A series of diaries from an acolyte of a terrible pain cult roosting in a desecrated monastery after the collapse of this world. She writes them secretly with ink of ash, dirt, blood. She hides them and pushes her pain out on the sick sisterhood she’s trapped in.

It’s very very dark - like a bleak poem written black on skin. The wicked glee in the beginning gives way to a deep sad rage at all that’s been ruined and profaned.

Nothing good can grow in this poisoned garden, no clean tool can be forged in this filthy fire. But people can try - and so they do. They grow something they can chew, they beat something brittle out.

The ending made me stare up at the ceiling for a bit.