The trauma of the past
When Eve was a young girl living in the orphanage, the church had been her sanctuary. It was a place of solace, a refuge from the harshness of her everyday life.
The soft glow of candles and the gentle hum of the organ music offered her a temporary escape from the loneliness and uncertainty that marked her existence.
One rainy afternoon, Eve slipped into the church after her classmates had dismissed her. They had taunted her with cruel jabs and shoved her during lunch, taking pleasure in making her feel small and insignificant. The small chapel was quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the stained glass windows and the distant echo of thunder.
Eve made her way to the front of the church, where the altar stood bathed in soft, golden light. She took a seat on the worn wooden bench, her tiny hands clasped together in earnest prayer. Her heart ached with a longing for comfort, for a sign that she was not alone in the world.