A prophet’s job is never done.

24 hours a day, 7 days a week, people come seeking my help and advice. Or rather, the Goddess’ help and advice. I’m simply the “humble messenger” of Her word.

It’s not a bad job, really. Every time some one comes looking for advice they bring something. Usually food, but sometimes I’ll get a few coins or a family heirloom. People are willing to pay for advice from the Goddess Herself.

The problem is, it’s lonely. I’m seen as an important religious figure, not to be disrespected or subjected to familiarity. People bow when they come into my presence, and bow when they leave my presence, and call me things like “Great Prophetess,” and “Holy One.” No one’s called me Savita in a very long time.

My whole family died of cholera when I was no more than 3 summers old. I started hearing the whispers of the Goddess when I was 5, and the village council found out about it when I was 10. That’s when I was moved into this cursed temple on the hill, and I’ve been here ever since.