Chapter 47
Not a single person in all of Spring Meadows wasn't trying to cram their way into the overly decorated cathedral on that fate-filled day, overflowing onto the cobblestone streets in droves. Every shop had closed early as anyone in their right mind had gotten all their shopping done the day before. Pale-pink flowers and clovers covered anything they could, from the lamp posts in the street to the edges of the aisle on pedestals, even draped from the ceiling in long flowing strands. A gentle harp played from somewhere in the upper balcony, barely being heard over the subdued roar of excited chatter.