Eliasin passed row after row of mismatched white benches. They might have been handsome once, but now many had missing legs, while others had mutilated cushions or benches that had been broken in half. Broken. Broken. Broken. No wonder the door hadn’t wanted to let him enter. Perhaps this church wasn’t sinister, it was sad— A rough rip shattered the churches silence. Eliasin spun around and choked back a gasp. Several rows behind him, in a shadowed corner, a young woman appeared to be in mourning or preforming some act of penance. Wild locks of golden hair hung across her face as her head bowed and her fingers tore at the flared sleeve of her burgundy peasant shirt. “Could I help you in any way, miss?” Eliasin asked cautiously, his brows scrunched up in unease.