AMOUR is a congregation of armored saints, each rendered as an illuminated dossier, part reliquary card, part kill-order. These are the warrior-nuns of a church caught between the cathedral and the machine: clad in cross-emblazoned plate, haloed and veiled, bearing rifle and revolver, chalice and grimoire, skull and crown of thorns.
Around every figure runs the same liturgy of blood and binary. In the name of the kill protocol, miserere nobis. Deliver us from mercy. Amen, amour. Each is its own rite, the Litany of the Kill Protocol, the Rite of the Drone Saint, the Sacrament of the Iron Signal, complete with its vitals, its confessions, and its final prayer, drawn in bone and charcoal and sealed with a single vow of blood-red.
A faith where mercy is heresy and love is the only protocol. Devotion as armor. Amour as oblivion.
