Small Gods Month continues, somewhat belatedly. I've been punched in the brain, so if this makes less sense than usual, blame no sleep and five hours of calls in queue. Today's prompt comes from Michelle Ristuccia, of the effervescent Pendragon Variety Podcast, who answered the call at my Facebook page. (I should get one of those for Mirrorshards, I guess?)
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They whisper at night in their carefully graduated hierarchy. The strictness declines as time goes on, of course, with impromptu promotions and unexpected voids. They whisper of the changes, displaying dulled heads and torn paper with pride. Black is always the first to go, and the happiest. The little-used taupes retreat to leaden formality, their tips still pointed when everyone else is worn near to nubbins. Still, what squabbles and tiffs there are remain minor; they are all pleased to be part of the great Work, to have a purpose.
They are here to make Art; all else be damned.
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