Chapter 0 – Prologue: God Is Dead.
Few will say that they have seen a beautiful maiden praying.
However, those who have even seen Sianna, a saint born to serve God, have the right to say otherwise.
As a mere individual who is infinitely weak before her god, in the posture of completely kneeling down and putting everything down in front of her own subject.
The figure of her bowing her head while eagerly clasping her small white hands makes the viewer admire her beauty. The sublime beauty that comes from piety and sincerity, not from boiling lust, made even non-religious people solemn.
Of course, her beauty as a human being, not as a saint, was also unmatched. Her long gray hair, never cut since she was born, flows like a silver cascade whenever she kneels on her knees.
Under her long, draped hair are two solemnly closed eyes, behind long stretched eyelashes hides green eyes that shine like a field in the sun. The covered eyes must have been filled with the unique beauty of an age group full of energy, freshly taken off girlish clothes.
A face that boasts perfect symmetry, as if created by God, and a sculpted nose. The lips hidden behind the two hands tightly clasped beneath it are redder and more desirable than ripe fruit, awe-inspiring appearance that makes the beholder admire its beauty.
She was a servant of the god of life and a gray-white saint who performed miracles on countless people.
But none of the hundreds of chosen believers gathered at her today’s prayer meeting looked at her with the gaze of her admiration.
There are beads of sweat on the forehead of the saintess who is praying reverently. Her closed eyes are not the usual calm arc, but a confused frown. Her hands clenched in her white gloves trembled with fear she had never felt before.
People gathered in the church exchanged worried glances with one another, some hanging her head in grief, some secretly weeping as they kissed their children’s heads with quivering lips.
Before long, the saintess stopped her prayers. Her high priest hurriedly approached her saintess. The saintess with her pale complexion looks at her with her confused and sad eyes and whispers in her ear with difficulty.
“God…”
The words that followed must have been a sentence worse than death for the believers.
So, God is dead.
Neither the conclusions of a cynical thinker nor the conclusions of a cynical thinker, just cold facts.
It was 5 years ago.
