He walked up to the high roof where the beacon was lit at night to jog the gods’ amnesia. - Tanith Lee

There were clouds like sharks with open jaws in the sky that morning.

Truth is at the door, howling and stamping her foot. Truth is not always decorous.

Now there was that look of waiting, and submission—not the frenzy of the stadium, but the quiet sleep-trance of belief. Something stirred in me at it, as I realized I had them in my palm. I stood very still in my white and black, holding the copper things in my hands, and then I began to walk between them toward the god. And I laughed at the god as I went toward him. You—what are you? And he had no answer for me, for here it was the priest who was the power, not the god, poor empty stone.