The lamb was split open on the altar, and what poured from its chest was not faith — it was the only truth the flesh ever holds. The elders knelt in silence, their eyes turned upward to a sky that swallowed all prayers whole, cold and endless like the deep of a dead ocean.

Behind the temple, the garden never stopped growing — even after we buried what we buried beneath the roots, the earth fed on our sins, and sin makes everything bloom.

When morning came, the horizon burned like the eye of a dying god, a light that was never holy, only a warning that the sun no longer rises for the innocent.

And when the last candle was blown out, there was no darkness to fall — because it was already there, patient, ancient, watching long before we ever lit the flame.

"I separate light from darkness. Knock, and I might answer. But what lies behind me… you may not want to see."