Worship is... Such a foolish notion. A god I am, but what use does a man have for an ant? What use does a god have for praise? We who are beyond reproach. No, there is very little a common man could do that holds value to any of us. Nothing, really. Not until they grew to be of significant power...

But many of us hold attachments to the world we rose up from. Some do it for the praise, they rarely last long. Some simply want the normality of living amongst mortals. Most however? Most believe they can make the world a better place.

But the world is a complex thing, it's peoples and nature an interwoven and complex web of politics. The thing about immortality is that it's normal life, just more of it. And life is hard, life is complicated, life is exhausting. Few of us hold on to the drive to micromanage the world for long. So too, did I grow tired of wrestling the people of the realm into being kind to each other. I was worshiped for centuries, even after I quit. But in time, my name faded from the world. Referenced only by historians.

How surprised I was, then. That a little child prayed at my first, and last, altar. The only one I'd left intact. A memento. She made no offering, simple prayers alone were given. All she could afford to, given how thin she was. I sighed, I had no desire to meddle with the world at large. But a single child? I could help a single starving child. So I gave her a blessing, a blessing of fortune. So the odds may be in her favor.

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I thought that would be the end of that. But it was only a few days later that she returned. A small offering, this time. A small piece of bread. Stolen by a rat not 15 minutes after. I listened to her prayers. But this time I watched her return to the orphanage, the strict, uncaring nuns who played caretaker but didn't even stop the older children stealing her food when they were in the same rooms. She was weak, powerless. Without future, even with my blessing. But her spirit was strong, cowed, but full of determination. All she needed... Was a chance.

So I found her one, a merchant woman, one who wished for child yet could not bear one no matter how she and her husband tried, found her gaze drawn to the child. That was all I did, everything after after was her own actions. At first a helper, then apprentice. But when the adoption came, it was to nobody's surprise.

I watched her grow, from child to teen, to woman. Though she told her parents of me, they already had a god in their hearts. With no room for another. But she prayed to me still, and I watched over her. I arranged for her stall to end up next to that of a kindhearted young man. At first they quibbled as rivals, but it soon turned to banter between friends without their notice. In time, even that was not adequate to describe their relationship. I gave them privacy when it was warranted. The kids were cute though.

As she lay on her deathbed, time haven taken it's toll, surrounded by family they prayed together to me. As the light faded from her eyes I extended my hand, asking whether she would like to watch with me.

I have long grown tired of the politics and control needed to truly make the world a better place. But these little things? A little drop in the bucket? That I can always do. Especially when supported by those who joined me in this vigil. My family of angels.