The Gravewood

The church sits on the opposite side of a narrow river, over a segmented bridge with the pavement gone efflorescent and down a thin side street set with squat residentials devoured in pokeweed.

Only the house of worship stands intact.

It rises out from behind a wall of leafy dog fennel, two towering palms flanking the entrance like sentinels.

Inside, the sanctuary is carpeted in a hush. A fountain sits behind the pews, dark with varnish. Inside the lower basin is a pool of standing water, the surface sponged in fairy moss. The cathedral’s sole source of light pours in from overhead, moonlight raining down through a hole in the roof.