Ella
The torrential rain clattered heavily against the stone roof as I stumbled through the wooden doors of the Holy Candle Chapel, soaked to the bone. A soft, warm candlelight carrying the faint fragrance of white roses rushed out to greet me, instantly chasing away the deep chill.
Hearing the sound, the nun before the altar turned around. Her black habit accentuated her snow-white skin, pale-blonde strands spilling from beneath the edge of her veil, and her gentle gaze was clear and pure. Asking nothing of where I came from, she simply murmured in a gentle tone, "The Lord watches over travelers," before turning to fetch clean linen clothes and a bowl of hot soup from the kitchen.
As she handed me the bowl, her fingertips brushed against my wrist, surprisingly warm. Clinging to the damp, cold hem of my clothes, I watched her quiet, downcast profile in the candlelight, struck by the feeling that this ancient church in the deep mountain rain was far warmer than I could have ever imagined.Please log in to continue the conversation.