Preest: There are now so many faiths registered in this town, it gets kind of hard to be original.
Naomi: The world is full of people sent here to help us. Most of the time, we just don't see them.
Preest: Anywhere can feel like a prison, when you don't have any faith.
Preest: But don't get me wrong. This wasn't fate. For every soul of this deluded population who believed in fate's comic clockwork, they neglect to see the wear and tear beneath the surface. The teeth that grind into the cogs. The damage that fate causes so many in its selfish journey towards just one favourable consequence. The Individual had simply run out of luck, and I was here to collect.
Milo: The storyteller was so used to his fantasies that no matter how good his reality was, it was never enough. Would never be enough.
Preest: Fractured. Infected. Forgotten. Meanwhile's slum quarter.
Preest: If you needed to find someone, the best place to start was the Faith Registration Centre - Meanwhile's melting pot of the pious. Every creed, cult, religion and doctrine pass through these doors, all looking for the same sense of belonging and hope.
Preest: You see, without faith, it's difficult to be controlled.
Preest: When you're lost, you're willing to believe anything. In this city, every religion promised a future, whether in this world or the next. All you had to pay them with was your faith and trust and, despite the celebration, the reverence and the prayer, everybody ends up in the same human mess. Old. Sick. Unhappy. Dead.
Dr. Earlle: Building trust takes time. All structure must start with foundation, and communication is the cornerstone of foundation.
Emilia: Amen.
Preest: If you believe in something strongly enough, who's to say if it's real or not?
Milo: If I'm having an imaginary conversation, I'd at least hope for something a bit more fucking exciting.
