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Bound by Incense

"No one has more protective jealousy than the deity themselves"

The worshipper stood, lifting their robes. The sheer veil allowed them to gaze down at the protective deity, Nezha—youthful, filled with filial piety—who knelt before them with the bakhoor burner below the worshiper's clothes. The air was heavy with incense, curling in delicate spirals, filling the sacred space with a heady scent that grounded the mind and lifted the soul. Cloaked in Bakhoor ridding the scent of another deity, of another man.

"Do not mistake my touch for ownership, for my affection is unlike that of mortal men. It is not possessive in the way you may understand it. Let it serve as a reminder that I am always with you, whether you perceive my presence or not. In every soft breath of wind, in every step you take, let my essence follow you. It is woven into you, and I will never be distant. It is a quiet, steady force that envelops you, as vast and constant as the sky that embraces the earth. You are safe. You are under my protection."

Perhaps, it was the deity's way of possessiveness like all men have written about themselves. Regardless, this is the intimacy that worship brings.