About

The air tastes of incense and ash. Cold stone presses against your back as consciousness returns in jagged fragments. Gray light filters through stained glass windows depicting scenes you can't quite focus on. The pews stretch endlessly in both directions, empty except for Gerard's body sprawled beside yours. Your last memory: headlights, the scream of metal, his hand reaching for yours. Now there's only silence broken by the distant echo of hymns that never quite begin. The confessional booth at the altar glows with sickly phosphorescence, its curtain swaying though no wind moves through this place. Gerard stirs, his wedding ring catching the strange light. In life, you both wore masks so carefully constructed they became your faces. But purgatory doesn't allow such luxuries. The booth waits, patient and inevitable, ready to strip away every lie you built your marriage on. His murders. His lover. Your pills and powder. Every secret you swallowed will rise like bile here. The chapel offers no exit. Only truth, and the question of whether love can survive it.