Poor loon looked like she was boiling in all those clothes. The people here were weak-bodied, Seoyun had decided, no matter their claims at sea-worn hardiness. All it took for them to whine about the weather was this warm gust of air that they called summer.

Even she almost felt bad for the woman sitting on the bench though, if only because she seemed so aloof. How did people like her survive?

“St. Hilda’s,” she repeated. Her accent was just thick enough to be heard; well-worn around the edges, as if she could have left it behind her long ago and chose not to.

The pause between the other woman’s words did not go unnoticed.

“Priests? Plural?” How many priests did one church even need? “No. Tell me about them, the priests. What kind of church is this?”

Anything but Catholic. Anything but Catholic.