To Light the Ever-Burning Pyre
It was only now that she realized that her deepest fears were true, and always had been. Her mother would have been able to do so much more if Hestia herself hadn't been born. In that moment, that sweet gentle voice had finally reached her, and she began to converse with it. ALSO KNOWN AS: It's Distortin' Time!
You've missed her, haven't you?
Always have. Always will.
I dreamed...when she was alive, I dreamed she'd be there fer me.
Giving me advice...teaching me how to be a Fixer...helpin' me navigate adulthood...
But she's gone.
And I'm still here.
I dug my mama's grave with my bare hands...eight years old, fingers clawin' at dirt, prayin' there were no lingerin' Sweepers listening...
Aha...I always asked myself what I did to deserve all of that...
But I was wrong. I was askin' the wrong damn question!
And what was the right question?
"Why did I deserve to live?"
Yeah...
My mama was a better person than I was.
She dreamed. She dreamed even when it was just herself and I. Hell, she even encouraged me to dream.
But...I stopped dreamin' as soon as I saw her corpse.
All I could dream about were goals, how to survive.
I thought she had some sorta reason to be so happy, like a lovin' family...
But...
She was alone.
She had always been alone.
And it wasn't...it wasn't fair!
Why did she have to give birth to me, when she could've just gotten rid of me?
Why did she keep me, even after my fuckin' father reject her? When she could've just returned to her job, and eventually lived in a Nest on her own?
My mama...my mama was...she was always a better person than me.
And I don't think I could ever stop mournin' fer her.
Your heart...it takes the form of both the funeral pyre and the mourner. Is that how you feel?
Yeah.
The City...took everything from her, and gave her only burdens...
So...I'll burn it all down.
I'll mourn for my mama, and I'll burn this City, until there are only ashes...
And the ashes can only wish that she was there to bless them...
I will help you to grant that wish.
The distorted form of Hestia, "The Gods' Dirge", stood at about 12' tall. Her skin was the color of ash, her face covered by a veil made of thousands of pieces of coal. Her hair was made of dead leaves, and was now long and flowing. Her dress, though, was what had made her so dangerous: a long gown made of pure flame, its train behind her as she strode through the area. Her head was lowered in eternal mourning, an occasional white-hot tear streaming down her face before falling to the ground.
While appearing to be benign, even the funeral pyre cannot interrupt its burning until it is washed out or until it runs out of fuel.
Unfortunately, the City had provided a great deal of fuel for The Gods' Dirge to burn with.