, giving him instructions. He was to pay tribute to one of these four.

White, gold, black, green.

He never even thought there was a fifth decision, a choice not to choose any of the above. What else would be do with a heart? Anguish, Hubris, Malevolence, and Affliction. Sorrow, Vanity, Anger, and Want. The choice was not exactly a hard one, but when you didn't know much... all you had left to hold on to was your self. He was not sad, He was not angry, nor did he know what he wanted.

What else was there but Vanity? He placed the heart on the gold plague, and felt himself straighten his back a little more as it vanished.

After all, what was there to worry about anymore?

More reading. Trebor indulged in reading each plaque, when he returned to the statues. It wasn't actually very hard to choose which one got her heart. He knew that he was ready to leave it, and all of the anguish, and despair, malevolence and affliction behind. He dropped the bag, none too nicely, on the gold pedestal, and felt a great, unknown weight lift off his shoulders.

Yeah. That felt pretty nice.

He couldn't remember why it felt nice, or what he'd just lost to feel that burden lifted off of him.. but.. it.. still felt nice.

When he returned triumphant he had expected the Goddess to still be there but she wasn't. Tiletk felt dejected as he let out a soft, "Oh...I took to loog," with a small sigh of disappointment.

Well. That was alright. Quietly he wandered forward staring at the plaques before he dumped his sack onto the black plaque. He didn't question it. At least not for now.

He was too confused to contemplate his actions and feelings.

She had failed. That was Rostym's first thought when she came all but crawling back to the Shrine. The Goddess was gone, leaving only a silent statue and four awaiting pedestal behind. She had failed so miserably that Paranoia no longer wanted to see her.

Her heart ached, because it seemed she did just keep disappointing people. These memories, they painted her as someone who was always in need, who had to be rescued and then pushed along to be able to do anything right. Even when she did her best, or when she thought it would please someone, somehow it fell through . . .

But she remembered how she had sliced that beast from the painting in half--how it had awakened something in her, even if she did not remember why. And she remembered how good it felt to cut out the heart of that memory, snip snip snip, little by little until it was hers. And the curve of her daggers were beginning to feel like a familiar friend, a pair who would not judge. Who could only make her better.

She didn't want to be merely "better", though. Rostym wanted to be more.

There was no such thing as too much. Not if you reached out and had the strength to take it all for yourself.

"Take it," she muttered at the dark green pedestal, placing her bag as an offering. "Take it all now, because I will find more. I will always find more."

It was in her nature to question, after all. And her curiosity would not be sated, nor the slumbering beast of aggression that sat curled in her yellow little heart.

And now the goddess was gone.

It seemed almost unfair, that she should not be here to welcome him when he returned. Taking a moment to inhale, the slow intake of oxygen calming him, Shatann moved on to examine the other plaques. He lingered at each one, running grey-tinged fingers over their surfaces.

He paused the longest at the first one, with its gleaming white. Somehow, he understood Anguish most of all. Those memories that had shrouded him like a cocoon as he had wrenched the heart from the place it had meant to be seated. The Goddess had told him it wasn't needed, and he would hold onto that belief. It was perhaps unwise, to trust that which was most familiar, but the empty feeling of despair was an old friend.

It would be easy, to dwell in that hellish place, and to take command of it would be satisfying.

And so Shatann offered up his bag to the white pedestal.

He had already forgotten the importance of it, but there was not even a trace of regret within his tiny form. That emptiness had dwelt there previously, a hole in the very core of himself. He did now know enough of any other sensation to crave it.

It was time to return to the shrine.

Sharps wandered into the main hall, still squinting from the change in lighting and noticed the Goddess was gone. In her place stood her statue once again. She leaned in closely to read the inscription on the base:

She walked along to each of the empty podiums carefully examining each one before making her decision.

She knelt before the podium that glowed bright white and read the description,



She pursed her lips and placed the bag with the heart in it on the pedestal and as the fabric touched the slab of stone a bright light flashed through her mind and every recollection of Core was gone. She had this overwhelming feeling of having forget something important but cast is aside as being the need to find Imuiel. She bowed her head to the pedestal, and to the Goddess' statue, before leaving the room.

"Oh Goddess, that wasn't a very nice task at all. You aren't even here when I get back.." Taivoh sighed, running his hands through his hard, his shadowed expression more tired than anything else.

"Becoming a God is hard work, damnit."

He laid down the heart at the gold pedestal.

Sacrifice me if you wish for Hubris. There is nothing in this world but vanity.

All of a sudden, he seemed to forget why he had felt so tired.