Religious people have, on the whole, probably started more wars in their efforts to bring peace and prosperity to all sentient beings than those sentient beings would've if left to their own devices. Some of them were of the opinion that the other bastards just wouldn't shut up and let [i]them[/i] get on with spreading spreading the good word, but others saw the situation with a slightly more nuanced gaze and realized that if all the religious people could just agree on [i]one[/i] god, which was provably better than all the others, then all these problems ought to go away. 

	With that in mind, they set to work; they created a whole religion (scriptures and everything) based around the worship of an utterly omnipotent being who was so pure and innocent that they couldn't possibly bugger everything up like the others. With that (and the help of an old fashioned finite improbability drive combined with a damn good cup of tea), the religion of Perfectism (an irritating name that was unfortunately the best they could get that wasn't already copyrighted) was born, along with its Goddess, Sen. 

	There was a problem, however. They hadn't quite accounted for what someone would need to be for them to be so utterly innocent like they had asked for, and it was to their extreme annoyance that when Sen finally appeared on the nice alter they had made for her, she was a little girl of about six years old, and she would stay that way, because they had been very clear that [b]their[/b] god was an eternal one, damnit, none of this "Dead but dreaming," bullshit. 

	An omnipotent little girl was not really something anyone wanted; sure, she wasn't vindictive or cruel, but she really wasn't cut out for the job. Worse, all her followers had to obey her orders (a fact that one of the scripture writers got fired over) so they couldn't really do too much to fix it. They sort of just had to guide her and go along with her ideas. When, for example, she was in a meeting with another god who mentioned the end of the universe, and somebody else mentioned that he had once had a damn good lunch there, she absolutely insisted on going to see it.

	So, here she is, at Milliways. She doesn't look strange per say, she's wearing a comfortable robe (one of the best things the Greek gods invented, in her opinion) and has her hair long and intricately braided (which she hates, but her advisers insist is only proper; In reality, it's just so she'll at least somewhat match their branding). The only strange things, really, are the two guards flanking her, dressed in holy garb that rather clashes with the laser pistols they've got strapped to them. They're more there to keep her from screwing anything up, honestly, though an assassin could, in theory, simply shoot her and put an end to the whole church. Goddess she may be, but her body is still that of a child.