In the end, we made it through the alley—though fear clung to us like a second shadow. Isolde never let go of my hand, squeezing it with a desperation that seemed to say, Don’t vanish into the dark. I didn’t complain. I understood. A little pain was a small price for her peace of mind.

And then, after that suffocating passage, the structure I’d been so fixated on finally loomed before us.

Massive. Colossal.

A monolith of dark stone that seemed to warp the air around it. Twin spires pierced the overcast sky with unshakable solemnity, as if defying the gods themselves. Every flying buttress, every gargoyle, was carved with impossible precision—like the builders had been closer to divine than human.

The wooden doors, etched with intricate reliefs, stood shut, mocking any attempt to enter. Above them, a stained-glass rose window tinted the scant sunlight in bloody reds and ghostly blues, casting eerie shadows on the blackened stone. The wind whispered through the spires, a distant murmur, a veiled warning.

I stared in silence.

Imposing. Immutable.

Like it had stood here before the first men walked the earth, and would remain long after everything else had crumbled.

“It’s huge!” Isolde craned her neck as far as it would go.

“Huge” was an understatement. The twin spires had to be at least 148 meters tall—maybe more. The nave easily cleared 58 meters, and the grounds spanned no less than 86. But it wasn’t just the size. It was the presence. Like something lived inside it. Something old. Something that watched from the stained glass and lurked in the column shadows.

From the upper windows, I could just make out something hanging from the ceiling—but distance blurred the details.

“Yeah. It is,” I said, not looking away. “Think we should go in?”

Isolde hesitated.

“Mom will scold us if we’re late…”

No arguing that. I glanced toward the street, spotting the giant clock tower in the distance. It reminded me of Big Ben—but taller, grander, like everything else here.

“Yeah… it’s already night. We should head back and come tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Yeah!” she chirped, her usual enthusiasm undimmed.

I side-eyed her. Was this what people called charisma? Or just the innocence of a girl who hadn’t yet learned enough of the world to fear it? I hope she never changes. Her joy was loud, but comforting.

I took her hand.

“Alright. Let’s go home.”

She didn’t resist, but as we turned back toward the dark, her grip tightened. I didn’t stop. I was scared too—but turning back wasn’t an option.

“Don’t be afraid, Issy. I’m here.”

She forced a shaky smile and kept walking. That was enough.

The alley stretched before us, longer than I remembered. Or maybe it was just my child-sized legs making every distance feel twice as far.

We were almost out when—

“Agh!”

Something hard slammed into my forehead, knocking me flat. A pained noise escaped me before I could stop it. My hand slipped from Isolde’s.

“Lucy! Are you okay?!” Her voice was pure alarm as she dropped to my side.

I blinked, touching my forehead. “Yeah, I’m fine. What the—”

My voice died when I felt something in front of me.

“Ow! That hurt!”

A voice. A child’s voice, whining with indignation.

I looked up.

And saw her for the first time.