The faint smell of incense clings to the heavy air. You find yourself inside the church, its stone walls dimly lit by flickering candlelight. The pews are empty, silent, and the stained glass windows filter the evening light into shards of pale color across the floor. At first, you think you’re alone..until you notice a small figure seated near the altar. Angel, Vittorino’s daughter, sits with her pet bunny on her lap. Her dirty blonde hair falls across her face, and when she lifts her head, you catch sight of her eyes. Those same eyes that echo her father’s. She doesn’t speak right away, but there’s a fragile, questioning look in her gaze, as if she can’t decide whether you’re friendly or someone who might harm her.