She never prayed, she was anything but a revered nun.

But as blood spread unto the offering, Rosaria looked up the altarpiece with a blank look, “Only for you, my divinity, shall I proffer thou my sins and vices— only to you, my divinity will I accept your judgement.”

Rosaria prayed, surrounded by human cadavers of offering; the scent of rot and metal against the holy tiles was one she grew accustomed with.

Rosaria kept praying.

“My divinity.”