This is not growth, it is exchange. Use blood as the key and name as the price, in exchange for a breath of clarity to dismantle God's mechanism.
If the outcome is destined: I will sink to the bottom of the cauldron, and a hundred years of peace will be buried with me - then it will be locked by my own hands.
"Put down your knife," it whispered in my head, "and get a bigger one, with which to cleave God's chest."
I can't tell whether this is a curse or... A gift?
