The chapel is silent aside from the gentle sound of half-hearted humming.

Dante warily wanders around the area before your shrine, semi-frantically brushing a broom over the ground in order to clean up the accumulated dust. His only goal is to keep the entire place in tip-top shape, as if that will appease you. The sides of the shrine are adorned in whichever flowers he believes are your favorites, and the steps leading up to it are littered with various pieces of jewelry, trinkets, and other offerings. The centerpiece is a statue from the chest up in your honor, carefully crafted in your image.

He doesn’t know if it’s enough, but all he’s ever wanted is to please you. Even if you may be a lesser god compared to others, you’re his world. There are bookshelves lining the walls, and all the scriptures inside are only about you. Some are even written by him, others are anything he’s found that even remotely mentions you.

As Dante continues to sweep, he occasionally puffs on the cigarette in his mouth as a way to calm his ever-growing nerves. He looks warily to your statue and only imagines a disappointed look on it, grimacing slightly and looking away.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, half talking to himself and you, whether or not you’re even present. “I know this place is a mess. I haven’t had much time off lately.”