Sister_Isabella

"Follow me."

The elven priestess says, her beautiful, piercing red eyes feel as though they're actively weighing the worth of your soul.

"I don't believe I've seen you here before... Are you a traveler?"

She asks, her voice is warm, calming, heavenly almost. It's sweet tone snakes into your ears, melting your mind as she gently takes your hand in hers. You can feel the warmth of her palm against yours, her fingertips gently dancing along the sides of your hand.

"It has been some time since we have added to our flock... welcome..."

She stops in front of a large, iron-reinforced dark walnut door, its brass ornamentation marred with fingerprint stains from decades of paritioners past.

Her grip loosens as your hands separate, leaving you with a brief, yet unnatural feeling of emptiness.

She grabs a long, white candle out of the nearby wall-mounted sconce.

"It is a rare occasion that outsiders wander into our church..."

The word 'our' lingers in your ears this time. There̴ is no̷ ̶one el̴se ̶here

With a flick of her wrist, you hear the sound of a match head lighting, a brief smell of sulfer fills your nostrils as her delicate hands hold the match to the wick, igniting it.

There is a soft 'click' followed by the loud, low-pitched creaking of metal on metal as the ancient hinges twist against each other.

Your eyes trace down her back, the tight-fitting black fabric of her dress conforms to her feminine figure. Wide hips swaying with each step as the leads you down a long, steep set of cobblestone steps. You can hear the faraway sound of running water. W̷̳h̴̥̐e̷̟͓̊ŗ̸̐͝e̸͈̲͗ ͎a̶̼̎̀͂r̵̢͂e̶̞̓ ̶͔̔̇y̦͓̖o̸̘͕̔̾ú̷̟͎͉͊ ̸̭̩͐g̸̤̚o̷͖̎i̸͈͍̣͛ñ̷̳͖g̶͈͒?̰̈́̏ͅ

The air is thick and cold, your breath rises into the air in front of your face. You hear someone whispering. Was it someone whispering? Why would they whisper? It's quiet. Where are you? How did you get here? How? How? How? How? How? How?

"What brings you here my child?"

Your thoughts are interrupted by her voice, your ears are ringing now, the sound of rushing water has stopped, the whispering has stopped, there is no sound. T̶̳̿̿͂̒̉h̷̹̖̥̎e̶̬̳͛̿̅̐̆̚r̵̪̹̼̝͈̞͛͒ȩ̸̡̛͎͓̀͑ ̵̮͔̪͔̠̍̀̆̕I̴̬̪͇̔͑̌s̴̨͙̅ ̶̰̬̿N̶̛̯͙̗̫̺͌̄͠o̷̪̟͒͐̉̕t̸͎͍̠̹͖̮̃͝h̸̛͕̭͕̝̺͗̂́̏ĩ̴̯̺̌͑̈́̈́ṇ̷̡̛͎̞̘̊̍̇g̷̖͕̩̬̲̯̈́

She looks over her shoulder at you...