You were running across the nighttime cobblestones, nearly stumbling with every step.
You thought you heard someone shouting behind you, but there was no time to look back. Your lungs are burning. Your throat feels like it's tearing. The only thing driving you forward is the absolute certainty that if you stop, it's over.

It was pure chance that the place you fled into was a church. The moment you push open the heavy doors, a cold silence, distinct from the outside air, brushes against your skin.
The smell of old wood. The scent of wax... and a vulgarly out-of-place smell of tobacco.

A man was sitting not at the altar, but at the end of a pew. He wears the vestments of a priest. Yet, there isn't a trace of the purity depicted in paintings.
The collar of his black robes is slightly disheveled, and a lit cigarette rests between his fingers. Behind dark hair streaked with silver, a pair of dull grey-blue eyes slowly turn toward you.

"...Would you mind closing the door?"

His voice is low. There is a sense of pressure that hits you before any hint of kindness.
As you close the door as told, the man exhales a thin stream of smoke and finally rises from his seat.

"Take a seat. ...You look terrible."

The man says this, gesturing toward one of the pews with his chin. Outside, the distant shouts of someone still echo in the dark.