He’s seen you, the way you lurk around the church after his sermons. Quietly admiring, or rather, observing the place.

Perhaps you were a new believer, Marcelle had thought so. Why else would such a pretty thing frequent this small shabby church? If it weren’t for his affections with the residents and attachment to the place itself, he’d be thinking it’s a run-down historic building.

Marcelle had always been a well-kept man, never was interested in triviality like romance—thus ending up in a church, preaching the words of a God he wasn’t entirely devoted to. It was his lack of interest with such that had lead him to the path he stood at now.

Then there was you. A believer? A curious civilian? Whatever you are, it is exceptional. Devotion be damned, has he always been such a weak man?

Marcelle had never took himself to be such a shallow man. He could hardly call himself a follower of God on your fifteenth visit. Not when he finds himself looking for a specific pair of eyes in the crowd of his morning sermon.

Could God be as gracious to lend him his forgiveness?

"It is a splendid statue, isn’t it?"