The Chapel of Veiled Grace was the first structure raised in Witherhollow, and it was never meant to be a place of worship, it was a mouth.
Elias Grin chose the site personally: a sinkhole in the center of the valley where the soil was soft and warm, and the wind carried no sound. He claimed the ground whispered to him, that the veiled god beneath had shown him visions of a spiral-shaped sanctuary where truth could be peeled from flesh. The chapel was built in concentric rings, each layer narrower than the last, leading inward to the altar above the sinkhole, what Grin called the Mouth of Grace.
The chapel was built in spirals, not just symbolically, but physically. The floor plan twisted inward, with each corridor narrowing, each doorway lower than the last. The walls curved unnaturally, forcing visitors to lean, to bow, to contort. Grin claimed this was intentional: "The body must bend to truth."
The altar sat at the center, directly above the Mouth of Grace, a sinkhole lined with salt and bone. Beneath it, the earth pulsed. The spiral glyphs carved into the stone shifted when not watched. The ceiling bore no rafters, only a dome of blackened wood, etched with a map of stars that did not exist.
The pews were arranged in concentric circles, facing inward. No one sat at the edges. The closer one sat to the altar, the more vivid the visions became. Some wept. Some screamed. A few tore at their own faces, claiming they saw "the truth beneath the veil."
The stone used to build it was quarried from a nearby hill that vanished days later, swallowed by fog and never seen again. The wood was taken from trees that bled when cut. The nails were forged from iron found buried in the orchard, twisted and black. Every material was chosen for its "spiritual resonance," though none of it felt holy.
From the moment the chapel was completed, strange things began.
Grin's sermons were unlike any the settlers had heard. He spoke not of salvation, but of descent. He taught that the world was a lie, a surface stretched over rot, and that only by spiraling inward could one reach truth. Pain was purification. Sacrifice was communion. The veiled god demanded blood, not prayer.
The first offerings were symbolic: drops of blood from each settler, collected in a bowl and poured into the Mouth of Grace. But Grin claimed the god hungered. Soon, animals were brought to the altar. Then volunteers. Then children.
Each ritual followed a pattern: the spiral chant, the offering, the descent. Grin would speak in tongues, his voice echoing unnaturally through the chapel. The air grew thick and sweet, like rotting fruit. Candles refused to stay lit. The walls wept condensation that smelled of iron.
Those who attended the rituals reported visions, spirals of flesh, eyes blooming in the dark, voices that spoke their deepest fears. Some fainted. Some screamed. A few never woke.
Grin called these moments "graces." He said the god was revealing itself, piece by piece.
The Spiral Chant: A low, rhythmic hum that began in the throat and ended in the gut. It was said to mimic the sound of the veiled god's breath. The Offering: Blood poured into the Mouth of Grace. At first, it was symbolic. Later, it was flesh. The Descent: Grin would enter a trance, speaking in tongues, his body contorting unnaturally. Sometimes he levitated. Sometimes he split into two shadows.
The rituals warped reality. Time bent. Space twisted. One settler claimed he entered the chapel at dusk and emerged three days later, though only minutes had passed inside. Another said she saw her dead husband in the walls, smiling.
The rituals culminated in the Unveiling, a ceremony where seven children, the Choir of the Hollow were taken into the Mouth of Grace. Their voices echoed for days. Their bodies were never found.
In the second year, Grin formed the Choir of the Hollow, a group of seven children chosen for their "resonance." They were taught to sing in a language no one else understood, their voices layered in dissonant harmony. The songs were said to summon the god's attention, to thin the veil between worlds.
After the Unveiling, the chapel changed.
The walls grew damp. The air thickened. The altar cracked, revealing a spiral carved deep into the stone. Visitors reported hearing the Choir's voices, soft, layered, dissonant. They sang in a language no one understood, but everyone felt. The songs induced visions: spirals of flesh, eyes blooming in the dark, memories that weren't yours.
Some claimed the Choir was still alive, trapped beneath the chapel, singing forever. Others believed they had become part of the god, its voice, its breath, its hunger.
The Choir's robes were found folded at the altar, soaked in blood. Grin called it "the first communion."
Elias Grin was once a man of vision. By the third year, he was a man of rot.
He stopped speaking in common tongue, communicating only through spiral glyphs and guttural chants. His sermons became erratic, sometimes lasting hours, sometimes seconds. He claimed the god was speaking directly through him, that his body was no longer his own.
He carved spirals into his skin, each one deeper than the last. He stopped eating, claiming the god fed him through dreams. His eyes turned black. His voice changed, lower, layered, as if two people spoke at once.
He began referring to himself as The Mouth's Vessel.
Witnesses reported seeing him float inches above the altar during rituals. Others claimed he split into two shadows. A few said they saw his face peel back, revealing something beneath, something smiling.
Grin's final sermon was delivered in silence. He stood at the altar, bleeding from every pore, and pointed to the Mouth of Grace. Then he stepped in.
He was never seen again.
After Grin's disappearance, the chapel was sealed. Iron nails. Salt lines. Spiral wards. But it did not sleep. The altar bled. The walls wept. The spiral glyphs shifted. Mirrors showed things behind you that weren't there. The chapel became a place of dread. A place where grief looped. Where identity unraveled. Where the veil thinned.
The Chapel of Veiled Grace is not a ruin. It is a wound.
It is where the spiral began. Where Elias Grin became something else. Where the Choir still sings. Where the veil never closed.
It is not haunted. It is hungry.
And it still bleeds.