The sanctuary had changed.
Every pew was filled.
Not with people—but with shadows shaped like kneeling bodies. Hundreds of them. Heads bowed. Hands folded. Their mouths moved in endless silent prayer.
At the altar stood a figure formed of cracked stone and flesh. Priest robes clung to it. Its face had no eyes—only mouths opening and closing.
It spoke:
"We prayed too hard.
We prayed without mercy.
And the church answered."
The shadows turned their heads toward Clara at once.
She realized the truth.
The congregation never left.
They were absorbed.
Faith became architecture.
Souls became walls.
The priest-thing raised its arm.
The floor split open.
Below, something pulsed.
A massive stone heart, beating slowly beneath the church.
Each beat shook the building.
And it whispered her name.