#i don't think a lot of ppl are thinking ab the test sausage's faith is taking w this crossover

[carry-on-my-wayward-gays]

Sausage sitting in a pew in his cathedral, hands clasped together tightly with a sunflower rosary between his palms.

He's not praying, not actively, but sitting in his church gives him comfort. There's actually no thoughts swimming around his mind for once. His head is an empty echo chamber with no sound to echo.

His eyes are wide and his whole body is shaking. He's crying as well, a steady stream of hot tears run down his cheeks and drip from his beard.

There's no way he just met Santa Pearla. His Saint Pearl. And she's a janitor?

The lady in a silky soft green dress - blooming with fresh sunflowers and vines - looked so much like her. Saint Pearl. But this lady from a foreign world insisted she was not a god. She said she handled trash all day, cleaned floors with a mop and a dirty pair of overalls.

Sausage sobbed, bowing his head behind his clasped hands.

Her name was Pearl though. Just not his Pearl. She looked so much like Santa Pearla, she sounds like her too. The resemblance was uncanny, terrifyingly so.

When she stood at the head of the church, in the sunlight, she looked beautiful. She was breathtaking with her crown of sunflowers catching the light and illuminating the petals like a halo, and the way her hair fell around her face and practically shimmered in the light.

Sausage had fallen to his knees and wept over her beauty - or maybe it was because he had convinced himself she was his god. That he was seeing his god in his church, speaking to her.

What a foolish thing to believe.

Sausage's hands fell. He curled in on himself in the pew. His rosary fell to the ground, around his feet.

Were his beliefs founded upon a false god? Had he somehow convinced himself such a woman was worth worshipping? Was everything a lie? Had he been praying to, believing in, raving about a lie? Was his church built for a lie?

He was going to puke if he didn't stop thinking. He needed a distraction he needed to talk to someone he-

He needed his religion. He needed his Saint. He couldn't lose his faith. What - or who - would he have left then?

Sausage leaned down and picked up his rosary, still shaking, and held it between his palms once again.

And he prayed.