Chosen

The Church of the Infallible Goddess was built upon the tale of a young martyr, a woman who sacrificed herself for the sake of her people. The people in Estovia created a church in her honor, in an attempt to carry out her legacy. The Church expanded at a vicious rate over the years, far beyond any of its original founders could've imagined. Religion was an ever-present comfort, no matter the times. People praised their Infallible Goddess when times were prosperous, and clung to her through the ages of darkness that would inevitably follow. The Church made sure that the light of the Infallible Goddess never wavered, as more and more people were drawn to her. They all felt the calling, the dreams pulling closer to a world of fire and loss. A place of burning and agony in which the Church remade the world in the image of the Infallible Goddess. The Church looked for ways to share the word and bring outsiders salvation, spreading their roots like a hungry forest.
 
And in the many years of success, there were rumors of an unforgettable proposal. Since the Infallible Goddess was chosen by the Church, who was to stop them from choosing a new Infallible One? Surely the Goddess would be pleased to have a chosen vessel to speak directly to her people.
 
It was a young mother who volunteered. She was content to give the child over, on the condition that it would be born a daughter. Some of the Church objected, but it was decided that the Goddess would welcome any daughter born into her Church, especially one given to her as a vessel.
 
The birth was full of prayer and sacrifices, anointing the mother with holy oil and a crown of rowan berries. It was said that the hearth by the Church's alter burned more brightly than it had in decades. The young mother was most unlucky, and seemed to fade just as quickly as her radiant baby was birthed. She glowed under the candlelit hall, and screwed up her eyes when the congregation proclaimed her the Infallible's Vessel. The little girl seemed to be alight with burning divinity, and she looked like somebody you'd sacrifice yourself for.
 
The child grew older, as children so often do. In her grandest form, the Church adorned her with golden robes and iridescent jewels flowing down to the floor. In her greatest form, she ran barefoot in a white cotton shift, drenching her skirts with rain and spreading grass stains across her hems. There were days where she went around all day with flowers twined in her hair and hymns on her lips. Her voice left a flavor of honey and incense on the air.
 
There was a wildness that she carried with her, one of fierce excitement and boredom. Perhaps she would've been more grounded if the Church had given her a name, but they called her only by her occupation. The girl was known as "Vessel".
 
The Church called on her to sit on the alter steps each day, and to listen to the Infallible Goddess' inner circle. They wanted to talk to her, to look upon their Vessel with unshakeable devotion. The Church of the Infallible Goddess was utterly besotted with their Vessel, though it was impossible to tell if they loved her as a goddess or as a girl. Perhaps it was both.
 
Years passed and it became clear that Vessel had reached adulthood but could age no further. She had the face of a saint, pure and sweet in nature. As present as her visage was in the records, nothing beyond her beauty was written down. Even in history she remained a vessel, a pretty young woman who was placidly kept in the Church, sitting and waiting for something.
 
And something did happen. It wasn't love, the Church was sure of that. It didn't even seem to be happiness. I think it was doubt. A single encounter with another priestess led to a hairline fracture of a universe of doubt. The priestess in question had gone to the Vessel for guidance, and had left the Church that night. Gone to travel the world, without permission or even a note to say her goodbyes. There were whispers that the Vessel had perhaps granted her the freedom to leave, although the Vessel rarely spoke. Who was their Vessel, when no one was looking?
 
It was said that the Vessel locked herself in her tower, for seven days and seven nights before she came to talk to the Church's elders. When she emerged, there was something startlingly human about her, as if her divinity had been wiped away. She spoke only to ask a question. The Vessel had never asked a question before.
 
"When will I be allowed to leave?" The Vessel asked. The Church told her that her place was here. To be a symbol, a shield for the people. To leave would be to abandon them.
 
The Vessel was quiet for a long while before she spoke again. At her proposal, the Church elders felt sadness and grief, but above all they understood. They too, were old and tired, wishing to someday meet the Goddess they were so devoted to.
 
It was the Vessel herself who suggested it. If the Church tried it and failed, she said, it might be hundreds of years before she had the strength to try again. But if she ceased, not in culmination of fire, but a cold and quiet death, perhaps her light would return to the Infallible Goddess and the Church could try again.
 
And so they hanged her, as she requested. All because of that most insidious of emotions: Hope. Hope to be reborn as one who was forever content to be what others wished upon her, hope that she could step beyond the Church gates, and the very fragile hope that she would be reborn in the next life as someone, instead of something. That she could allow herself to be more than a Vessel.
 
The next day they buried their Vessel in an unmarked grave. The Church prayed for a new Vessel, for the Goddess to create a new Incarnate Daughter so that they might speak through that child.
 
As the day settled into night, with the last rays of light straining to reach the alter, a priestess found a baby girl on the Church steps. Unnamed and unclaimed, they took her in and gave this one a name. A proper name for a second chance.
 
This one, they called Conduit.
 
Whether any of these speculations were actually true, is simply a matter of faith. There are an odd number of missing girls and rewritten Church records, and that alone continues to keep the myth alive.