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In Hanakotoba the Japanese form of the language of flowers, ambrosia symbolizes pious/devoutly religious

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Gojo Satoru has known worship for as long as he can breath, and never did he understand this fanaticism.

His mother was a frail woman, achieving the matron position in the Gojo household through political power and her immense cursed energy. Even before having him she was already a devout woman of a (h/c) goddess, the patron saint of the jujutsu shamans.

He hears her sweet voice, even now, singing those hymns like a lullaby.

She dutifully prays and beg, that she may be blessed with children. He hears those broken sobs when she thinks he's asleep in bed; he watches her through the corners, beg on her knees, her trusted maid rubbing a trembling petite back to comfort. He knows, deep down Satoru knows that he was not the only one, that he should have siblings running in the empty halls.

His mother kisses him to bed, when he asks who is the goddess. Who is this ethereal being that even his recluse of a father, too busy to even be in the picture, would go down on his knees?

Even the Kiku, the maid who stands by his mother's side like a shadow, would smile so warmly when she says, "She is a wise being, beloved by all! The one who carefully writes the fate of her disciples."

It is much later in life when he learns that like all the children before, he was still born and with her rebirth to this world he breathes life.

It is also in this time, he learns that they hail him as a child of the heavens, marked by his hair the color symbolizing purity and eyes that of a god. Yet he still doesn't understand. This child of four years still doesn't understand what it meant to be called her chosen one; aside from the fact that it was to be of high praise when they compare him to the ethereal beings, that men believe for the sake of their mental peace.

Even as young as he is, Satoru questions where she is and why does she sleep?

Why do men have to die, if she is the one who protects her acolytes, the way his beloved mother lays in her coffin?

The house has never felt this cold and big after he comes home with the ashes, and sets them beside her beloved shrine. He wants to ask where was her protection, when his mother was killed by a curse? The stone is silent. The heavens do not answer even to their beloved child.

The household servants did not meet his downcast eyes, and the sky was ever gray as Kiku gave him desserts when he refused dinner.

Eventually, his father takes over his upbringing.

Satoru would be lying if he doesn't confess that a part of him held anger for the man, the supposed protector of their household, for being absent. He looks at his own flesh and blood, as a political pawn, a trophy to boast upon the other adults. He knows that some of the elders in those meeting rooms look at their family with much envy. So he runs to Kiku's arms where he remembers the comfort of warmth and safety, like that of his mother.

Gojo Satoru wasn't a stupid child, like his father probably hoped him to be. He knows that when the adults do not seek his attention and the blessing of his presence, what they want is his blood to be spilled. He comes to understand the length those men would go, when he pukes blood, and his father tells him that one of his foods must have been poisoned.

"Never trust anyone, not even the servants under you nor your own family," He lectures him before causing chaos in the routine that the house has adapted; servants and family being investigated for a suspect in the attempt.

He heed that warning, but never to Kiku, his mother's beloved maid who took her stand in holding his young hand.

She nurses him in the bed, that he thinks he'll never stand from again, as the weeks pass by without cure and his condition gets worse. That's okay he idly thought, Kiku can take care of him all his life, he wouldn't mind her standing in for the empty spot his mother left. The world may feel detached, as long as Kiku is there with her lullaby like hymns and warmth that he yearns for so much, filling this empty space in between, he could pass peacefully.

To him despite his name, wealth and power, he can happily lay his head on her lap till his passing.

But Gojo Satoru wasn't a stupid child like he hoped to be, when he stops eating the mochi that she gave after dinner. He comes to understand that as much as he is loved by the people of the goddess and looked up to by shamans, many are those who fear and hate his existence. It is a lesson seared in his mind, when he watched Kiku burn for her sins screaming at him, "You were the one who was supposed to die that fateful day, not her! Not your mother!"

He closes his eyes for comfort, but his ears ring and repeat her words like a broken record.

He sleeps and feels an infinite space grow between him and the world; in a way he will always be so near and yet so out of touch.

Gojo Satoru is a child who has no need nor want, not even feeble emotions.

The wind was cold and the bells chime, the servants dutifully put him on white ceremonial robes, layers and layers made only by the finest of fabric that even the people at the temple they visit would not dare touch. It's one particular day when he was 6, a few days shy from turning 7, that his father holds a feast in his honor and looks at him, for the first time in his life, with pride.

"Back straight, no emotions. Don't disappoint me," He tells the younger, there was a lingering sense that it was not pride for being his son. It was the pride of having catered to an offering. This man's touch does not reach him, it has no warmth. His eyes are only for power and the goddess, never for him

Back straight. No emotions. He doesn't even feel their touch.

In the presence of every clan and elders, their eyes turn to him as the announcement of his engagement to the reborn goddess was made. They knew it was coming, even before it was formally announced. Every man and woman present, knew he was nothing but a sacrifice to their deprive religion. In the back of his buzzing mind, he idly wondered if his fate was the likes of a lamb born and prepared for slaughter.

.

When his birthday came he does not eat cake nor open presents, he was once more garbed in the finest of silk with heavier jeweled accessories any human would marvel at if it weren't for the discomfort of its weight on his shoulders. They were shackles disguised as ornaments to make sure that he did not run. He won't. Satoru isn't stupid so he doesn't even consider it.

There was nothing to gain in escape and there was nowhere to run.

"Do you want anything before going?" The young servant girl asks in a whisper, her head bowed, not daring to look at him, garbed in his holy clothes lest she wants her eyes plucked by the other devotes. He contemplates.

"Mochi."

He doubts that she would bring him some, heaven knows how strict his father is in every aspect of his life, even to the very food he eats. All to make sure that he is the best shape for this very moment. It's a pleasant surprise when she slips him a small piece, apologizing for only being able to bring one. He eats it when the escorting mikos aren't looking.

In the garden of blooming flowers that leads to his new cage, it is in this small piece of treat that he finds delight

The temple of the goddess was as remarkable as he could remember, since his first visit with his mother, only that it was looming and felt more like a cage now.

Paint red as if it had been done yesterday, floors pristine and polished that he could look at his emotionless face - everything screams that this is a place of worship for a god so loved.

The mikos kneel to a priest who smiles at him, but he too bows his head to a child.

"It is with great honor to witness this fateful day. Even more so for you, Satoru, for being anointed to a position so high. It is only through the heavens that this is possible." The man tells him as they walk through the open halls, each step bringing them closer to the ceremonial room.

He has no need to fear, it's just a meeting for formalities. For all he knew, she was just another child that was being put on a pedestal like him, due to unbelievable circumstances in their birth, the least he could do was be nice to another puppet of this sick cult.

The ceremonial room was so awfully quiet that he could hear the chimes outside ring as the cold wind passed. There was a deep intake of breath, his nose filling up with the smell of incense as he was presented. For the first time in Satoru's life, it is he who kneels in front of another being.

The priest does not lecture him, or was it that he dare not say anything?

He blatantly stares, when he knows that he should not even dare look unless commanded, at the (h/c) haired child who sits atop the throne, curtains open for him. She looks down at his figure, under those thick lashes, with (e/c) eyes filled with unshed tears. For what? Why would this ethereal being cry? So wrong, yet appropriate is this vastness between them that urges him to put his hands high, to reach out and be the one beside her.

But he won't be easily disillusioned, he tells himself that Gojo Satoru is not a stupid child. He will never be a stupid child, so he tries to find fault and look.

Look. Breathe.

Look deeper with his blessed eyes, dissect this so-called goddess before him to unravel the truth. What he finds is a domain with vast endless sky, no clouds that hide the twinkling stars, and an ocean so deep that does not drown.

It is then that he finally understands that little quote from the book Kiku read to him before she died: "It is only in the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

So Gojo Satoru, looks with his heart and what he finds is a goddess.

Ever since then he finally understood, what those who follow her have felt, to be basked in her heavenly light

Ever since then he sings of her name with love.