Chance pulled the church door
open and a wave of stale air reached out at them. More sterile, than stale,
Fiona thought as she followed Chance and Strep into the building, but old as
well. The church smelled like its elderly congregants, gray and worn and slightly antiseptic. Tired,
she thought. The building is tired of all this praising and mourning and joy.
The building wants to sleep, she thought.
 |
| They just want to sleep peacefully |
