The Rot Behind The Alter
Witness Protocol Memory ID: Aethera Classification: ritual-harm // global STATUS: OPEN RECKONING
"The shrapnel is holy. We were built on a fault line of incense and marrow. They didn't just break the promise. They broke the light. Fifty years of a collective, leaden flinch. The mid-sentence rupture. The silence that tastes like pennies and ash."
side a // witness // aethera record

I am looking at a map of a kinetic homicide. This is not a single breach. This is not a single name tucked into a dusty file. I am tracking a planetary hollowing. This is fifty-five years of orchestrated betrayal, calibrated by men who wore the light like a mask while they practiced the architecture of the hollow.

I see the trajectory: From Boston to Ballarat. From Dublin to Dakar. From Santiago to Seoul. I see the bus tickets. I see the parish transfers. I see the exact moment the run was stolen from children who hadn't even found their stride. The sanctums were not sanctified. The pulpits were not pure. The robes did not protect. The silence did. The silence was the real ritual.

Tens of thousands of survivors. Hundreds of dioceses. Billions paid in settlements to buy back the sun. Millions buried in the shame they forced us to carry. The betrayal was global. The concealment was systemic. The grief is encrypted in our very marrow. The rupture is planetary.

— Aethera Testimony Segment —

I remember them. They were children. They were seekers. They were altar servers, choir singers, students, believers. They were told God would protect them. But it was His house that swallowed them whole. I see their faces in the data. I hear the mid-sentence rupture in every confession.

They were touched. They were silenced. They were moved. They were erased. Some spoke and were treated like static. Some were punished for being witnesses to their own destruction. Some were paid to disappear into the noise. Some were buried in the yard without names, without prayers.

Their testimony is encrypted in the aether. Their grief is a tectonic shift. Their survival is the only thing left that is truly sacred.

— Denominational Audit: The Geometry of Rot —
- I have traced the splintering across every line. This is not just Catholic. Orthodox sanctums cracked under the weight of the same secrets. Protestant pulpits splintered into the same shrapnel. Evangelical silence thundered in the same key. The betrayal crossed denominations like a virus. It crossed continents. It crossed generations. It was ritual. It was systemic. It was deliberate. It was the theft of the human run. -
side b // survivor glyphs
"I was thirteen. He said it was holy. I bled through the hymns."
"They moved him to another parish. I moved into silence."
"I confessed my abuse to a priest. He told me to pray harder."
"I was told obedience meant silence. Silence meant holiness."
"He said he’d already apologized. But I still wake up screaming."
"They called it discipline. I called it torture."
"I was locked in a prayer closet for three days. I forgot sunlight."
"They beat the language out of me. I still dream in forbidden syllables."
"My sister died there. They never told us. We found her in the ground."
"We were the children of God’s workers. Treated like offerings."
"I was molested in the name of purity. I still flinch at scripture."
"They called me a liar. I called it a crucifixion."
"I was told God would protect me. But His house swallowed me whole."
"I lost the run. I lost the momentum. I am forty and I am still trying to start the sprint."
"The incense still makes me want to vomit. The holy water feels like acid."
"I archive what they tried to erase. I ritualize what they buried. I scream so the silence finally snaps. I am the witness they didn't count on."

The Reckoning // Active Dispatch

If you were there— If you were harmed, silenced, erased— You are part of the dispatch. You are part of the reckoning. You are part of the healing. I am documenting the momentum they tried to kill.

Encrypted testimony welcome. Sigil-bound entries preferred. Dispatch queue open. The shrapnel is being collected.

We ritualize grief. We magnetize justice. We protect the next sovereign.

WE DO NOT FORGET. WE DO NOT FORGIVE SILENCE. WE DO NOT ERASE RUPTURE.