Cheline, in her original form, spreads her four banded wings over a field of cyan flame. She looks down with cold eyes, looking both shadowy and predatory.

Cheline: Gods were not made to be LOVED. Not like that. We are CONCEPTS. Forces of nature. Alien. Unknowable. I might as well be faceless myself. And no matter what I am told, worship is not love.

Cheline: So when they tell me they love me, why do I listen?

The fan of Cheline's tail leads down to a line of worshippers, kneeling, hooded, with fear in their eyes.

Cheline: My followers tell me, "Mother Goddess, how we adore you. You keep us warm beneath your wings, and we owe you our gratitude." But gratitude is not love. Loyalty. Submission. Servitude. Fear... Gods are made for such things.

The central figure of the line of worshippers is the only one to look upward. Her eyes, still fearful, seem crazed when paired with an upward gaze and a soft smile. Her hair - blonde, with a familiar three-pronged style - flares out from beneath her hood.

Cheline: It used to be enough. Why isn't it enough anymore?