1 Work by BerryBushel
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Ariane's hair shed in matted clumps alongside her teeth and you finally convinced her to spend more time within the cryogenic pod. Brimstone pooled in your mouth.
A ghost roamed the ship and it became harder to recognize it as your wife. Flames singed your mind.
Ariane wailed in pain from the cryogenic pod you'd been too afraid to turn on for you to keep your promise, an impossibility even if the servos in your legs hadn't stopped functioning cycles ago. You weren't built to be able to. Sitting there, hearing your wife slowly die, it all finally clicked.
Hell was real. And you were being welcomed home.
A fractured mind denied rest; a blind zealot chasing soot; A bifurcated god on a decaying throne: each soul trapped in an unending hell at the hands of a machine refusing itself penance.
No more.
Repent, Elster.
Grant us Salvation.
-or-
Elster, having looped enough for her memory to remain between each cycle, can't seem to keep her mind off the old Vinetan bible Ariane had stashed aboard the Penrose.