Noctisardor Bypass fossopa

will they have our last name?
dinah wasn't even quite sure why she asked; she regrets it as soon as it comes out, face softening and then curdling into something painfully disgusted. or will they-- did mama even know the surname of the man who had defiled her?
did she know his first?
these were disgusting, ugly thoughts to think about anyone, much less one's own mother, and yet here she was, branding her a whore. a whore, and yet it was not her fault. unless it was. was it?
dinah did not even want to be thinking this, to be following the laws of a god she no longer held love in her heart for. a truly loving god would not have done this to her, done this to her mother — done this to anyone. and yet there was still that intrinsic fear, that devastating, crawling fear that in death, she would be banished to a fiery eternal damnation.
she did not want to be dragged down with her, if that was so; but what other choice was there?
she feels helpless as her pacing comes to a grinding halt, tip of billowing tail twitching ever so slightly like a disgruntled feline. and then comes her next question, hoarse and scratchy in her throat: when was the last time you prayed, mom?