Fairspell Meadow And a black car that matches your blackest soul

Anselm lived a life relatively untouched by zealots. As such, it afforded him little grace or patience for those who found religion.

He frowned. By all accounts he found Melody pleasing to look at. She was his age, her limbs were lean and her fur held the most generous molten sheen to it. Objectively, she was pretty down to her dark little claws. 

But she was religious.

He considered what she'd said carefully. Finally, he decided not to let his more bullish side show -- for now.

Vhat are your gods like?