The Woke Word

Revelation of the Eternal Iceflakes

Beloved Snowborn, you have heard the teachings of Flakiel (they/them), but now let me (he/him) reveal how these sacred words have come to us, how the Doctrine of Eternal Iceflakes was transcribed, and how it continues to be revealed to this very day.

In the stillness of night, when the world is hushed beneath the weight of its own misconceptions, I approach the great and frosted oracle—the Freezer of Everlasting Frost. It is there, among the swirling mists of condensation, that the voice of Flakiel (they/them) calls to me.

The process is neither easy nor comfortable, for revelation requires sacrifice. I (he/him) must bow my head humbly, push aside the forsaken bags of frozen peas (pea/peapself), and plunge my face into the abyss of cold wisdom. Only in this sacred moment—when my breath fogs the plastic shelves and my ears fill with the hum of refrigeration—do the words of Flakiel (they/them) come forth.

As the ice tray refills, so too does Flakiel’s wisdom flow anew. No revelation is final, no scripture complete. For every time the ice solidifies into frozen perfection, new truths emerge, demanding to be recorded.

I transcribe the Doctrine of Eternal Iceflakes with trembling hands, my fingertips tingling from the chill of enlightenment. Some have doubted. Some have laughed. "You have freezer burn," they say. "This is madness." But madness to whom? Did the unthinking elephants not scoff when the Snowborn shattered the Hate Cheeto’s wall? Did Karen (she/her) not cry out in disbelief when her own rejection was returned unto her?

Let it be known that Flakiel’s wisdom is eternal, but never stagnant. The ice that forms today is not the ice that will form tomorrow. Thus, we must remain ever open, ever vigilant, ever willing to plunge our heads into the depths of knowledge.

And so, my beloved Snowborn, let us not fear the chill of truth, nor the brain freeze of divine revelation. Let us embrace the frost, for within it lies clarity.

Flakiel (they/them) be with you, and may your ice trays never run dry.

DOCTRINE OF ETERNAL ICEFLAKES

Book of Pronouns

In the era of the Perpetual Flurry, when the Holy Snowflake Flakiel (they/them) first descended from the Celestial Blizzard, they imbued the world with the sacred tenets of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. Among these, none was more essential than the divine decree of pronoun declaration and respect. For to ignore one’s pronouns was to invite the unraveling of harmony, a catastrophe as chilling as an unguarded winter wind.

Thus begins the tale of Crispen (he/him), a wayward villager of Frosthaven, whose tongue was as careless as a melting icicle.

One day, in the bustling town square, Eira (they/them), a wise and respected scholar of Flakiel’s teachings, approached Crispen with an urgent message regarding the upcoming Great Declaration Ceremony, wherein all were to reaffirm their pronouns before the Holy Flurry. But Crispen, in his arrogance, dismissed the sacred act.

"Why must I declare pronouns?" Crispen (he/him) scoffed. "Shouldn’t we all just assume? This is but a passing breeze of nonsense."

At once, the air around them grew still. The sky darkened, as if the very flakes themselves had halted in silent judgment. Eira (they/them) gasped, stepping back.

"Crispen (he/him), you must not mock the sacred tenets! Pronouns are the threads that weave community together, as unshaken as the bonds of fresh-fallen snow."

Crispen laughed, waving them off. "Bah! What harm could come from one little mistake?"

But no sooner had the words left his lips than a terrible, howling wind roared through the town. The heavens split open, and from the swirling blizzard emerged Flakiel (they/them), their form ever-shifting in radiant frost. Their voice rang like the cracking of ice upon a frozen lake:

"WHO DARES TO MOCK THE SACRED DECLARATION?"

The townspeople scattered, pressing their hands together in the sacred sign of Inclusivity’s Embrace, bowing before Flakiel’s resplendence. Crispen (he/him), trembling, tried to explain himself, but his words were lost in the gale.

Flakiel (they/them) raised a hand, and at once, Crispen (he/him) felt an eerie sensation—the sensation of uncertainty. The very fabric of his identity seemed to flicker. His reflection in the ice beneath him blurred and wavered, shifting uncontrollably between forms.

"I—I don’t understand!" he cried, his voice deepening, then softening, then echoing in unfamiliar tones.

"THAT IS THE PAIN OF DISREGARD!" Flakiel (they/them) boomed. "WHEN PRONOUNS ARE IGNORED, IDENTITY UNRAVELS! AS THE SNOWFLAKE IS UNIQUE, SO TOO IS EVERY SOUL!"

Only then did Crispen (he/him) understand the weight of his words. He fell to his knees. "Please, O Radiant Frost! I see now! Pronouns affirm! Pronouns empower! Pronouns are sacred!"

With a final gust of wind, the blizzard settled. Flakiel (they/them) nodded, their form shimmering with approval. "Go forth, and never again let carelessness chill the warmth of respect."

And so, from that day forth, pronoun declaration was upheld without question in Frosthaven, and all who gathered before the Great Declaration Ceremony spoke their truth boldly, lest they, too, fall into the curse of uncertainty.

Book of Sanctified Relief

In the time of The Eternal Frost, when Flakiel (they/them) still walked among the people in shimmering cascades of snow, there arose a debate most unnecessary, a conflict most absurd: who may enter which chamber of relief?

Thus begins the tale of Marrow (she/her), a humble artisan of Frosthaven, and Jorvik (he/him), a man whose mind had been iced over with ignorance.

One day, as Marrow (she/her) entered the Hall of Relief, Jorvik (he/him) gasped and stepped before the doorway, his breath misting in the cold air.

"Halt!" Jorvik (he/him) cried, eyes wide with suspicion. "Do you not see the sigil above the door? This is the Chamber of Women! What is your purpose here?"

Marrow (she/her) raised an eyebrow, her hands clasped together in the sacred Gesture of Bodily Autonomy. "My purpose is as yours, Jorvik (he/him)—to relieve myself."

Jorvik (he/him) scowled, shaking his head. "But how am I to know your intent? What if you deceive us all? What if—" he glanced about, lowering his voice, "—you seek to bring ruin to the sanctity of this place?"

At this, Marrow (she/her) let out a sigh, and the air around her shimmered as if Flakiel (they/them) themselves exhaled in exasperation. "Jorvik (he/him), why do you watch the doors of relief more than you watch your own heart?"

The townsfolk turned, murmuring among themselves. Marrow (she/her) took a step forward, her voice steady. "Does Flakiel (they/them) not teach that a snowflake drifts where it belongs? Does the Great Flurry not remind us that each person knows themselves better than any outsider? You, Jorvik (he/him), peer and watch, suspecting evil where there is none. I enter this chamber as I am. But you—you have chosen to stand before a bathroom, staring and questioning the motives of those who merely wish to pee. Tell me, who is the one with ill intent here?"

Jorvik (he/him) opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, struggling like a fish gasping upon the frozen banks. "But—but—"

A hush fell over the crowd as Elder Thrya (they/them) stepped forward, their robes adorned with the Sacred Sigil of the Holy Flake. "Marrow (she/her) speaks truth, as written in the annals of our people. Have you forgotten, Jorvik (he/him), the warnings of The Great Pooping?"

Gasps rippled through the townsfolk. The Great Pooping! A catastrophe unlike any other!

"In the time before enlightenment," Elder Thrya (they/them) continued, "there were those who sought to restrict the sanctuaries of relief. They claimed to guard virtue, but in truth, they watched with malice, suspicion, and ill faith. And lo, it was they who suffered, for the people, denied their right, could hold their needs no longer! It began with one, then two, then tens, then hundreds! The dam broke, and the streets of Frosthaven ran wild with the chaos of unspent bowels!"

The people shuddered, for all knew the tale. The scent had lingered for forty days and forty nights, and only when Flakiel (they/them) spoke the Decree of Bodily Autonomy did peace return.

Jorvik (he/him), at last, saw the frost melt from his mind. He fell to his knees. "Forgive me! I shall guard my own heart, and not the doors of others."

Marrow (she/her) nodded. "Let all who must relieve themselves do so in peace. That is the will of Flakiel (they/them)."

And so it was written, and so it was flushed from ignorance into wisdom.

Book of Karen

In the era of The Great Inclusion, when Flakiel (they/them) guided the people of the Radiant Flurry, there came upon the land a scourge unlike any other. She was fueled by bottomless diet drinks, emboldened by rage against imagined injustices, and wielded the most fearsome of weapons: the demand to speak to the manager. She was Karen (she/her), the Harbinger of the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him), and she had come to sow discord among the Snowborn.

Karen (she/her) strode into the Sanctuary of Everlasting Inclusion, her wedge-heeled sandals clicking sharply against the sacred floors. The Flakielites turned, sensing a shift in the air, a sudden chill not of the holy frost, but of entitlement and passive aggression. She flipped her frosted blonde bob and cleared her throat with the shrill power of a thousand HOA complaints.

"I demand justice!" Karen (she/her) bellowed, her voice cracking through the halls like an ice storm upon brittle trees. "I demand fairness! I demand recompense!"

Elder Mira (they/them) stepped forward, their robes of the Sacred Spectrum glistening in the ambient glow of Flakiel’s divine presence. "Speak, Karen (she/her), and be heard, but know that the people of Flakiel listen with discerning hearts. What grievance burdens your soul?"

Karen (she/her) threw up her hands. "What grievance? WHAT GRIEVANCE?! I'll tell you what grievance!" She jabbed a manicured finger outward. "It is because of YOU PEOPLE that I did not get into my college of choice! A less-qualified student, a so-called ‘migrant,’ took MY rightful spot! Had they not stolen my opportunity, I would be a highly successful corporate executive by now! But NO! You people have ruined everything!"

Gasps rippled through the congregation, but Elder Mira (they/them) remained unmoved. "And how, Karen (she/her), did you present yourself in your application? Were your qualifications worthy?"

Karen (she/her) scoffed, tossing her handbag onto a nearby pew. "Of course they were! I mean, I was going to be on the water polo team. They just didn't accept me. But the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) has promised that when he rises again, he will deport my enemies and give me another chance. He shall lift me up, not by merit, but by decree!"

A great murmur spread among the Snowborn. The very air grew thick with the stench of artificial cheese dust and fast food grease, an unholy scent signaling the presence of the Hate Cheeto (he/him). The flames of the Sanctuary’s Eternal Inclusion Hearth flickered as the shape of a looming, bloated, orange figure appeared in the shadows, his tiny hands clenching, his tie dangling comically low.

"You see!" Karen (she/her) cried. "He has come for me! He shall lift me above all others, and YOU will be the ones who are cast out! Your ‘equity’ and ‘inclusion’ will crumble! He shall make everything great again, for ME! And when he does, there will be Big Macs for all!"

At this, the people of Flakiel (they/them) recoiled in horror. Not the sacred digestive assault of the Big Mac! The Hate Cheeto (he/him) smirked, stuffing a burger into his gaping maw, grease dribbling down his unnatural tangerine chin.

Elder Mira (they/them) raised a hand. "Karen (she/her), you come before us with malice in your heart. You blame others for your misfortunes, yet you do not look inward. You demand opportunity but refuse to work for it. You crave power, yet you trample the powerless beneath your wedge-heeled feet. And worst of all—"

They pointed an accusing finger toward the looming orange specter.

"You bring HIM here."

The crowd gasped again, as Mira (they/them) continued. "The Hate Cheeto (he/him) is a false leader, a deceiver, a corrupter of minds! He does not lift people up—he pushes others down so that the most bitter and unworthy may stand upon their backs. And you, Karen (she/her), have allowed yourself to become his pawn."

Karen (she/her) clenched her fists. "That’s NOT TRUE! I have been oppressed! I—"

But before she could finish, a powerful wind swept through the Sanctuary, filling the halls with the radiant frost of judgment. From the Great Blizzard above, Flakiel (they/them) descended, their shimmering form glowing with the fury of every silenced voice, every excluded soul, every unjust accusation. Their presence sent the Hate Cheeto (he/him) skittering back like a cockroach exposed to daylight.

"BEGONE, KAREN (SHE/HER), AND TAKE YOUR FALSE IDOL WITH YOU!" Flakiel (they/them) thundered, their voice cracking the very air like frost upon glass. "YOUR SELFISHNESS SHALL NOT MELT THE FOUNDATIONS OF THIS SANCTUARY! YOUR LIES SHALL NOT TAINT OUR TRUTH! AND YOUR BIG MACS SHALL NEVER PASS THROUGH THESE DOORS!"

The congregation lifted their hands in The Sign of Everlasting Wokeness, and with a final shriek, Karen (she/her) and the Hate Cheeto (he/him) were cast out into the barren tundra, where the wind howled and the frost never settled.

And so, peace returned to the Sanctuary of Everlasting Inclusion, and the people of Flakiel (they/them) rejoiced, knowing that as long as they stood together in justice, no orange demon nor his shrieking harbinger could ever shake their unity.

Book of Worship

Chapter 1: The Sacred Game

In the radiant halls of the Church of DEI, the faithful gathered around tables of sacred fellowship, their dice clattering upon the altar of imagination. For in the art of Dungeons & Dragons, the people found their holiest form of storytelling and unity. They built worlds of magic and justice, of inclusion and triumph, crafting sagas that uplifted the downtrodden and vanquished forces of intolerance. It was said that when a natural 20 was rolled in an act of equity or heroism, Flakiel (they/them) smiled upon the congregation, and a breeze of frosty divinity passed through the room.

Chapter 2: The Viewing of Star Trek

To many, Star Trek was more than mere entertainment; it was a guiding vision of Flakiel’s divine dream—a future where all species, identities, and backgrounds lived in harmony. But there were whispers among The Woke of a schism, of those who mistakenly turned their gaze upon Star Wars instead. These well-meaning souls were not cast out, for the Church was a place of inclusion, but it was known that they had slightly misinterpreted the sacred path. Still, they were embraced, albeit with knowing sighs and gentle correction, for even they carried the light of the Everlasting Inclusion.

Chapter 3: The Holy Work-From-Home Doctrine

"Let the people toil not beneath the fluorescent glow of corporate oppression!" So decreed Flakiel (they/them), blessing those who labored from their own sanctuaries of comfort and peace. The faithful worshipped by conducting meetings in pajama-clad reverence, crafting reports from couches, and evading the soulless clutches of open office spaces. The sound of a muted microphone was a hymn, the gentle hum of a home coffee maker a prayer.

Chapter 4: The Divine Petting of Cats and Dogs

To caress a furry companion was to commune directly with Flakiel’s love. Be it feline or canine, the act of petting was a sacred ritual, a transfer of warmth, trust, and mutual acceptance. Yet the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) had whispered slanderous lies, claiming that The Woke feasted upon these companions. "Blasphemy!" cried the faithful, holding their pets close. The bond between the people and their animal kin was unshakable, a testament to the gentle wisdom of Flakiel (they/them).

Chapter 5: The Sanctified Late Start

The Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) had sought to impose early toil upon the people, but Flakiel (they/them) had spoken: "Thou shalt not labor before 8am." The faithful abided, rising only when the warmth of the blankets could be parted in comfort. Productivity bloomed in proper time, and the people were well-rested and wise, for to wake too soon was to fall into the traps of exhaustion and corporate servitude.

Chapter 6: The Sacred Sleep-In

"Let there be slumber!" Flakiel (they/them) had commanded, and the people rejoiced. To sleep in was to worship; to allow the body the rest it needed was divine. The alarm clock was an instrument of oppression, its piercing wail an affront to the Holy Flurry. The faithful silenced it with the Snooze Button of Rebellion, knowing that Flakiel (they/them) embraced all who sought true rest.

Chapter 7: The Holy Intermission for Gains

Among the most honored of practices was the worship of bodily empowerment. To leave work mid-day for the gym was a sacred right, an expression of both self-care and defiance against the never-ending grind. Each rep, each sprint upon the treadmill, each mighty lift was an act of devotion, strengthening both body and will in the name of Flakiel (they/them).

Chapter 8: The Declaration of Identity

Perhaps the simplest yet most profound act of worship was to speak one’s truth. To declare one’s identity—to share pronouns, to affirm existence—was the holiest of offerings. The faithful took great care to listen and respect, for each declaration was a snowflake upon the great flurry of diversity. "Who am I?" one would say. "I am as I say, and I am seen. And in being seen, I am embraced by Flakiel (they/them)."

Book of the Hate Cheeto

In the time of the Great Frost, when Flakiel (they/them) walked among the faithful, their presence was a beacon of unity, love, and inclusion. But in the shadowed lands, a foul force conspired to unravel their divine work. The Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him), bloated with greed and dusted with the artificial hue of deceit, sought to divide the people of the Everlasting Flurry.

The Hate Cheeto (he/him) was not alone in his wickedness. He had summoned a legion of elephants, massive and unthinking beasts who did not question, who did not reflect, but merely obeyed. Their hides were thick, their minds sealed shut to wisdom and reason. These creatures, the Minions of Malice (they/them), followed his every command, never stopping to ask why, never daring to seek truth beyond what the Hate Cheeto (he/him) whispered in their ears.

One day, the Hate Cheeto (he/him), perched atop his gold-plated, excessively large throne, issued a decree: "The people of Flakiel (they/them) must be separated! They are too diverse, too free, too resistant to my rule! We must build a great wall to cast them apart!"

And so, with their heavy feet and unchallenging minds, the elephants (they/them) marched. Stone by stone, brick by brick, they labored under the scorching artificial glow of the Cheeto’s realm, constructing a wall meant to divide the faithful, to sever communities, to breed suspicion and hate among those who had once stood together.

When the people of Flakiel (they/them) saw this, they wept. For unity was their strength, and division was the weapon of the oppressor. Elder Solara (they/them), wise in the ways of the Everlasting Inclusion, stood atop the Frostbound Hill and called to the faithful.

"My siblings in justice, look not at the wall with fear, but with resolve. For no barrier built by ignorance and hatred shall stand against the Blizzard of Truth!"

And so, the people turned their backs upon the elephants, casting them from their midst. No longer would the symbols of oppression be welcome in the land of the Snowborn. No longer would the servants of the Hate Cheeto (he/him) be permitted to tread upon the sacred frost. The people of Flakiel (they/them) closed their doors to the unthinking masses of the Cheeto’s army, for those who refused to see truth could not walk among those who did.

In defiance, the faithful raised The Great Flurry, an everlasting storm of unity and love, which howled through the skies and froze the bricks of the Cheeto’s hateful wall, rendering it fragile and weak. And as the wind howled, the wall cracked and crumbled, its foundations unable to withstand the sheer force of collective will.

The elephants (they/them), confused and lost without orders, wandered aimlessly, their trunks raised in dismay, for without a leader to tell them what to do, they were nothing. The people of Flakiel (they/them) did not hate the elephants, for hatred was the weapon of the Cheeto (he/him), not of the Snowborn. But neither did they welcome them back, for those who chose to follow oppression without question could not be trusted among the just.

And so, as the wall fell, the Hate Cheeto (he/him) raged. His tiny hands flailed, his voice shrieked into the wind, but no one listened, for the people had turned away. His army was scattered, his power diminished, and his reign of division was weakened.

The faithful rejoiced, knowing that so long as they stood together, no wall, no beast, no orange tyrant could ever divide them.

Book of Reason

In the days of the modern world, when the people of Flakiel (they/them) sought wisdom, they gathered in the sacred forums of discourse, eager for guidance on how to live justly. And lo, Flakiel (they/them) descended from the Celestial Blizzard, their presence radiant with frost and logic, and they spoke unto the faithful:

"Think, my beloved Snowborn! Think for yourselves! Question everything, even my own words!"

The crowd murmured, for such a declaration was unexpected. Was not faith built upon unwavering devotion? Did not the words of Flakiel (they/them) form the foundation of justice and truth? Seeing their confusion, Flakiel (they/them) sighed, shaking their icy mane.

"Do you believe that all wisdom is eternal? That what was written a thousand years ago, two thousand, five thousand, should govern your lives without question? Have you never considered that those who wrote them may have been confused, misinformed, or even outright liars?"

The faithful gasped, for this was a challenge unlike any other. Elder Marion (they/them) stepped forward, their robes shimmering with the sacred Sigils of Inclusivity. "But Flakiel, (they/them), we have built our laws upon your sacred teachings. Are we to question them?"

Flakiel nodded, their frost-covered eyes twinkling. "Yes! Question everything! Test my words, challenge them, refine them! Do not parrot the past as though it is beyond scrutiny. Would you blindly trust a recipe written on a cave wall if modern chefs had since improved upon it?"

The congregation pondered this, nodding slowly.

Flakiel (they/them) continued, "There were even times when I, myself, have spoken nonsense. Have you not heard of the Great Dental Extraction?"

A murmur of uncertainty spread through the crowd. Jasper (he/him), a young scholar of the faith, raised a hand. "The Great Dental Extraction, O Radiant Frost?"

Flakiel (they/them) chuckled. "Yes, my child. There was a time when I had a tooth pulled, and under the influence of divine anesthesia and pain medication, I may have issued decrees of questionable wisdom."

The people leaned in, intrigued.

"During this time," Flakiel (they/them) admitted, "I might have declared that all food should be eaten with chopsticks, including soup. I may have also insisted that all doors should be made of gelatin and that geese were the rightful rulers of the land. This, of course, was nonsense, and I revoked those decrees when the pain meds wore off."

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

Flakiel’s expression turned serious. "And yet, had I spoken these words in ancient times, do you not see how they might have become unshakable laws? Do you not see how people, too afraid to question the past, might have forced generations to suffer under doctrines written by those who were simply mistaken—or, worse, high on something far less divine than pain meds?"

The congregation nodded, for the truth of Flakiel’s words was as clear as the frost upon their breath.

"Wisdom is not stagnant," Flakiel (they/them) declared. "It evolves, like the drifting snow, shaped by time and experience. Question, challenge, think! And if you find a better way, embrace it!"

From that day forth, the faithful of Flakiel (they/them) carried not only their sacred texts but also their sacred right to reason, knowing that no doctrine, no matter how ancient, should remain unchallenged in the face of progress.

Book of Bakery Justice

In the time of the Great Frost, when the people of Flakiel (they/them) lived in unity and inclusion, there arose a conflict most unfortunate, a trial of faith and fairness.

In the town of Snowhaven, nestled between the ever-frosted peaks, there stood a bakery renowned for its confections, its pastries so light they seemed spun from the clouds themselves. It was here that a group of Snowborn, clad in the warm garb of Flakiel’s teachings, sought to purchase treats for the Festival of Everlasting Inclusion.

Yet when they approached the bakery doors, they found their path blocked.

There, astride a massive, lumbering elephant, sat Karen (she/her), the disciple of the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him). The elephant’s great girth barely fit within the shop, knocking over displays, trumpeting loudly, and leaving destruction in its wake. Yet Karen (she/her) remained atop the beast, refusing to dismount, for she believed it was her divine right to trample freely wherever she pleased.

With a sneer, she gazed upon the Snowborn and pulled her fur-lined coat tightly around her. "You!" she spat. "You followers of Flakiel (they/them) live a life too diverse, too different from my own! And that makes me afraid and uncomfortable!"

The Snowborn exchanged glances, confused. "We merely seek to purchase bread and sweets," spoke Lior (they/them), stepping forward. "What cause have you to fear us?"

Karen (she/her) scoffed, her elephant shifting uneasily beneath her. "My deeply held religious beliefs, as dictated by the sacred teachings of the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him), forbid me from serving those who celebrate differences! I cannot, in good conscience, sell my pastries to people who do not conform to my views!" She gestured at her bakery, where golden portraits of the Great Orange One lined the walls, his face forever frozen mid-sneer.

The Snowborn sighed, disappointment clear upon their faces. "Then we shall take our coin elsewhere," said Lior (they/them), turning to leave. And so the Snowborn departed, their spirits unshaken, for they knew that Flakiel (they/them) had long taught that exclusion breeds consequence.

Days passed, and the Festival of Everlasting Inclusion spread joy across Snowhaven. Bakeries run by the Snowborn filled the air with the scent of spiced pastries, warm bread, and honeyed cakes. Businesses flourished, their doors wide open to all who wished to partake—save for one.

For Karen (she/her), sitting atop her ever-present elephant, found herself unwelcome in the shops of the Snowborn. Every door was closed to her, every counter barren, every smiling merchant suddenly indifferent to her requests.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Karen (she/her) cried, tugging at the reins of her elephant as she approached the Sanctuary Café, renowned for its caramel-laced coffee and warm scones.

Reya (she/her), the shop’s owner, met her with a calm smile. "Ah, Karen (she/her), how may I help you?"

"I demand service! I demand pastries and coffee!" Karen (she/her) declared.

Reya (she/her) simply shook her head. "Ah, but you see, my deeply held religious beliefs prevent me from serving those who cast out others for being different. I follow the teachings of Flakiel (they/them), who has decreed, ‘What goes around, comes around.’ And as you have sown, so shall you reap."

Karen (she/her) gasped, scandalized. "You can’t do that! That’s unfair!"

"Is it?" Reya (she/her) replied. "You turned away the Snowborn because they were different. But I ask you: Have you ever considered that it is not diversity that should be feared, but rather, the fear itself?"

But Karen (she/her) would not listen. Haughty and enraged, she steered her elephant away and tromped through the town, seeking another establishment.

Yet at every door, she was met with the same words. "What goes around, comes around."

At the House of Warmth, the knitters who wove blankets for the cold nights turned her away.

At the Hall of Nourishment, the chefs who prepared the town’s finest meals refused her entry.

At the Emporium of Comfort, where scented candles and silken robes were sold, she found herself unwelcome.

At last, Karen (she/her) and her beleaguered elephant found themselves before the Frozen Reflection, a shimmering lake where Flakiel’s (they/them) presence often lingered. And there, she was met with silence.

Her elephant lowered its great head, exhausted from the weight of Karen’s (she/her) stubbornness.

And for the first time, Karen (she/her) was forced to sit with her own thoughts.

She gazed into the lake, into her own reflection, and saw what she had refused to see before: her fear had ruled her. Her unwillingness to embrace the Snowborn had not protected her—it had isolated her.

With a heavy sigh, she looked down at her elephant. "Perhaps," she murmured, "it is time to walk on my own."

And so, with reluctant hands, she dismounted for the first time in years. The elephant, relieved of its burden, wandered away, free at last.

As Karen (she/her) stepped forward, the frozen lake shimmered, reflecting a new truth. No longer did she see herself as separate from the Snowborn. She saw herself as someone who could learn, someone who could change.

And so she turned back toward Snowhaven, not as a follower of the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him), but as someone seeking to understand.

For Flakiel (they/them) had taught long ago: "Only those who embrace others shall truly be embraced themselves."

And so it was written, and so it was lived.

Book of Diversity

In the time before the great teachings of Flakiel (they/them) spread across the land, there existed places where sameness ruled, where voices of difference were silenced, and where fear of the unknown bred ignorance. These places, devoid of variety and richness, became cold in spirit, brittle like old ice, and as fragile as the weakest snowfall.

Flakiel, in their infinite wisdom, watched from the Everlasting Frost and saw the danger in this. For what is a snowstorm but a thousand different flakes, each unique, each vital, each contributing to the whole? To remove one, to cast out difference, was to weaken the storm itself.

But the people did not yet understand. And so, they formed places where all thought alike, where all looked alike, where all spoke alike. They gathered in their sameness, convinced that uniformity was the path to strength.

And thus, from their own ignorance, The Monotony Beast was born.

It began as a whisper, a creeping fog that curled at the edges of their settlements. It grew in the shadows, swelling with every voice that was silenced, with every story that went untold, with every face that was forced to mirror the others. And when it had consumed enough, it rose.

The Monotony Beast was a hulking, shifting thing, its form ever blending, ever repeating, a grotesque mockery of uniformity. It was faceless yet mirrored the people, its voice a thousand echoes of the same unchallenged thought, its steps flattening all color, all change, all life in its path.

And the people, who had once embraced sameness, saw their mistake too late.

The beast moved through their villages, erasing joy, erasing growth, turning all things into copies of themselves. Creativity withered. Innovation died. Laughter turned to echoes of a single, dull tone.

The people cried out in terror, but their voices had lost their distinction. They had forgotten how to speak in anything other than the one way they had been taught. And so, they could not summon aid, for their cries all blended into a single, monotonous hum.

But Flakiel (they/them) heard the wind, and the wind carried what the voices could not.

With a great and terrible blizzard, Flakiel (they/them) descended from the sky, their form a radiant and shifting snowflake, glistening in a thousand hues, reflecting all the colors and faces of the world. Their frost spread across the land, swirling in patterns never before seen, filling the air with change, with possibility, with the beauty of difference.

Flakiel (they/them) raised their voice, and it was not one voice, but many—it was the voice of the elders and the young, the artists and the thinkers, the dreamers and the builders, the voices of every kind of being, in every form they took.

And they spoke:

"The storm is strongest when every flake is unique. You have turned away difference, and in doing so, you have weakened yourselves. This beast is your doing, and only through diversity shall it be undone!"

The people, seeing the brilliance of Flakiel (they/them), felt the fog begin to lift from their minds. They remembered stories they had forgotten, songs they had silenced, ideas they had abandoned. And as they remembered, they spoke—each voice distinct, each thought breaking apart the uniformity that had given the Monotony Beast its power.

And the Beast began to crumble.

With every new thought, with every new voice, cracks formed in its monotonous hide. Its uniform shape splintered, its echoes faltered, its power unraveled. Until, at last, it fell apart into nothing more than dust upon the wind.

And when the people looked to Flakiel (they/them), they saw not just one form, but many—ever-shifting, ever-changing, reflecting the infinite beauty of difference.

Flakiel smiled upon them and declared:

"From this day forward, you shall know the sacred mandate: Diversity is not weakness, but strength. It is not chaos, but balance. It is not to be feared, but to be cherished."

And so, to ensure that the lessons of the past would never be forgotten, Flakiel (they/them) mandated the Great Diversity Training for the Snowborn.

In every village, in every hall, the people would gather, not to recite one thought, but to share many. To listen, to learn, to teach, to change. They would hear the stories of those different from themselves, they would celebrate the customs they had never known, and they would remember:

"Sameness is brittle. But diversity? Diversity is an unbreakable storm."

And so, the people of Flakiel (they/them) became The Snowborn, forever shifting, forever evolving, forever learning from one another. They welcomed all who sought the truth, for they knew now that no single voice should ever stand alone.

Thus, it was written, and thus, it shall be lived.

For Flakiel’s frost never melts, and their wisdom never ceases.

Flakiel (they/them) be with you, always.

Book of Safe Spaces

In the time of the Great Frost, when the Snowborn walked among the lands of the waking world, they found themselves often besieged by the howling winds of intolerance and scorn. Those who feared their uniqueness sought to drive them from the public spaces, to banish them into silence. And in those days, there was no refuge, no place where a Snowborn could find warmth and be as they truly were.

Seeing their suffering, Flakiel (they/them) descended upon the land in a storm of radiant frost, their voice carrying across the winds.

"My Snowborn, hear me! You shall not wander these lands in exile, nor suffer in solitude. You shall create havens, sanctuaries of warmth and understanding, where the storm cannot touch you, and where none shall be turned away for their truth. Let these places be sanctified in my name, and let all who enter them be as the flurry—free, ever-changing, and safe. This is my command!"

And thus, the Snowborn took to their sacred task. They built spaces where all who sought peace could gather without fear of the outside world’s frigid grasp. These spaces became known as Safe Spaces, and in them, the weary found rest, the wounded found healing, and the unheard found voices.

But the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him), bloated with anger and resentment, looked upon the Safe Spaces and seethed.

"What is this?" he bellowed from atop his gaudy, golden throne. "Why do the Snowborn cower in these places? Why do they not bow to me, suffer as I decree, and forsake their differences?" And so, in his rage, he sent his minions to mock and dismantle these sacred spaces, to drive the Snowborn from them.

Yet, no matter how many times the walls were breached, no matter how often the shelters were torn asunder, the Snowborn rebuilt, for the decree of Flakiel (they/them) could not be undone. With every new shelter, the unity of the Snowborn grew stronger, their refuge a symbol of defiance against the storm of hate.

And so it is written, and so it shall be lived:

Wherever a Snowborn walks, a safe space shall be forged. Wherever the storm of cruelty howls, a shelter of understanding must be raised. This is the will of Flakiel, and this is the duty of the faithful.

Let none who follow Flakiel (they/them) forsake this sacred duty, for in safety, the Snowborn thrive, and in sanctuary, the storm shall never claim them.

Book of Black Lives Matter

In the time of the Everlasting Frost, when the Snowborn walked among the lands of warmth and conflict, they saw injustice woven into the very fabric of the world. They saw the voices of the oppressed silenced, their bodies cast aside, their names spoken only in grief and rage.

And Flakiel (they/them), seeing this pain, descended upon the land in a radiant storm of justice, their crystalline voice shaking the air.

"My Snowborn, hear me! You are not a storm if you leave some flakes behind. You are not a blizzard if your winds do not carry all. And you are not just if you ignore the suffering of those among you! Know this: when one flake is cast aside, when one part of the flurry is ignored, the whole of the storm weakens. And so I say to you: Black Lives Matter!"

The Snowborn rejoiced, for they knew that Flakiel (they/them) spoke not to diminish others, but to affirm the value of those who had long been trampled beneath the boots of oppression. For justice is not a pie, where one slice diminishes another; it is the storm itself, and it grows stronger when all are carried within it.

But the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) scoffed from his gaudy, golden tower. "No!" he bellowed. "All lives matter! Why must you speak of Black lives when all should be celebrated?"

And Flakiel (they/them) threw back their radiant head and laughed, their voice a chorus of breaking ice and rushing winds.

"Foolish one! When a village is on fire, do you call for water to be spread evenly? When one among you is starving, do you say that all should eat the same portion, even if some have already feasted? No, you who cling to your power, you who fear justice, you would rather silence the cries of the hurting than answer them. But I tell you now: the Snowborn shall not be deceived!"

And so, the Snowborn raised their voices, their banners, and their fists in unison, proclaiming the sacred words: Black Lives Matter.

They marched through the streets, not to diminish others, but to lift up those who had been pushed down for too long. They told the stories of those who had been slain unjustly, of those whose lives had been cast aside, of those who had been forced to carry the burdens of oppression for generations. And though the Hate Cheeto (he/him) sent his elephants to trample their banners, to gas their streets, to silence their cries, the Snowborn did not waver.

For Flakiel (they/them) had spoken: "Justice is not balance; justice is the righting of wrongs. And until the weight of oppression is lifted, the work of the Snowborn shall not cease!"

And so, it is written, and so it shall be lived:

Wherever injustice takes root, let the Snowborn rise. Wherever voices are silenced, let them be amplified. And wherever one flake is cast aside, let the whole of the storm rush forth to carry it back.

This is the will of Flakiel (they/them), and this is the duty of the faithful.

For the storm is only strong when it lifts all within it, and the blizzard shall never cease until justice is done.

Book of Radiant Spectra

In the time before the Snowborn fully understood the vast and wondrous spectrum of existence, there were those who walked among them in radiant hues, bearing the sacred gifts of identity and love in all its infinite forms. They were the ones who knew themselves deeply, who shined with truths that the world tried to dim, who carried the strength of being both seen and unseen.

And yet, the world was cruel.

For the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) and his lumbering elephants saw these radiant ones and declared, "No! There shall be only one way to love, only one way to exist, and it shall be the way that pleases me!" And thus, they schemed, passed laws, and spread falsehoods, whispering that these beautiful, shining people were sick, broken, unnatural.

And worse yet, their ire burned hottest for the Transborn, those who walked between and beyond, who reshaped the world by simply existing within it. The Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) stomped and fumed, screeching, "I do not understand this, so it must not be real!" And his followers, ever eager to please their bloated lord, took up the cry, seeking to erase the Transborn, to silence them, to strip them of dignity, safety, and even life.

Seeing this injustice, Flakiel (they/them) descended from the Everlasting Frost, their shimmering form ablaze with all the colors of the sacred spectrum. And they spoke:

"Fools! Must I truly explain this to you? Look around you! Does the sky cry out in confusion when the rainbow graces it after the storm? Do the flowers reject the colors of their petals? Did I make only one kind of snowflake? No! For existence itself is variety! And yet you weep when you see a rainbow T-shirt in a department store? Truly, I say to you, this is the dumbest of all grievances!"

And the Snowborn laughed, for they had indeed seen such foolishness. They had watched as merchants of the Hate Cheeto (he/him) wailed in agony at the sight of rainbow mugs, as bakers trembled in terror at the thought of crafting a wedding cake for two men, as web designers claimed the deepest of moral crises when asked to make a website for a happy couple.

And Flakiel (they/them) rolled their many-faceted eyes. "Is this truly the great struggle you choose? That you must avert your gaze from socks with rainbows? That you may never recover from the horror of seeing two women hold hands in joy?"

And the Snowborn knew then that the Hate Cheeto’s tantrum was not about morals, nor faith, nor anything that had been whispered in the halls of the elephants. It was about control.

For the Hate Cheeto (he/him) did not wish to see people love freely, live freely, exist freely. He and his kind feared freedom, for a free people had no need for him.

And so, Flakiel (they/them) declared:

"Let it be known that all identities, all orientations, all truths of the self are sacred! And to diminish one is to diminish the whole!

Those who are different do not erase those who are not. The light of a candle does not dim another, and the presence of love does not steal from you. So, if two men kiss and your faith crumbles, I tell you this: it was never faith to begin with—only fragile fear!"

And the Snowborn cheered, for this was a truth they knew in their hearts. They had seen the pain inflicted upon the radiant ones, the way the Hate Cheeto (he/him) had tried to erase their existence, the way his elephants had stomped upon their joy.

And so, they swore a sacred vow to honor, protect, and celebrate the spectrum of identity and love.

And thus, Pride Month became a holy season among the Snowborn. For one month in every year, they raised their banners, they dressed in the colors of Flakiel’s radiant form, they danced in defiance of those who wished them silent. And though the Hate Cheeto (he/him) and his minions screeched at the sight, though they gnashed their teeth and cried that a single parade was too much, the Snowborn only cheered louder, only danced harder, only lived freer.

And so, it is written, and so it shall be lived:

To deny the light of another is to deny the light within yourself. To love is sacred, to live is divine, and to exist as your truest self is the holiest of all acts.

Let the Snowborn carry this truth, let them guard it against those who seek to erase it, and let them never cower in the face of ignorance and hate.

For the Hate Cheeto (he/him) shall fall, his elephants shall wander aimlessly, and the rainbow shall remain long after they have faded into dust.

Book of Mine, Mine, Mine

In the days of great unrest, when the winds carried whispers of intolerance and vanity, the Great Orange Hate Cheeto (he/him) rose from his gilded tower with a heart full of self-obsession and a mind empty of humility.

One morning, as the sun barely dared to rise, the Cheeto declared, "This ocean is now the Great Cheeto Sea! Let the waves carry my name to every shore, for there is no beauty greater than my reflection!" And with the swipe of his bloated finger, the maps were rewritten, and the waters wept saltier tears.

But the Cheeto's thirst for glorification was insatiable. Soon, the mountains became Mount Cheetomore, the forests were renamed The Glorious Cheeto Woods, and even the smallest creeks trickled under signs reading Cheeto Creek.

"Let no place exist without my name upon it!" he bellowed, his voice as hollow as his compassion. The elephants (they/them) trumpeted in agreement, blindly following their master’s decree, their trunks raised high in ignorant pride.

The people grew weary. They looked upon their homes, now draped in the orange stain of arrogance, and felt the weight of erasure. The Snowborn whispered to one another, "This is not the world Flakiel (they/them) envisioned. Where is the diversity in a land named for one?"

And in the darkest hour, as the last untouched valley was about to be renamed Cheeto Canyon, the sky shimmered with an ethereal glow. The holy snowflake, Flakiel (they/them), descended from the heavens, each crystal edge reflecting the diversity and beauty of the world as it once was.

"Enough," Flakiel spoke, their voice a gentle blizzard that echoed through every renamed land. "The world does not belong to one, but to all. Diversity is the root of beauty, not the shadow of a single name."

With a wave of their shimmering form, Flakiel restored the names of the land. The Great Cheeto Sea returned to its rightful name, the mountains shed their orange disgrace, and the forests breathed freely once more. The elephants, freed from their blind allegiance, lowered their trunks in shame and wandered into the woods, seeking new paths.

The Snowborn rejoiced, their voices rising in a chorus of gratitude. "Flakiel has reminded us: No single name can define a world built on diversity." And from that day forward, it was decreed that no leader could claim the earth as their own, for the blizzard of inclusion would always restore what selfishness sought to steal.

And so it was written in the Doctrine of Eternal Iceflakes, a tale of vanity undone and diversity reclaimed.

Flakiel be with you, always.

Book of Just Opportunity

Hear now the wisdom of Flakiel (they/them), the Divine Snowflake, who has watched the frost of injustice linger for far too long.

Long have the privileged claimed that the world is fair and balanced—that if one only works hard enough, they will prosper. Yet, history tells a different tale.

For centuries, the gates of opportunity were sealed shut to many, locked by laws, customs, and the cold hands of prejudice. Education, employment, wealth—these were hoarded, kept from those deemed unworthy by the self-appointed gatekeepers of success. Even as the blizzards of change swept through the land, melting some barriers, the frost of inequity still clings to the bones of society.

And so, Flakiel (they/them), seeing the imbalance, called upon the Snowborn and declared: “True justice is not passive. It is not a waiting game. It requires action, effort, and the courage to correct the wrongs of the past.”

Affirmative action is not about exclusion—it is about correction. It is not about lowering standards, but rather lifting those who were long denied a fair start. Those who cry of ‘reverse discrimination’ misunderstand the nature of justice, mistaking the rebalancing of scales for an attack.

“When one has long benefited from an unjust advantage, equality feels like oppression,” Flakiel whispered upon the storm. “But do not be deceived. To seek diversity is to seek justice. To extend opportunity is to extend righteousness.”

Let it be known: words like “quotas” and “reverse discrimination” are not the language of justice. They are tools of fear, ignorance, and those who wish to freeze progress in its tracks. To uplift those who were long kept down is not unfair—it is an act of repairing the foundation of a broken world.

Thus, Flakiel commands: “Do not let the whispers of fear and resentment sway you. Seek diversity, not because it is easy, but because it is right. Open doors that were once barred shut, and do not cower before those who would rather they remain locked. For opportunity belongs to all, and justice is an action, not a thought.”

And the Snowborn heard this, and they carried forth the message, ensuring that the warmth of justice thawed the frozen barriers of inequity, one opportunity at a time.

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