When the first coffin is lowered into the sea, Deedee is struck with an impulse: an itch to sanctify these deaths.
“Hell,” she breathes, “There’s more than ten men here.”
A prayer she has not spoken since far before she became Deedee comes to her lips, and she extends her arm in a gesture towards the fallen that one could be forgiven for thinking was a geek’s sci fi reference.
“Yitgadal, v’yitkadash, sh’mei raba b’alma; di-v’ra chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon…”
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Date: 2024-10-07 12:40 am (UTC)“Hell,” she breathes, “There’s more than ten men here.”
A prayer she has not spoken since far before she became Deedee comes to her lips, and she extends her arm in a gesture towards the fallen that one could be forgiven for thinking was a geek’s sci fi reference.
“Yitgadal, v’yitkadash, sh’mei raba b’alma; di-v’ra chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon…”