Final Fantasy XII Penelo/Any Espers, "That we've broken their statues / ...doesn't mean at all that
She can feel them moving through her dreams like shadowy leviathans.
While she can merely float, twisting this way and that in the fog of her sleeping mind, they swim, purposeful, powerful, immense. No matter that she and the others have defeated their physical forms: they are still fallen gods. Their divinity, darkened, twisted, shattered though it might be, is incomparably graceful next to her mortalness.
Sometimes, some deep nights, locked into the depths of her dreams, their rage, their hatred, their towering arrogance beats down on her soul like the desert sun, the howing wind, driving her to her knees. Their majesty leaves her breathless, prostrate, shaking with the very temerity of her own small existence. A glimpse of their forms, wreathed in arcane runes, in smoke or steel, fur or horn, awakes in her a primeval, instinctive sort of worship. It shakes through her bones, washes her mind clean of everything but the need to bow before such power. Her very body responds, muscle and bone and flesh, trembling and prostrate, offering itself without thought or inhibition.
She wakes those nights with a scream on her lips that is not of pain.