Luneshale Pass sion

He knows that demons are drawn towards the extremes—either the damned, or divine. They suffer no illusions; they recognize the savior and alight upon him like flies, even in the desert they can find him, where everything smells like glass and the black of night is total.

No entiendo...

Moisés, this great big manchild, starts to weep.

He forgets about the horizontal world, now sitting and collapsed into himself with his paws over his face.

In between ragged breaths: por que estás aquí?

Cielos, qué he hecho?

This last question, an incomprehensible whimper, every syllable thick with snot.