The child in her wanted to do as she pleased, cling to impossible hopes. The woman in her wanted to make sound decisions, succeed even if it meant sa… - N. K. Jemisin

“I keep hoping you’ll tell me. You’re the god, after all. If I prayed to you for guidance, and you decided to answer, what would you tell me?”
“I wouldn’t answer.”
“Because you don’t care? Or because you wouldn’t know what to say?”
More silence.

Immortality gets very, very boring. You'd be surprised at how interesting the small mundanities of life can seem after a few millennia.

Even our mortal courtesans have been with gods enough to have acquired a certain ethereal technique. He smiled a salesman's smile, though it never once touched his eyes.
That's what you're selling. Not sex, but divinity. I frowned. Gods, Ahad, at least worship is free.
It was never free. His smile vanished. It hadn't been real, anyway. Every mortal who offered a god devotion wanted something in exchange for it—blessings, a guaranteed place in the heavens, status. And every god who demanded worship expected loyalty and more, in exchange. So why shouldn't we be honest about what we're doing? At least here, no god lies.