Casting doubt upon the minds of the wayward, wretched with thoughts of sinful behaviour and unhygienic food practises, a three foot woman by the name of Marle Gureon.
Once, a champion spirit for the local church. Now a lonely middle aged woman waving about a cane and spitting epithets from under her breath. For those within close range, an ear piercing bowel movement, for those out of ear shot, tranquility in the ignorance and futility of their existence.
For those of the old order, of which she presided over with an all glowing light, their devotion knows no bounds. Indeed, at their hands, a bloody massacre greeted the members new to the flock. A ritual sacrifice on the oldest of the clan.
Coincidentally, their numbers were never more than thirty three.
Written on Friday, 7 April 2006