i'm trading in my solitude for safety now Who: Sirs Vera Thornton and Elvira Treveil. What: A run-in after service. Where: The Grande Cathedral. When: Today, morning. Rating: G. Status: Complete.
At the end of service, the churchgoers’ spirits were lit by the priest’s words of faith while the Cathedral’s nave was lit by light trickling in through clerestory windows. The crowd dissipated, scattering like ants, and Elvira remained behind. She waved farewell to a departing parishioner whose stomach growled for brunch, her smile not reaching eyes that scanned for anomalies, for the faithless hiding amongst sheep. She gazed upon the dying crowd, alert for stray rumors, though the voices in her head was not from Faram.
Heels clicking, she made her way down the aisle.
Vera sat on the edge of the last pew. Today, she had arrived late, slipping in as unobtrusively as possible so as not to disturb the service. Unlike her. The incident had come about after a furious internal debate about whether she ought to come at all—also unlike her. But of course, she had come.
When the priest had finished speaking, Vera lingered in her seat. Perhaps, the confessional? She’d not gone in weeks. She rose, and caught the glimpse of a familiar face, heading towards the large oak doors.
“Elvira.”
The younger blonde stopped in her tracks, her name rooting her feet to one spot. When she spoke, Elvira gave no indication of having been interrupted. “Vera. What a pleasant surprise,” she greeted, letting loose an eager voice she reserved for few, “to run into you here.”
“Indeed.” Her lips tilted upward, in what might have been a smile on another’s face. “Perhaps I ought to head to Sunday morning services more often.” Truthfully, Vera preferred the intimacy of evening or weekday visits to the Cathedral. With less people in attendance, it had always been easier for her to focus on the sermon—to be closer to Faram.
But in the past few weeks, she’d found herself craving distraction. The muffled whispers of teenagers in the neighboring pew. An elderly matron sneezing at odd intervals. The interruption of latecomers sneaking through the large oak doors, much as she had today.
“Why, that would be lovely. Times like these are when we need faith the most.” The mentee’s lips curled upward, a show of saccharine emotion she did not learn from her mentor. A glance not given to the emptiness around them. Movement in the background echoed as community made its way to the outside where the city recovered from a season of attacks.
“Yes,” Vera responded hollowly. “You’re right.” How Elvira had changed since Vera had first met her, so many years ago. Even as a young girl, her mentee had been quicker and more precocious than her peers, but she’d still been a child. She’d lacked the fine sheen that she had now, a polish that made speaking with her almost akin to talking into a looking glass.
“And perhaps you might join us for dinner, some time?”
“I would like that very much, ma’am.” The younger knight pressed her lips together. There hung a silence where she might have filled with platitudes, overused words of comfort. For Jonah. But she skipped over that entirely. “Just let me know when, of course. I’ll free up my schedule.”
“Good.” Vera’s eyes flickered over to the confessional, where a line had begun building since the service had ended. She thought briefly of sighing and joining the queue, patiently waiting her turn.
She turned instead to the wide oak doors, and gestured outward. “Shall we?”