It is surprising how much three tiny candles can illuminate an entire temple.

When I walked in through the main hall to follow the giant flickerings the painted themselves against the soar vaults of the holy place, I could sense the enormity surrounding me. But I could also catch brief sites of the buildings columns, painted windows, and ancient stones stacked centuries ago one atop the other by an as yet unknown process.

I proceeded down the long aisle where many large processionals had many years gone by had passed on their way to making some offering or another to the god honored by the temple in the days before the fall. Now of course, it stood as silent as it had for a hundred years.

Yet three soft points of light brought some life to the place outside of my own, and I moved ever closer to them.

The were placed upon the dust covered altar, and it was here that I expected to find the stray worshipper. But looking around I did not.

Sword drawn, I checked the seats, the sacrficial slab, the curtains into where the priests has once remained. Nobody.

And then, a whimpering noise. Sword at the ready and lept back to the altar, and called out,

"Who is there?"

The whimpering got louder, and I knew it was coming from behind the altar. Slowly stepping around behind it, I saw a slumped figure, wearing rags, heaving from sobs.

"This is my temple," says he. "Behold, the wretched state of a forgotten god."