a god of the edges in a world made round, always carving a new gash to feel more at home but those corners just aren't what he's looking for, too brown a red, too black in the too-white moonlight
a god too sharp in a world of soft skin that's so easily abraised he did not call himself that until they made it so he enjoys it now, tells himself he is good at it, and this is the next best thing when there are no edges