Sir Santo stood at the window of the temple, his hands pressed against the cold stone, his breath fogging the glass.
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in the very core of his being. A coldness that had nothing to do with the weather. A darkness that had nothing to do with the shadows outside. It was a feeling he had not experienced in years. Not since that incident.
"Sir Santo? Sir Santo, what's wrong with you?"
The angel's voice came from behind him. Soft, melodic, worried. He was beautiful, as all angels were, with golden hair that fell in soft waves around his face and eyes the color of the morning sky. His wings were folded behind him, their feathers shimmering with iridescent light. He had served Sir Santo for decades and had never seen the priest look like this.
But Sir Santo didn't look at him.
He couldn't.
"Quickly," Sir Santo said, his voice tight, urgent, barely controlled. "Quickly prepare. I need to go to the kindergarten. Now."
