Rain fell hard down upon the ground, each droplette landing upon another as they dispersed into an infinite more droplettes which eroded away upon the hard cobblestone. Within this moment, this lone period of time, silence did not exist.

There was rain. Only rain. With the black clouds gathered above indicating no change to come in any near future. Yet even with the vacuum surrounding her, it did not hide the guilt, the agony that raged within her.

She never envisioned being here, the idea seemingly going against everything she believed in. Once, so confident in the actions she had done, that she was always on the right path, how things had fallen so significantly she could likely never know for certain.

Not a step had been taken forward before the heavy stone doors of the Church opened, the large man in black standing before her. From behind him, the lights within the church painted out the faintest background of the interior; an image that even within her imagination no longer existed.

"My child! You stand there, alone during such a terrible time. Won't you please come out from there and into the warmer here?" the sincerity of his voice was that what she was not used to. For so long, those whom she felt she could rely on were a limited few. And now, now she didn't even know of them remained.

Leyaria stood there as the rain continued to pound upon her. Her hair, a ghostly white which even she still was not used to being her's, felt less like hair and more that of a weight. Her clothes, linen and poor of quality, were now little more than drenched rags, seeming more like a layer of skin than it any article of clothing. And her face, what little makeup she wore smeared by the constant rain, hid the pain it exposed and the tears that trailed down her cheeks.

Not a word, not even the faintest of a voice echoed out from her lips. She stood there, paralyzed.

"Come," the priest called out again, taking a step down the steps which separated them, immediately heading into the maw that was the storm bearing down upon them. The storm that hardly seemed to faze the young woman. Yet, for all of that, it was the shudder, the shock that this girl conveyed upon the priest placing his hand upon her back, it was that which seemed to most rile a reaction.

The priest's brow adjusted just the slightest as a feeling of sadness came forward. With even the most gentle of pressure, he guided the woman inside the large building, her feet offering no resistance, nor any inclination to escape the miserable conditions surrounding her.

Stepping back into shelter, the glasses worn by the man fogged up with the change of heat, a change that even he could feel despite the brief time outside. Within the woman though, he saw no apparent change. She made not even the slightest gesture to even recognize the change.

"Have a seat," he insisted as he continued to guide the young girl towards a place to sit, her lacking of resistance remaining as persistent as it had been before. Everything was foreign to her. She felt alone, lost, unsure of what was to happen next. And she continued on, guided by the man who up to this point had been an anthisist of what she believed in.

It took a moment, but eventually he led her to take a seat. Water still dripped from her hair and clothes, forming a small puddle at the base of the seat. The thought occurred to him to ask if she would have liked a towel or something to dry herself off, though she continued to convey nothing. All that the priest was able to gather was the crumbled paper in which she kept clenched in her fist. The contents of which, nor even its existence, she revealed neither.

"How long have you been outside?" The woman said nothing.

"May I get you something to eat? Perhaps a warm meal may make you feel better." Still, no response.

"You seem awfully young to be wandering about a storm alone. Where is your family? Do you live nearby?" The priest studied the woman's face, and whether it was simply a drop of water stemming from her still-soaked hair or a tear, he could not tell between the two.

"Is there anyone whom I can reach out to on your behalf? Friends nearby?" Silence.

Then her eyes widened.

The priest stepped back only slightly as the woman turned her gaze downwards to that of the paper she still held tightly in her hand. Stained with dirt, water, and the natural elements. She saw the words, hastily scribbled down, names in which she knew, at one point knew, and those whom she thought she had in dreams. Names that stayed with her. Names of those who perhaps knew of her once upon a time, names that had forgotten about her, and names with no attachments towards her.

But all names that were of a past life. Whatever they once had, Leyaria had forsaken the right to call them anything more than names.

"No," her voice was meager. Weak. As though all of her strength had been drained time and time again. "There's noone."

Sadness filled the priest's heart. "It is alright. Even when we feel at our lowest, there are those who still look to save us. Sometimes even against all logical reasons."

Leyaria looked down again upon the paper, her mind bouncing towards each of the names, thinking to herself if even now, as low as she was, that there would be any sort of care they'd show towards her. Undoubtedly to most, she was a nobody. A cancer without value. To the few who she remembered knowing at one point or another, what had she done to make any of them remember her, much less care for her. And those who she never knew, what even was the point in wondering? No doubt in her greatest of efforts, it wouldn't matter.

"Not me."

The priest could plainly see now the tears which were flowing. He placed a hand upon her back, hoping to comfort her, only for her to tense up. Her hands, already holding onto the paper as if a last vessel of hope, further clenched, tearing into the worn paper. She realized this well before he did.

Carefully unravelling her hands, multiple names were ripped apart, letters which made them up split between pieces of torn paper. A fitting way to describe where she and they may have stood at this point. She did not even bother to try to tell of which ones were ripped, only that they were relationships which she had failed in one aspect or another.

Tears fell onto the paper, further smugging the ink, erasing whatever might have been written there.

"Ma'am?" The priest found himself largely speechless. Whatever had happened to this woman, whatever had happened, the toll it was taking upon her was apparent. "Is... Is there anything, anything that I can do to help you?"

The woman simply cried for a moment more before she began to show any sign of life. Lifting her head, her defeated face burned a hole into his heart. Her hair, dried from the rain, was a mangled mess. Her face was smeared and drained of any and all color by now, save for the redness which lined around her eyes. She looked to the priest, who's smile and welcoming face created a stark contrast than the look of defeat upon Leyaria's.

Faintly, she lifted her hands upwards, her grip on the pieces of paper loosening to the point where by sheer balance did they remain within her grasp. Her lips muttered something as the priest's hands met with hers, carefully taking the pieces of paper into his own. He leaned forward slightly. "I am sorry, but what did you say?"

Leyaria sighed, "Tell them... Tell them I'm sorry..."

He looked down upon the pieces of paper, doing as well as he could to read the names. Some of people whom he had heard of once upon a time. Other names he doubted he would ever know what they may have been or what happened. Only a small few did he know of existing, though unlikely without a means of reaching out to them.

He only hoped that they knew, whomever they were, wherever they were, that this girl was sorry.