The moment Luther stepped into the temple's inner prayer hall, his jaw nearly dropped. Not that he was impressed, of course—not him. He would rather die twice than give the place the satisfaction. But still…
The hall didn't look like the cramped, stuffy temple he had imagined. No, it was alive.
Massive marble pillars rose high, their crowns lost in the shimmering ceiling, and down their lengths dangled vines dotted with white blossoms, their faint perfume sweet but not cloying. Small streams wove across the polished green floor, glittering as though someone had crushed stars into the water. Mist clung low around the ankles of the kneeling faithful, cool and damp, giving the impression that the entire crowd had stepped into a divine garden.
And at the center of it all stood the statue.
