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Lore posted:

A miracle occurred in front of me. I found her lying on the floor. Her face was pale, as if dead, yet relaxed and at peace. Next to her, lay the bodies of four women covered in gold that shone and illuminated the room as if lit by an internal fire. From where I stood, I could hear the beating of those five hearts; they echoed in the room, slowly sounding in unison.

There were golden threads at my feet, all over the room; they seemed to be attached to those golden bodies. I took up part of that thread and made a ball. That would be the proof for the others to believe me.

Lyrics posted:

"Eyes I have, but thee I can't see
Your lights of fire blind me inside

Up in the sky there fly wax pigeons
Which melt their wings, sowing the land

If you call me, let me burn
Eyes and flesh, hands and hair
I want to see thee, but I cannot."

Lore posted:

We will enclose our voices inside this egg, our tongues that endlessly twist and grow in order to escape. Knots of a freedom we never had. Our hair will cover this ovum with cold until the heat of embers makes it hatch.

Lore posted:

I found it! It's the light of the star! What they were saying is true. Something was shining in this frozen darkness. The light of the star was calling us... It wanted to get out... It wanted to return to the heavens, but now it won't be possible, for now it's mine...

Lore posted:

A livid fire arose from the top of the mast, a tongue of fire sometimes white, sometimes blue, dancing wildly and seeming not to diminish at all despite the terrible storm that fell upon us. It was the torch of the Father's finger, pointing down from on high to our boat. The furious light opened up a path through the night and guided us through the storm.

The Works and Graces of the Sorrowful Miracle, Third Verse posted:

All those who once were swallowed by the ashes emerged from it in great hordes: the Hordes of the Miracle, the Punished. With only faith in their minds and only rage in their guts. Willing to punish all those who had escaped from such a holy fate, from the will of the Miracle itself.

Lore posted:

It wasn't long before he was beatified. The Miracle bestowed a gift upon that humble parish priest and confessor: the visions of all sin, future and past, of thought and deed, of every person who approached him. He did not need to hear our confessions, because he already knew them all. He knew the penance, he knew the sincerity of our repentance. He knew everything. There was no more intimacy between sins and sinners; we were all naked before him, and the Miracle. Such grace came to be feared. He asked us to cover his head with a thick burlap cloth in order to try and stop his constant visions of sin, and begged us to take him far, far away....

Lore posted:

"Sing for me, cantaor, and may your song relieve my pain." Those were the words written on the tombstone. There lay the one who prayed by singing, creator of verses that one fateful day reached the wrong hearts. And even if we no longer hear his voice, and no one calls his name, his singing will remain with us forever.

Lore posted:

May our chest full of cuts bleed. For when it spills red, it will feed the hungry. Let it bleed. For when it pours upon this land of the dead, it shall be blessed in the eyes of the Miracle, and those who rest here shall live on the other side of the Dream, on the Way of Eternal Processions. Let it bleed.

No. 2 posted:

The years passed and she started showing natural signs of ageing, just like her companions, except for the burn, which remained as fresh as the moment the boiling oil had spilled. The wound was still smoking, scorching and reeking. This was understood to be a miracle, and she was canonised in life by the Church; she became known as Our Lady of the Charred Visage. An order was founded in her name, where all the existing nuns as well as those who wanted to take up the habit had to burn their faces in the same way as Áurea had. She wears a golden mask under which she hides the gauze that alleviates the eternal pain that the burns still inflict on her.

Lore posted:

Tentudía spent several years in that nunnery, and as she grew up, it became harder and harder to hide her hair: it wouldn't stop twisting and growing thorns, and the blood from the wounds it caused her did not take long to stain her pure white habit. The nuns, upon realising, were frightened by it and soon began considering her cursed, and a heretic, just as the parents of the girl had feared would happen.

Lyrics posted:

"Forgive me, Father
Excuse me from this oath

Do not let your eternal Miracle
Take over my soul
And possess my body

For I fear the Miracle,
More than I fear my own torment."

Lore posted:

The nuns planned her execution in utmost secrecy, even without a trial or a report to the church, in fear it would reach the ears of the implacable inquisitors of the Miracle. So, after her condemnation, they did not give her the proper burial worthy of the sisters of the nunnery, but instead buried the remains of her body scattered around the vicinity, because it is known that if one's body is not whole in the burial, the soul will not cross through the Dream.

Lore posted:

These are the three tongues born from the monstrosity. Three tongues that are three voices. Three cries in harmony. The tongues are knotted into one. Roots grow and twist in their presence, just like the hair of what were once three sisters.

Lyrics posted:

"I do not fear punishment
for wanting to know
what is forbidden,
for asking
more than I should,
for wanting to look
beyond the olive groves.
I do not fear punishment.
For everything hails from the Divine."

No. 1 posted:

"Yes, brother, it's been a long time since I stopped officiating nuptials. Since the day those three sisters embraced each other, praying, since the day they asked the Miracle itself to help them to avoid such a holy bond."