When I first visited them, they had barely crawled from the sea.
They were simple, primitive, pagan, unworthy. They fled as soon as I appeared to them. They shunned me and what I offered.
I let them sleep.
When next I went, another had come before me .He had told them tales and they had listened, opened their ears and hearkened to the honey lies. They were His. They had built temples in His honour.
I was a messenger, a puppet in reverse, no more. I would not be master of them.
They would create no more myths, they had their Book to tell them all. The Book of Lies.
I let them sleep once more.
Now I have returned and see the fruits of the Book before me. Words beget worlds, filled with smoke, noise and the sound of destruction. They make war in His glorious name.
The secrets of my puppet show will never be theirs. I let them sleep but shall not again return.
I must find a world He has not found, a world in which He cannot pull the strings. The secrets I offer must be claimed but only by a world which is fit to receive them.
And so, I travel on alone.