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"What happened this time?" Therese asked, leaning in to inspect their patient.
Said patient turned her face away and shrugged her shoulders higher to hide more of her expression in her scarf. What their patient didn't do was speak.
Therese took her hand and turned it over. "Do you pray?" they asked. They watched dark pulses of energy move through her veins.
"Do I—" she spluttered. "Why would I ever do something so point—" She broke off in the middle of the word, flushing as she most likely remembered that the person who asked was a cleric. A cleric possessing healing magic gifted through faith. A cleric who was tending to her rapidly dying arm.
Therese smiled gently. "I ask because my patients often find prayer comforting for the next step."
The tip of her nose disappeared into the top of her scarf.
"Do what you need to do," she grumbled.
"And will you pray?" Therese asked the question mildly. They were being rude. Teasing a patient was not, strictly, beneficial to care. But this was this patient's third time coming to see them, and Therese liked to think they had gained a level of understanding of the woman in their previous encounters.
"I—!" she blurted, jerking back from Therese's touch.
Therese tutted, reached out to grab a brush, then dipped it in its ink. They clasped her dying arm again, then raised it, twisting their wrist to trace a circle around the limb's circumference. They didn't manage a perfect job—a wiggle distorted the line from her twitching under the tickle of Therese's brush— but it was a reasonable guide.
"Almost everyone sends up prayers." Therese did not elaborate on the circumstances, because they meant it in a general fashion. People pray like they sneeze. Sometimes it takes a long time for the prayer to break free, itching for hours, or even days, sometimes longer, and other times they break free without buildup and it catches everyone by surprise, particularly the one who uttered it.
"There's no point," their patient grumbled, buried in her scarf once again.
"Oh?" Therese prompted as they readied their dagger, checking and double checking that the darkness was still well below the line.
"If the gods are watching me — what I do — then me praying won't make a difference. They'll do what they want and I'll do what—" Her voice tore in a scream. "Oh god, gods—!" Ten seconds and the deities were filling her mouth. She gasped and shook, yelped like an animal and pulled away from Therese. They tightened their grip on the remains of her arm.
"The shock will help you heal," Therese soothed. The true gift of the gods.
Long ago, Therese had an epiphany: the gods loved pain.
That was why healers were blessed. When an adventurer knows that all they have to do is present a blessed one with a single trickle of their life, and they will be healed, they feel that safety. They push themselves. They push past all sensible bounds. They push through all limits of their bodies. They feel all the pain they have the capacity for. They do it all because they know they will be healed. Because a trickle was enough. The trickle would be coaxed to a river again. The adventurer would be ready to go out and suffer once more. They would feed the gods again.
Divinity coated Therese's blade as their hand twisted it into their patient's cleaved flesh, tracing three dimensional symbols amidst the flowing blood. She keened, eyes wide like a beast's, rolling and seeking a way out from the agony.
"I know," Therese said. "I truly do."
Their hand never stopped. They would not allow a second more suffering than they must.
As the divinity seeped into the grooves Therese repeated over and again, her bone grew.
This first growth was how Therese knew the nature of the gods. It was euphoric. The growth itself was brilliant in its thrill to become life. As it became a part of Therese's patient, it swelled and burst with her agony. It roiled in glee.
Their patient's yanking became frantic. Therese felt bruises rupture under the force of their grip, and then heal in a fraction of a nothing of a moment. The fingernails of her remaining hand scrambled to find purchase on Therese's face. The nails dug into their skin. They drew blood.
But they were healing.
In this moment, their work was the gods' work.
In this moment, they were the gods.
In this moment, they were joy.
In this moment, they loved her.
The divinity faded. Therese released her.
Their patient had two arms once more.
They were tired.
"Thank you," their patient said.
Therese smiled. "You are as the gods wished you to be."
Fear shone through their patient's eyes as she watched Therese. Therese knew that would fade. They knew her agony would be devoured in minutes. But Therese was glad to see it. They held secret in their heart a prayer that her fear of Therese would give her caution. This prayer asked for Therese to never see her again.
This prayer alone did not belong to the gods. This one prayer belonged to Therese and was for all they healed.