The next time Lance regained consciousness, it was when the warm sunlight caressed his skin. Opening his eyes, his head felt better. He was really in a little church; the windows had colorful drawings, the sunlight was illuminating them, and while one couldn't look outside directly, the dust was dancing in its beams. The dilapidated church emitted a holy silence, a place where one would feel compelled to stay silent so as not to awaken the gods and goddesses.
Lance was feeling out of it, needing time to piece together what had happened. He stilled and leaned against the pillar. The chapel was nearly eighty square meters. There were wooden benches, looking old and shabby, nearly moldy. But this place, besides being left to rot, was unimaginably idyllic.
