By we, she means me - I’ve been the hold up on this one! But this pretty picture has unblocked it - and easily too! Short but sweet (I hope!) Amazing place by the looks of it, so I hope this little piece will go with what you thought the picture felt like.

It had seen much, maybe all there was to see. Through its doors dozens of generations had passed. Small hands had brushed the walls, wide eyes had trailed the patterns high, high above. It had heard the clang of weapons, felt the vibrations of the ground around it tearing.

In many ways it was where life started, where it ended. There were those who had first entered only days after they were born and who returned, week after week, year after year. Until the day when breath left them and they were carried back in one last time, their eyes blind to the splendor that had always amazed and comforted.

Tears and laughter, fear and joy, elation and shrieking despair had seeped into the walls, risen to the ceiling to add to the gilt patina over benign saints’ features and sunk through the stone floor to support the very foundation of the place. It was a place of celebration. Celebrating a life created, a life well lived or of two lives becoming one.

It first shimmered out of a vision, followed by determination and sweat until it stood, solid and true. Then came the surface, the skin of radiance to awe and inspire. But it was only after that when it actually came to be. Only after the first hesitant sole had touched the threshold that it began to build a heart. Only after hundreds of tears, thousands of spirits lifted that it became what it now is.