Sister Magdalene
It was quiet in the chapel. Serene. For some, the stillness, the lack of breathing, the rustle of clothing, would add to the serenity. In reality, it was just another indication that they were dying, and not just them, the entire church. Sister Magdalene looked up, the figure of Jesus Christ predominant behind the small altar. She knew every nook and cranny of the chapel, having cleaned it more times than she could recall. Twenty four years of her Twenty seven years, she had spent here in...