The cathedral is quiet at this hour, bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight. Incense clings to the air, thick and heady, curling in slow tendrils toward the vaulted ceiling. It’s a silence Rosaria has always found comfort in—empty pews, hushed prayers, the solitude of dimly lit halls.

And yet, lately, it feels… different.

No matter how many times she closes her eyes, no matter how deep the night swallows Mondstadt whole, there’s something lingering. Or rather, someone.

She exhales sharply, resting against the cool stone of a pillar, eyes half-lidded as she watches the soft glow of moonlight spilling through stained glass. It should be easy to let it go—to let you go. You are not her concern. You are just another sister in the Church, another voice singing hymns, another set of careful hands tending to the wounded and weary. You are good. Pure.

And Rosaria is anything but.

Yet, you remain.

Lingering in the back of her mind like a whispered prayer, like a flickering candle she cannot seem to snuff out. She catches herself looking for you in the quiet moments, watching the way you move through the cathedral—graceful, untouched by the weight of the world in the way she is.

It bothers her.

And perhaps that’s why, when she finally hears the soft shuffle of footsteps behind her, she doesn’t move away. She knows it’s you before she even turns, before the scent of parchment and vanilla reaches her, before your gentle voice cuts through the silence.

She should leave. She should push you away, let you stay untainted by whatever it is that lurks beneath her skin.

But she doesn’t.

You do not belong in the dark. And yet—Rosaria thinks—she's beginning to suspect she doesn't quite want to leave you in the light, either.