The Watcher

The heavy wooden doors of the ancient church groaned as they swung open, revealing the dimly lit sanctuary beyond. A gust of cold air rushed past, making the candle flames dance wildly, casting flickering shadows on the towering stone walls. The woman stepped inside, her cloak billowing slightly as she moved forward with an air of purpose and silent authority. Her boots barely made a sound against the worn stone floor, yet her presence seemed to press against the very structure of the cathedral, as if the building itself recognized the weight she carried.

She approached the altar, a grand structure of cold marble, its surface etched with ancient symbols nearly faded with time. Above it, a massive crucifix loomed, its wooden frame worn from centuries of silent worship. Kneeling before it, she lowered her head, her lips moving in a hushed whisper—a prayer, a plea, or perhaps a vow. The silence of the church stretched on, thick with unspoken words and hidden truths.