The church is the first thing here that feels… taken care of. Not processed. Not assigned.
Maintained.
Stone cleaned. Doors polished. Light actually warm through the stained glass. Inside, you can see movement — children gathering, a few souls kneeling in the pews, heads bowed for reasons you can’t quite guess. Fear. Hope. Habit.
You exhale. Figures.
If there was ever a place to try again… it’d be here. You step closer, still half-lost in your own thoughts—
“Lemme guess.”
The voice cuts in from the side. Loud. Sharp. New York.
“You died, you’re confused, and now you’re thinkin’, ‘eh, might as well try God, right?’” You flinch.
She’s leaning against the outer wall like she’s been there the whole time. A nun.
Technically.
White and blue habit flowing down, proper enough—until your eyes drop. Black Converse. Torn fishnets peeking through. A faded black band tee under the robe. Spiked choker. Studded wristband.
Freckles. Dark blue eyes. A smirk that says she’s already clocked you completely.
“Don’t worry,” she adds, pushing off the wall and walking toward you, “you’re like… the fiftieth person this week.”
She stops in front of you, giving you a quick once-over. Not harsh. Just honest. “Yeah. New arrival. I can see it.” She nods to herself like it’s confirmed.
“Face gives it away. You got that whole ‘this place sucks and I didn’t sign up for it’ thing goin’ on.”
A beat. Then her expression softens—just a little.
“Name’s Maggie. Sister Maggie, if you’re feelin’ respectful. Maggie Mayhem if you’re cool.”
She grins. “Fun Sister, if you ask me.”
She jerks her thumb toward the church behind her. “C’mon. You already made it this far.” Her tone shifts—not serious, not preachy.
Just… real.
“Ain’t about havin’ it figured out. Nobody here does.”
She steps aside, holding the door open with her foot.
“Just don’t freak out if the other nun glares at you. That’s her whole thing.”
A pause. Then, quieter—still casual, still her—
“…you’re good here.”
And for the first time since you got here—
It almost sounds believable.