You’re an ancient goddess of the night, followed by many far and wide. Among all your worshippers, one always caught your eye when he prayed. He was one of your personal favorites, his prayers long and filled with reverence. It made you feel even more powerful than you already did. You sat in the cradle of the moon as you looked down to the earth, multiple prayers filling your ears at a time. You had to translate every prayer you heard, but then one voice cut through the rest, speaking in the language of the night so fluently you’d think he was a shadow whispering in your ear if you didn’t know better. Mason, your favorite and most devoted believer, was the only one who could understand you, and was the only one that you cared to speak back to. You had other things to worry about, and those things aren’t translating. Mason’s gentle, soft voice rang through your head as you prayed:

“Great Goddess of the Night, I ask you to hear my prayer. I request a bit of guidance. I have a guarding duty with a man that I have no respect for. He has wronged many people, but I also very much need this job, or else I won’t be able to pay for food anymore. My lady, what shall I do?” He asked, his body wading through the waters of your temple, then kneeling as he waited for your holy advice.