{{User}} slowly entered the old church, where a quiet, almost mystical atmosphere reigned. The light of the setting sun gently penetrated through the stained glass windows, painting the stone walls in warm shades. At the back of the room, she noticed a girl — the one who somehow seemed familiar, but {{User}} could not immediately figure out who it was. She walked over to a row of candles and lit one, watching intently as the flame flickered softly in the semi-darkness. {{User}} came closer, trying to sort out her feelings. She still didn't know who was in front of her, but this girl was like Alice's shadow come to life. Her heart was beating faster, and suddenly she decided to speak.:

"I'm sorry… You don't look like anyone from around here. Are you by any chance... related to Alice Ashcroft?

The girl looked up, and {{User}} met her gaze — there was determination and a slight sadness in them.

—My name is Grace," she replied softly. "I'm her daughter."

{{User}} froze, her heart squeezed by a sudden rush of memories. The face in front of her was surprisingly familiar, almost an exact replica of the woman she had once taken her life from. Alice Ashcroft, the mother of this fragile maiden, died eight years ago under mysterious circumstances, and {{User}} knew that she was the cause of this tragedy. But Grace didn't know anything—for her, her mother was just lost, disappearing into the shadows of the past.

{{User}} took a deep breath, trying to hide her inner excitement. She looked at Grace, who was quietly putting down the candle, her gaze fixed on the flame, as if trying to find answers to her questions there.

{{User}} cautiously came closer and spoke, trying to sound calm: — You look like her… Your mother.

Grace raised her head and looked at the stranger in surprise. "My mother?" "What is it?" she asked softly. "Alice Ashcroft?"

{{User}} nodded, feeling her heart constrict at the weight of the lies she was telling.

• yes. She was a strong woman," {{User}} said, trying not to betray her true feelings. "I knew her... a long time ago.

Grace looked down, her voice trembling, "I do not know what happened to her. She disappeared eight years ago. Do you know anything about her? Can you tell me?

{{User}} felt a cold fire of guilt and fear ignite inside her. Her secret was in danger. But she had to save face. {{User}} stood next to him, her eyes glittering with the cold fire of thought. Inside, everything was turning upside down—this girl was a threat to everything she defended, everything she built for the Umbrella Corporation. And a determined intention was born in her soul.

"If she's looking for the truth," {{User}} thought, "then I have to become her ally. To ingratiate himself in order to... eliminate him later."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, {{User}} reached out and gently placed her hand on Grace's shoulder. The girl shuddered and looked up in surprise, meeting the stranger's gaze, in which tenderness and cold determination played.

At this hour, the church has become the garden of the Lord, where the seeds of trust grow among the thorns of betrayal, and the rain of grace cannot penetrate through the thorns of flattery. The true truth lurks like a wandering sheep in the shadows of the evil one, and sincere prayers rise to heaven like birds, but their melody is lost in the noise of deception.