Hunt
The altar, bathed in golden light, stood at the front of the church. Its marble surface sparkled in the sunlight, adorned with intricate carvings and flickering candles.
Even the statues seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow, carved from wood, they looked more elegant than pure gold. Their faces were serene, their features etched with an aura of tranquility that seemed to transcend the confines of the physical world, whoever had carved was clearly no regular man.
"Something doesn't quite feel right," I thought to myself.
And yet, beneath the surface of this pristine facade, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at my mind. There was something eerily perfect about the church, something that felt almost too clean, too pure to be real.
I went up the stairs while still on guard, and soon I found an empty attic with a circular glass window, inside it empty tables, a bed, and a board on the wall.