Heretic: The Founding
I have a story I was writing
A Goddess of Heretical Cults is laboring in her Heaven
She notices one of the worlds neighboring her realms has grown ill
She goes to investigate, and realizes it's hard to tell what's wrong
She takes mortal image and enters the world covered in robes to hide her beauty and her divinity
She investigates the worlds, countless encounters show her speaking divine, but dark, wisdom and practicing godly arts, like judgement and christening, as she explores the sickly world
She finds out every ill person in the world has the same spiritual sickness
She writes scripture on that illness and uses it to hunt down the source of the sickness by finding the area of greatest concentration of that ailed spiritual energy
She finds some Goddess imprisoned in imortal form ruling a ramshackle cultist civilization and poisoning the world with scripture from texts filled with insane ramblings
She investigates and links the Goddess back to an area where there was once a monotheistic God ruling a beautiful empire of many worlds, flourishing in grace and beauty
She studies the Goddess to find out she is that God
That God was deathly injured in an act of creation she was experimenting with to gift her worlds with more glory and grace
The act went awry when some of the steps in her process conflicted
She injured herself, drove herself mad, and ended up lost in the rivers that ferry souls between worlds, such as between life and death, or between the Gods by which they sought each other's council when they communed together between their havens of works
So this immortal Goddess was an insane injured form of a God, seeking the power of creation
Because she was so sick, ill and mad, she was doing things that were disturbing
The Heretic enlightened the Goddess to her truth
The truth freed the Goddess' soul
The Goddess left and returned to her place as God over her worlds
The Goddess of Heretics set about to perform rituals to have the world guide itself to health and recovery from the sickness, in time
Somber mood, beautiful aesthetic, tragic themes and a meaningful ending.
I was writing the story, but forty pages in and I already knew everything that was going to happen so well that I didn't want to write it out anymore. It was painful to try slowing it down to writing. It's so agonizing that I can't even tell whether my interest in finishing the literary work of it is obligation or desire, both, or neither.
I love the novel I wrote, but I just don't know if I can face putting the rest of it to paper right now, instead of just having this knowledge of it in my head.