#hugo.

LOCATION — St. Mark’s Catholic Church

FOR — @scofflawed​

Leona spent a lot of time on her knees. 

Praying, of course. 

Catholicism required a lot of external forms of humility — genuflecting, bowing of the head, kneeling. It was something that Leona did a lot of, without a second thought. Why would she think of her own pride in the house of God? If anything, the quiet of the large church offered her the ability to stop minding the weight of her own burdens, of her own achievements, of her own shortcomings. In this space, she was able to bask in the peace and tranquility of something holy. Far holier than herself. It was nice to feel close to something that was the epitome of perfection, something she was decidedly not. 

So, she clutched her rosary closer to her chest, murmuring a steady and near-constant prayer of Hail Mary’s. Holy Mary’s. Determinedly, she pushed out the thoughts of the crimes she’d witnessed that day. Stealing, pillaging, greed, pilfery, disobedience, vandalism. The silk of her gloves felt heavy on her hands. Perhaps it was because she was reminded of how dirty they actually were, so the cleanliness of the cloth felt more burdensome than anything else. 

Leona squeezed the rosary tighter. 

Footsteps echoed in the emptiness of the church, but still her head remained bowed. The gait of them was familiar, heavy but leisurely — bearing a certain swagger in the stride. Her heart stuttered a moment and she paused, mid-prayer. 

Dark lashes fluttered open, but she kept her gaze fixated on the glinting bead of her rosary. She shouldn’t say hello, she really shouldn’t because when has this ever ended in anything other than a tender bruise in her heart —

“I’m surprised you weren’t struck down the moment you passed the threshold,” she said quietly, a cheeky grin curling the edge of her mouth.