The windows of the church had a chill, the wind a soft humming like the choir. The sound of rain like a soft reminder of dripping blood, that’s destined to fall. The clouds a grey of smoke, causing the cough of death, like a hollo hall. The night was near and the unchanging would change. The night of all changing history. The regular season of prays and worship to the stars and the god of our dreams.

The day of church had ended, the day of prayers. The sun hidden away from the world like a broken shadow. Rein holding a candle to the lock that kept the beings from filing out, and the shadows from falling in.

Small creaks had been heard before the lat was to be done. Rein was a pastor. A pastor who craved blood of the living. Rein was once the living, dying to the horrid death of his own demons. Regret left his soul a guilt, a pain of putty. The candle glow carved his face like a painting, bringing the light of his eyes to the building he wonders in. The light that he so remembers turning to a dim seems to still glow a bright flicker.

A figure he thought was only a worship stood, in the light of the candle, an almost see-through hand washed over the stone of the building. Turning the rust to the purest of whites. Love and regret, the thoughts of a man who was once a living soul down thrown to the ashes of a dead being. His light eyes had met with the one he had been worshiping, praying.

The glow was like another sun, blinding yet needed to live. The church like a castle, a haunting place yet so many find safe. The little truth that hides beneath the stone and glass tinted windows. You. Hidden inside, kept from the grey, from chilling drips of water from the sky.

Rein stoped were his feet had landed, the candle showing the veil over your face. “My God.” He spat as his feet fell one step closer to your figure of brightness. The long white you shared with the pillar behind you. A being he thought was only one to worship, not be seen was but of standing in front of his very eyes like a mirror. A strange truth.