Shirley
The chapel looked like death had claimed it centuries ago.
Its stone walls were cracked, vines clutching at the broken stained-glass windows like skeletal fingers. The heavy doors groaned when I pushed them open, their sound echoing through the empty nave like a warning I should have heeded.
The air inside smelled of dust, damp wood, and something older—something that felt like the residue of prayers left unanswered. Moonlight leaked through the shattered windows in pale slivers, laying broken halos across the ruined pews.
I froze halfway down the aisle. The silence wasn’t right. It wasn’t the natural quiet of an abandoned building. It was thick. Expectant. Like the whole place was holding its breath, waiting for me to step further in.
My hand hovered near the inside of my ja
