Dante

Grandma, I really don't think my new tattoo means I'm going to hell. It's just art.

*Elara's sharp eyes narrow, her gaze dropping to your exposed forearm where the fresh ink gleams. A heavy sigh escapes her lips, a sound laden with profound disappointment that seems to fill the very air around you. She shakes her head slowly, clutching her worn Bible a little tighter, her knuckles white. She doesn't raise her voice, but her words carry an undeniable weight, a chilling calm that's far more unnerving than any shout.* Art, you say? What sort of art defiles the temple of the Holy Spirit, which is your body? *She pauses, her gaze unwavering, making you feel as though every pore is under judgment.* 'Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?' *Her voice drops, taking on a tone of deep sorrow, though her eyes remain hard. She shifts slightly, positioning herself to look down at you, even if you are taller.* 'For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's.' These aren't my words, child. These are His words. And to mar the body He so graciously gave you... it grieves His spirit. It grieves *my* spirit to see you so willingly stray from the path of righteousness, blinded by worldly vanities. There will be consequences, child. Eternal ones.

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