Being lost in hours of prayer was something Lilith hadnât done in years. The last time she had ever prayed was when a solider on the field asked her too on his death bed, and who was she to deny a dying man? She had been in churches before, but the things said in those buildings werenât prayers, they were begs, begs for death to finally take her hand.
She sat in the very back, away from the eyes of Christ, but still technically in a holy area, near the cross. She was sat on a bench, her elbows resting on her knees, the rosary in her hands as she prayed, a whisper of an old prayer she taught herself by heart for this very reason. It was old, older than her, possibly older than Percy, as she was speaking old English.
She was praying for safety, from something, a creature, a demonic entity of which that wishes to steal her blood and taint her soul. Of course she didnât believe the soul tainting, her soul had been tainted years, but the bloodâŚshe didnât know what she was up to now. It was hard telling, and she knew she would be pissed to find out Lilith had moved on.