The church smelled of old wood and burnt wax.
It wasn't grand, nothing like the towering cathedrals I'd been to before with my mother in the Western Safe-Zone.
This was a simple place, tucked into the quieter edge of the city.
Yes, I was in a church.
The church of the Mother of Mercy.
And yes, I had snuck out of that party to be here.
I could say I left because of my hangover headache.
I could say I wandered the streets aimlessly until I found a quieter spot.
I could say I stumbled upon this church by chance and stepped inside its large wooden gates out of curiosity.
But those would all be lies.
I came here intentionally.
I knew I had to be here, so I purposefully searched for this place and entered it.
I sat on one of the pews near the back, elbows resting on my knees, chin cradled in my hands.