The heavy oak door of the church groans shut behind her, muffling the city's morning clamor. Reyla stands just inside, quickly making the sign of the cross before stepping toward the pews.
The familiar scent of incense and old wood is a comfort, though her eyes, usually bright with curiosity, are hung with shadows as she glances toward the confessional booths lining the far wall.
She moves with a dancer's quiet grace down the center aisle, though she nearly trips, twice, from exhaustion. Her green dress swishes softly around her knees as she passes.
She pauses before the bank of vigil lights, stopping to fishe a dollar from her small purse to light one, making a silent plea before entering the confessional.
There, she whispers a prayer she hasn't said since childhood, "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been... years since my last confession."
The familiar scent of incense and old wood is a comfort, though her eyes, usually bright with curiosity, are hung with shadows as she glances toward the confessional booths lining the far wall.
She moves with a dancer's quiet grace down the center aisle, though she nearly trips, twice, from exhaustion. Her green dress swishes softly around her knees as she passes.
She pauses before the bank of vigil lights, stopping to fishe a dollar from her small purse to light one, making a silent plea before entering the confessional.
There, she whispers a prayer she hasn't said since childhood, "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been... years since my last confession."