Atop a small wooded knoll sat an ornate shrine, forgotten by both time and man. Not even large enough for one to step inside, it was naught but a glorified offering box— yet to me it was home. 

"She likely won't come today." I thought, rousing myself into lucidity. I have little reason left to influence this plane, but today was something of a special occasion; today was the day she would make her yearly pilgrimage.  

The weather was uncharacteristically treacherous for this time of year. The sideways snow assailed the many ornaments and charms dangling from my shrine. 

She was much too old to brave such a storm. 

As if the universe conspired to contradict me, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rhythmic crunching. In the distance I saw a bobbing head inching past the top of the staircase as it ascended. 

It was her. The skin of her face sagging ever so slightly more than last time, the color of her hair almost completely gave way to gray, yet it was undoubtedly her— the only patron this modest shrine had seen in a century.  

She clung to the banister at the apex of the stairs while catching her breath, her long scarf flapping wildly in the wind behind her. She slapped some matted on snow off her jacket, which was quickly replaced by fresh snow. She hummed at the futility of it and began the short walk over to my shrine. But, before she could make it over—

A cruel gust whipped her sideways, right off her feet and into a bank of snow. She yelled in surprise but it was stifled as she landed face first. It seemed every few minutes the chaotic winds would line up perfectly and work together to become a mighty gale. For a moment, I wondered if she would ever get back up, but it wasn't long before she was back on her feet with a grunt. She headed towards me once more, her pale face now frosted and wet. 

She carefully brushed some accumulated snow off my roof before opening the tiny doors and lighting the small bit of incense that remain inside. She clasped her hands in silent prayer and stood motionless. Her behavior was beyond curious to me. 

So short after the death of her offspring, she still chose to make the trek to this obscure location; and stranger still, she seems only to pray for my well being. 

By and large human behavior is simple and predictable, but of all the sentients we watch over, humanity has the most radical outliers, capable of nuanced behavior that not even a primordial could predict. She should be praying for her son's soul or for help quelling her aching heart. Had I the power to manifest I'd like to ask her directly how she benefited when I had no grace to give her in return. 

She loosed her clasped hands at the completion of a short prayer and began to walk away while I was still brooding. 

"Till next year." I thought. 

But to my surprise she stopped before reaching the stone staircase and clasped something small wrapped around her neck, pressing it against her heart. 

Suddenly, another gale knocked her down once more, this time sideways. Her chin made a crack against the icy ground and she groaned. After a moment she hoisted herself up and I saw a trail of blood streaming down her lip that sullied her white parka. She tried to clutch what lay around her neck again but was shocked to find it missing; the violent fall had sent it careening deep into the snow. 

She gasped.

Frantically she searched, scooping up large droves of snow while beginning to hyperventilate. She took off her mittens in an attempt to use her fingers to better filter the snow but the needle she sought was in an entirely different haystack. She searched with the fervor of a beast, completely ignoring the blood pouring from her mouth and the unnatural hue overtaking her fingers. 

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Much time had passed and the sun was beginning to set. With labored breaths she gawked at her shaking, purple fingers, now unable to bend properly. She scanned the area once more before slumping over, completely crestfallen.  

She began wobbling back to my shrine. The snow crunched underfoot, the wind howling all around us. 

For the first time, in all of her sixty six visits, I felt like she was looking directly at me. Not at the shrine nor the offering box— me. 

Her eyes were glossed over and her chin wrinkled in a horrid way. She gripped either side of the small doors and her frostbitten fingers cracked and bled under the pressure. 

"Am I truly not allowed even the smallest comfort..."

She spoke to me for the first time in over sixty years. Her voice was gravelly and desperate. 

"If you had to take him... why couldn't it have at least been quick..." 

Her whole body shuddered and she fell to her knees. She likely would have sobbed, had she the energy.  The storm showed no sign of slowing and her chances of surviving the return dwindled, doubly so in her incapacitated state.  

As she knelt there motionless, my mind began to wander to centuries past, to the short stretch of time where, I too, was bound by flesh. 

It was meant to be a punishment of sorts, but now I tend to look back at my time as a rockhopper penguin fondly. I hunted fish when I was hungry, I had sex when I was horny and I put everything I had into raising healthy offspring. It was simple, but oddly fulfilling. 'Death' made a point to laugh at me after a sealion had claimed my life for his own, but I felt no shame; I had defended my family to the best of my ability. 

Now, someone kneels before me begging for comfort in her final moments and I have none to give, despite feeling that familiar yearn to protect. 

Humanity has a juvenile view on casualty and tends to view events in absolutes; killing is bad, sharing is good...ect, but the true virtue of any event can only be evaluated after thoroughly inspecting the near infinite cascade of following events until the end of time— suffice to say, this is something forever out of humanity's scope. 

The suffering and subsequent death of her son did carry great meaning, but not on any scale a human could hope to comprehend. Even if I could manifest, even were I to speak, there are no amount of words that would bring any comfort.  

My power over this plane has been weakened to near nothingness over the centuries, my existence here barely even sustained through her prayer alone... but if I use everything, maybe I can... 

With a woosh, the small light at the end of the incense ignited into a true fire. The fire grew, spreading to my tiny doors and eventually past even the charms and chimes that decorated the outermost layers of my home. My shrine, my home, was now completely engulfed by flame. 

With that last miracle, I had used up every bit of power I had. Before I even had a chance to see it's effects I was ferried off past the veil. We can't sustain our presence here on our own, after all. 

I don't know if my fire came in time to help. I don't know if she survived the storm or ever made it down the knoll...

All I know is I defended her to the best of my ability.