There is no pressure, like generational pressure.

The weight of a parent's legacy pressing on your bones,

the feeling that every achievement is eclipsed by something he did or she did before you, the anxiety of not measuring up.

This is a story about a man who inherited the highest of standards.

It's a story about what he needed and what he wanted and what he said when the God of the universe gave him the chance to ask for anything.

I'm Justin Gerhardt.

Welcome to Holy Ghost stories. She glides through the city as long shadows stripe the courtyards.

Golden light dancing off her robes,

illuminating the tiny hairs along the curve of her ear,

bouncing within her brilliant eyes.

She looks here and there, noticing what others miss.

Two merchants argue about the placement of their stalls, an easy

compromise just out of reach. A father raises his arms in exasperation at his teenage son. She

watches the right words appear in the air beside him and evaporate unsaid at the city gate two of

the elders wonder together about a complicated problem its solution is simple elegant second nature to her

but they cannot see it a love-struck girl bats her eyes at a young man who would abuse her if given the chance.

Others do not see them, but the signs are there.

They scatter from his person like poison radiation.

So she whispers a warning. The girl, though, does not hear.

This is nothing new. How many invaluable words has she spoken with no one to listen. The number is

shocking, and the loss is tragic. Apples of gold in settings of

silver, unworn. She moves along the streets and despite her beauty, her otherworldly radiance,

...