The church was beautiful, inside and out.  Ceilings dipped and rose with paintings of scenes both human and divine.  Chandeliers dangled like the ice cicles long melted away.  In the front, a glorious display brilliantly colored with contrasting bright and dark shades framed in sun-spiraling gold drew the crowds of faith and tourist alike, but awed them into silence no matter their calling.  Each person sitting or kneeling here, heads bent or staring in wonder, was dressed with finery deserving the image which could almost be described as gaudy, but it was masterfully balanced throughout the rooms with traveling lines and starken pale stretches,<br/><br/>Yvonne found herself standing at the white walls and staring at the craftsmanship for the hours leading up to the parade.  She’d been prepared for far too long.  A lieutenant invited for the celebration at the recommendation of her captain couldn’t exactly refuse, no matter what work she believed she had back in the capital, especially not when she believed she was doing God’s work and His agent was going to the same place to which she’d been called.  The woman always considered her work to be in His name, but things had become so much more blatant… it was uncomfortable.<br/><br/>A sigh released from her and she was almost surprised it hadn’t laden the air with a visible puff of her breath.  It had been so cold for so long.<br/><br/>She shook her head from the memory she felt surfacing. The woman, Isolde Devereaux, had rejected her six months prior, and to know one of His Chosen was disappointed in the warrior meant much more than such an invitation and only the commendation of another loyal to Him gave her purpose here.  Even someplace as relaxing as Mittenwald couldn’t keep her from her mission, however.  It felt distracting in it’s cool reassurances, but she trusted Him. If He gave her these coordinates, then it was only right that she was here, following Him to the proverbial ends of the Earth, no matter how mysterious or otherwise the path would be, and she walked it with the courage inspired by His Word.  If inactivity was to be her greatest burden on that path, so be it.  Confusion had no place beside faith.<br/><br/>The blonde shifted away, determination in her eyes as she walked down the aisles of Saint Peter’s, her trendy foot-slips lifted on kitten heels for easy transition from day to evening.<span style="font-style: italic">And back again,</span>she noted idly. They made little nose with the addition of rubber on their bottoms as she stepped from panel to panel. Granted, she was moving rather slowly from sleighed pew to sleighed pew, stalling for time, rather uncertain what to do with herself as she waited for the plan to unfold itself.  Commander Yvonne Wojcik wasn’t as patient as she thought herself to be. The trail of tile entertained her eyes for some time before she employed them for critique and appreciation for the glass stain window whose light colored it.  No, not patient at all.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">God,</span>she nearly cried aloud,<span style="font-style: italic">how much strength is required to wait!</span><br/><br/>Recalling the faces of those back at the concentration camp, Yvonne felt herself tense.  The Jews still appeared to her like a stain upon His earth, but she had spent her months protecting them from the abuse of her comrades and sneaking them from the encampments.  Their expressions of defiance in the face of the nazis - she once thought it foolish and devil’s pride, but now she saw strength.  Their expressions of patience as they waited together, wondering what the soldiers had in store for them or while they worked within its walls the first few weeks - she once thought it was stupidity, but now she saw strength.  Their expressions of anger as they refused orders or demanded supplies and freedom - she once thought it corruption, but now she saw strength.<br/><br/>Then she recalled their expressions of defeat in the latter weeks of toil - pitiable in the face of revelation, not for the glory to come in their inevitable death, but for fear of their disreputable beliefs.  The sorrow as she clamped shut the doors of the gas chambers - tears undeserving the faithless and rotten.  Desperation as their fingers entwined, praying to God for release of this torment, their sullied lives and disappointment to His Grace - she had been jealous to know such pigs for the slaughter would be closer to His presence than she for so long, maybe even walked through His gates by His hand for their enlightenment.  Now?  Now her stomach twisted.  She did not think them True Believers, but something had changed in saving their unfortunate lives.  Once their savior, bringing them to His love, she couldn’t be sure her place from them, with them; she could only hope she did right by the healer, and through her by Him.<br/><br/>Yvael reached the heavy door and she did not know whether she was coming or going as she examined its baroque decoration with analytical eyes.  She felt the energies of all around her, inside and out alike.  It seemed more peaceful in the open space where excitement glowed like the streetlamps set alight for the evening that seemed further off than it must have been and the parade to celebrate occasions unworthy such enjoyment compared to the woe within.  Prayers, here, were filled with overwhelming heartache for broken and haunting pasts, the uncertain present of themselves or their loved ones in the midst of a war, or a dim future without whatever petty things for which they begged lead them to the nothingness that would be absent His love.  She wanted nothing more than to return inside, tell them their follies, give them reassurance by His name.  She wanted nothing more than to feed their starving hearts with His rich word.  She wanted nothing more than to act their angel, His.<br/><br/>The only way to do so was to leave her temptations behind and walk through the shadow of the valley of theirs.