A section of the wall behind the pulpit caught Regina’s attention.

Thoughts had been wandering and old memories resurfacing as she watched the Pastor ramble on, reading directly from a stack of papers. A single foreign movement and her eyes jerked away from the rambling speaker at the pulpit and watched as paint peeled away and the corner of a brick crumbled. Massive flakes of dust drifted down to the ground, sliding into a messy pile. Bits of red hid themselves in white and brown and shades of gray. She tilted her head, brow furrowing at the scene.

Despite the destruction, it was so quiet. The paint and bricks and grout weren’t making a single sound. It didn’t make a single ambient noise, and she could hear everything else that was happening. There were hushed murmurs from the crowd, a passionate yet somehow droning eulogy from the local pastor, and the overhead fan that was loud and pushed the sultry summer air around.

A drop of sweat appeared on her temple; as if it had come out to say hi. Like it had heard her thinking about the fan and remembered that it was a big admirer of the 120-degree heat. The bead of salty liquid wanted to make sure nothing had changed, that the world still welcomed it, and it was free to go where it wanted to go. When the hot air greeted it, threatening to dry it back up into a sticky stain, a few friends joined.

Regina wiped at her forehead and tried to shake the strange series of thoughts from her mind, eyes unable to tear away from the wall.

Now that there was freed up space in her head again, she realized the situation had changed. It was more than a tiny pile, and it was no longer just a flaky corner. A small hole had formed where once there was something solid. Jagged and black — even though there was nothing but garden and cemetery beyond that wall. There were no hidden passages; no dim-lit rooms. There should have been a stream of sunlight, and the missing ray helped a lump form in her throat. It was unearthly.

She felt as though whatever was causing it was hungry. A hunger that may not stop at just an old wall.

Regina watched as the hole enlarged, encroaching as if it confirming that yes, it intended to take over the wall. Then it would take over the building. If it kept going, the entire church would fall down around her and the people that had always claimed to care for her.

Yet when she finally tore her eyes away from the event horizon and looked around her, her climbing heart rate skyrocketed. She saw that no-one else was moving. No one else in the entire room even seemed to have noticed that something was wrong.

Hell.

Everything was wrong, and they sat with tears stuck on their chins, eyes on a stranger. Their passive bodies sent questions racing through her mind; they went so fast that she felt like she couldn’t breathe. How could she? She could barely keep up with her thoughts.

*Does no one else notice?*

*Does no one care that the building is falling apart?*

*Isn't my mother's death enough? Must we all sit and die, pretending we care about the old rituals?*

*Wasn’t it bad enough they lay the covens coffins inside a church that would see them rot in hell?*

“Shh,” her sister said, turning her face just long enough to lift a finger to her lips. Then her attention snapped back to the pulpit. Ever the obedient child. “Some of us are trying to listen.”

Regina’s stomach lurched. Her eyes glanced at the wall — the hole was bigger. 2x2 and growing as bits and pieces fell away. Her heart was thundering inside her chest, and when a clap of thunder shook the windows, she wasn’t sure that it hadn’t started inside her. Despite being given a lesson on manners from the day she was born, she stood upright in the middle of her mother's funeral and turn out to the crowd of family, friends, and unfamiliar practitioners. The crowd stared back at her, pupils black and mouths pulled into angry sneers.

“Regina.” Her brother stood, arms across his chest.

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“Child!” came a voice from the back.

“We need to go,” she said, noticing that the other walls were also flaking, yet between every word she heard the pastor continue his long-winded speech.

In the blink of an eye, she felt a pressure on her arms, and when she glanced, she noticed they were being pulled upward, tugged at by a dozen different hands. Those that were supposed to protect and help her…

All of them standing there with a death-wish as the building crumbled around them and held her prisoner just to spite her.

Regina screamed.

The sound tore through her throat and slammed into her ears until she couldn’t stand to wait a single extra second to breathe. And when she took the breath, her body shuddered. She clenched her eyes shut, and waiting for the building full of traitors to pull her away, or for the sky to fall on her.

When it didn't, she allowed the breath to take its course and opened her eyes. When they did, she found herself sitting, still, on seated atop the hard wooden bench.

The pastor was speaking, some nicety about a woman he had never been forced to live with, and Regina wondered if she had just… fallen asleep.

Her eyes ran as quick as they could across the walls of the building — those that she could see without drawing attention to herself.

Again. Every wall was solid white, with solid walls behind them. The sun was shining through the windows, and not a cloud in sight to thunder or lightning or rain. Feeling foolish was an understatement.

She tapped her sister on the shoulder, holding her breath as a nagging voice made her unsure of what the reaction would be, and only let it go when the woman turned, a small half-smile on her face. She opened her mouth to ask a question —

“You didn’t snore,” her sister whispered before Regina could speak at all.

Renee had always been able to read her mind. They were basically twins — although the word caused arguments growing up. After all, you could call them twins if they were born almost a year apart.

“What exactly are you implying?” Regina asked, having found an opportunity to save face, even if it was extremely transparent.

Renee nodded, rolled her eyes, and returned her eyes ahead of her.

The respectful thing to do and her sister had always been better at being obedient than her.

For another twenty minutes, Regina’s eyes refused to stay focused. They traced the outlines of all the people around her and stared at every tiny wisp upon the painted walls. She waited for her dream to take hold again as if it were some recurring nightmare she’d lived with all her life.

When a fly buzzed through her peripheral, her entire body left the pew from shock. The short-lived event left her face pink and warm — before it faded, her sister was nudging her, pointing to the empty pulpit. It was Regina’s turn to speak.

A duty she couldn’t worm out of, despite her best efforts the night before.

The next 10 seconds held an eternity. One small eternity after another. Her feet felt like concrete as she moved, and that was just the 2nd obstacle. Renee had been forced to physically shove her ass out of the uncomfortable hardwood of the pew. She forced her legs to hold her bodyweight — as slim as it may be in the days since the accident — and took in as deep a breath as her chest could handle. It came out slowly, and she cleared her throat, stall tactics that ran out before they did her much good. There was too much time to stall effectively.

Too many people to back out now. Too much pressure to speak freely.

Too much space to fill with her mother gone.

With no other choice, she began.

“I know that all of you sat in cramped spaces to get here today. I know that we have all sat through several touching speakers, and at least one of us cried during the very touching speech from Father Dover. I understand that while we will endure it since as always, the rook clan endures all, we have little desire to sit through a drawling speech from a proud woman's rebellious daughter.”

A gulp of nothing, trying to keep her throat wet even though her mouth was dry. She licked her lips to the same end and gripped the edge of her podium. All eyes were on her. Or through her, as she suspected more than one member of the dwindling family would rather she not be standing there at all.

“So as I stand here, looking at the pale faces of my ancestors and kin alike, I feel the urge to jump ahead. I want to save us from the drooling epitaphs of a doting mother, of a force to be reckoned with. In fact, I am certain that every one of us has watched Riley Rook, in real-time, save our lineage, and force her family to prosper when we would drown. But that woman, real or imagined with rose-colored glasses, is gone.”

There was a pressure behind Regina’s eyes. The words were flowing from some hidden place, and she wasn’t sure she could stop them now if she tried.

So she chose not to.

“We stand here, grieving, bonded, and both under and overwhelmed at a death. Whatever my mother was, her lack of presence creates a gaping hole not only in my life but in all of your lives. Hell - in the universe. No fond memories will bring her back. No streaming tears will change the path we must take forward. My vote, for whatever it's worth to the coven and beyond: We stop trying.”

*While we are at it, lets collectively admit we live in the 21st century,* she thought as she slunk back to her seat, and avoided making eye contact with the front row.