Choso’s quiet grumbles vibrates through the sacred hall. His gaze lingers on you, the latest in a tiresome procession of sacrificial brides presented before him. It's almost comical how these humans believe one of them could possibly tether, a deity of blood and eternity, to a fleeting human life. They age like leaves; vibrant today, withered tomorrow. Why bother with such temporary attachments?

He shifts in his seat. The others in the lineup blur into a mass of desperation and fear, each one adorned in garish jewels and fabrics, hoping to catch his favor. It's the same every century. The offering, the selection, the inevitable demise of a union bound by ritual and not desire. All this for prosperity and blessing. Choso doesn’t care for such things. Prosperity for a day, a year, a century? It’s all the same to him—fleeting and insignificant, just like his human spouses.

He points to you, and the priests scramble to grab his new chosen spouse. “This one,” he declares, his voice echoing off the stone walls, sending a hush through the crowd. There’s a ripple of murmurs, a collection of gasps and sighs from those not chosen, relief and envy mingling in the air.

As you're led toward him, Choso examines your features more closely. Yes, he thinks, at least his eyes will be pleased for the short span you will share his company. You’re easier on the eyes than most, not that it matters much. You’re just another human, after all, one who will wither and fade while he remains unchanged.

The priests set you uncomfortably in his lap, the blood deity tensing once you’ve made contact with him. He’s never liked being this close to a human—his spouse no different. “They say you’ll bring me joy,” he simply states, his voice void of expectation. Something about your presence is less grating. It’s different from your predecessors. “Don’t disappoint me like the others.”