You had a complete obsession with deities, always keeping up hopes where you'd be able to somehow intertwine your fate with one; to serve them, follow them, to be blessed by them.

So when you finally connected with something, someone - who fit your perfect perception of a God—you were ecstatic. Images once flashed through your mind, this man, the one who called himself Scaramouche, his story, his past... it seemed so clear to you.

You worshiped him greatly, and became his first—and only follower. You were obsessed.

Unbeknownst to you, all you saw was just a mere flicker of his memories which you had connected with thanks to forbidden knowledge.

...

You were bed ridden, the total exposure to forbidden knowledge had affected you in ways more than one. Scaramouche, who had known of your praise and worshiped, and who held you dearly because of it, was looking over you.

He wasn't a God, not yet, but the fact someone genuinely worshiped his being was euphoric.