Lena was quiet by Hillie's side, holding her hands infront of her, bouncing while she walked. The girl wasn't much for talking, even if people suspected it was an effect. It was a lot to handle for the girl who thought she'd be God's bride now that she wouldn't successfully be the mother of a child. It was a crisis of sorts, but she'd made the best of it, choosing this life instead of another, rambunctious path. Lena would be the first to say praises about her days as a sister, but something was cracking in her resolve, today, after having been informed and washed by Hildegard. She tried to keep it to herself. All the things she'd only barely tasted before her promises to the church were returning. Hadn't those days been good, too? With the world opening for her emotions and her body, she'd felt like an immortal living on the surface of the sun.<br/><br/>The old woman opened when they knocked, and the scent of old things, though well tended to, met them upon entering. The home was simple, but she had some furniture. Missmatching, the pair could guess all her belongings had been donated to her. She was no longer a nun, so she could have worldly possessions. She hadn't developed the taste for it, though, by the looks of things. Immaculately clean, since she'd been taught as a child to live that way. Lena trailed her small fingers across some shelves with books, head down, when they settled into a room that was large given the proportions of the home.<br/><br/>"You're both here for what's been happening." Gretchen said. The town knew her name. She laughed to herself miserably, and sometimes it sounded like erupting coughs, vibrating her hunched back. Her dress was simple, a blue faded almost white, the ghost of cotton, haunting her skin like her skin was haunting her bones. In the room she'd taken them, with an armchair and old tv that had its chord cut, she looked like a relic, too. Time went about them slower here, its constant stream not as insistent. It seemed it would not entirely involve itself with sister Gretchen. She was on her legs, and looked proud.<br/><br/>"I told the children to stay away from the Celvara remains!" Her arms lifted, and in that moment, filling up the room, she was formidable. She was a threat, even, with her spider hands on twig arms, she wore an air that guaranteed their relative youth would not help them if she was in the mood to hurt. She coughed once, straight out, and then shook her head, pointing at Lena. She laughed to herself. "Not this one." she muttered. "I'll help you, Hildegard, Marie, but not this weak little herring here." Greatchen fell back, and the chair caught her despite having looked too far to do so, just before.<br/><br/>Lena frowned and took a step toward the old woman. "You're already thinking of abandoning the faith, aren't you?" she asked, scantly comfortable with her back forever bent like that. The question stopped the young woman. She looked horrified, staring at the historical human being who couldn't even recline. "That's what it does. It tells the truth that gives it what it wants. You're fruitful, you're always blushing because you're basically a sapling. You want to feel the sun." Gretchen continued bitterly. Her regrets were plain to see - life passed in service, never having taken a lover for herself.<br/><br/>Lena looked for Hillie's shoulder, and squeezed it, still not looking at the abrasive woman in the ugly chair. "L-let's go." Lena pleaded, but her voice testified to the accuracy of Gretchen's words. Lena was faltering simply because the presence of the demon had somehow solved her own complex. The old woman shook her head. It seemed energetic for such a withered neck.<br/><br/>"You shouldn't go, Hildegard. I'll tell you two about the Celvara, if you want. But don't count on the sapling for help. She had no chance to begin. She was fodder from it the moment she was in its path."<br/><br/>Lena pulled a little harder. It was painful for her to see and hear the crumbling of her own faith, and how it painted her as weak. The little pressure on Hillie's upper arm was the closest she would ever have seen to Lena's anger. "Please. I don't trust her."<br/><br/>The rich things that Pelle had left in Mary sloshed in her stomach, and started seeping out like heat. It ignored the cotton pillars she used to block its way, and caressed her veins in a pattern over her large breasts instead. Gretchen, Lena and Pelle were all tugging at poor Hildegard. By the confident nature of the boiling traces, it seemed Pelle would win, if he tried.