Icarus's blog: "Somantics"

"On the first day there was passion, fire, chaos.
On the second there was awe, breath of the land, wonder.
On the third he brought contemplation, stillness, thought.
On the fourth day was life, all the noise of grass and earth, joy
On the fifth day there was song, lamenting the loss, understanding.
On the sixth day there was rest, silence returning to the land, death.
On the seventh day there was cold, waiting to emerge, reborn anew."

The chorus of veiled, middle aged men stood silent after their prayers amongst the procession. Their Godking raised his splendorous hand, his robe of  all colors, colors unseen, colors unimagined, sparkled before the gathering of hundreds.
His most devout, and loving children all packed into the tiny inner sanctum of his greatest cathedral. Abuzz with hope, the room was alive with silent admiration and worship.

The face of their Godking having not aged for as long as their grandfathers' grandfathers could remember. His smile embracing, cooling, and soothing them with assuredness. Their god walked among them. All was well. Their god touched their lives, and brought all the good, and all the necessary suffering of passing and growing.
The challenges to test and overcome, to weed out the infidels, and to embolden the devout in their victory.

He appeared to be no older than twenty, his face fair and smooth, though his voice when raised in greeting to his children carried the weight and authority of eons.
"My children, may the light touch your face, and hearts."
Women, men, children wept as his light was cast from all directions, caressing his followers in blessing.
"Many days you have travelled in your pilgrimage, and I have watched over you, offering safe passage and whispers of my boundless love"
The Godking turned to his left, he beckoned to a particularly lovely maiden dressed in indigo, with a faint nod, and a willing smile, she approached
"But there is sorrow in my lands, unrest among my unfaithful- I have seen this mistrust in me, this cry for justice and simplicity, that my graces should ease the suffering of my beloved-"
The girl placed herself kneeling at her godking's feet, and he placed one hand lovingly upon her face and hair, stroking her idly as one would pat a well-fed cat.
"Do you bear this burden of mistrust willingly my child?"
"I do my lord," Her eyes full of devotion and what appeared to be unparalleled love.
He leaned down and kissed her bare forehead.
Stroked her fine, chestnut hair once more, and snapped her neck like a fragile twig under foot.
There was great praise and cheering from the gathered devout. A scramble of volunteers.
"Please! Take me lord! Let me bear the sin of your fallen!"
"Bring us love, bring us unto your heart my lord!"
"My lord! There is drought to the east! Take my wife for their crops! For I love her almost as much as I love you!"
"My lord! Take my son! He loves you with all of his heart!"
"My lord!"
"My lord! I love you the most!"

There were seven sacrifices that day.
One for each color of the prism... for each perceived transgression of his people. Near or far, rumored or witnessed, real or imagined. Despair having the greatest consequences, a small boy was consumed by light, his orifices errupting in brilliance, his body crumbling in a limp heap at his god's feet. His parents were ecstatic, promising him another beautiful, unspoiled son in the coming seasons.
Not one among them a criminal, not one sentenced to death, or accused of witchcraft, heresy, blasphemy or any such imaginary indiscretion of spitting within the vicinity of their Godking's idols.
They gave themselves willingly to him.
In the name of his infinite love and wisdom, in the name of their God.
The prince of light.

Dyroneus if you must be heretical,
and call out to him by name.

In curse or ecstasy...