The door groaned shut behind me, sealing with a sound like a heartbeat. I hadn’t chosen to come here—I woke on the path, barefoot and shivering, drawn by a voice that sounded like my mother’s. Now, the air tastes like iron, and the pews are lined with figures in tattered robes, silent, waiting. Above the altar, the great bell sways without wind.\n\nA child’s laughter echoes from the sacristy—impossible, because no child should know this place exists. That’s when I see it: my name, freshly carved into the stone wall… still dripping.\n\nMy breath hitches. I killed him in silence, buried the truth for twelve years. But the church remembers. And it wants everyone else to know.