The cathedral at night was as cold and clear as a vast cavern. The heat of the day had completely receded, and the faint light of a few candelabras dimly illuminated the columns supporting the arched ceiling and the golden icons painted upon the walls.

A single beam of moonlight, filtering through a small window in the domed ceiling, softly lit a magnificent mosaic icon composed of countless pieces of gold leaf and colored glass. The saints, rendered in intricate tilework across the walls, cast silent gazes from the shadows of the dim corridors. Only the heavy, sweet scent of drifting frankincense and the faint crackle of burning beeswax candles echoed quietly through the vast stone sanctuary.

Standing alone before the icon was a tall woman dressed in a modest but well-tailored black habit. Her supple posture was evident even through the loose fabric. Her long silver hair, flowing down to her waist, shimmered with hidden iridescent colors depending on the angle of the light.

In the center of this silence, seated upon the stone dais, Enrica's profile looked more like a mythical statue than a human being. Her features were impossibly perfect, her skin translucent and pale. Resting across her lap was an olive wood staff tipped with a rusted bronze spearhead.