There was a certain sense of irony to her presence at this place. Perhaps it was because despite her close ties to religion and the spiritual elements, the green-haired elf her presence was quite foreign even within a place of worship like this. At least these who knew her true nature would likely consider her mere approach to the steps leading into the church nothing short of blasphemy. And yet it was something she felt like she needed to do.

Ever since the events where she had returned to the world of the living and killed these cultists alongside Nasira, Lothwen had grown steadily wary of how her being had changed. Even if she tried to feel emotions, it was as if there was a certain disconnection between her feelings and her mind. It was no doubt the consequence of her descend into this state of undeath.

And yet, even if she felt nothing at it, her mind has still acknowledged that she had slain a living being, and as such she decided to partake in a certain... ritual that mankind practiced.

Even to the other churchgoers her presence earned some bewildered stares, perhaps it was because of her priestess-like garbs, or her ethereal elven-like beauty, but her gaze seemingly fluttered aimlessly around the church's interior as if she was looking for something, and then her gaze settled onto a particular part of the building: A confessional.

Her steps were light as she approached the place, from the initial impression it seemed to be a well-maintained structure, like a large wooden box that was divided into two, a small parting of sorts in the middle serving to provide some privacy between the penitent and the one who would be listening.

Even now she was not entirely certain if it would help, but anything was better than inaction.

Quietly she entered the structure, taking a seat in the box-like space and leaned her back lightly against the back, the small door closing in front of her.

She took a deep breath, waiting for the sound of someone entering the other side of the confessional and then spoke, her foreign dialect clearly noticeable as she spoke in Fiorian.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."

Despite the softness of her voice, her tone seemed quite monotone, devoid of the typical emotions that penitents would voice during their confessions.

"In recent days I have killed several men."

She paused, closing her eyes. "Although they were by all means criminals, they were still living humans. And yet, I feel nothing of significance whenever I think back on the moment I took their lives."

She gazed down at her lap where her hands rested upon, a light shift of her posture and a shift of her hands following as she gazed upon them. "To take life by force is a judgment not meant for mortals to make, and yet the lack of feeling any remorse, sadness, anger, anything at all. It makes me wonder, when one ceased to feel emotion. Does one become a monster?"

A gentle sigh escaped her lips. "I wanted to blame my dislike for humanity for this state of being, but that would be blissful ignorance, for I do not feel anger toward humans, at least not anymore."

She turned her gaze slightly toward the side. "In a way it is eerie, you know certain emotions should accompany such a situation, yet they seem absent no matter how much you try to search for them."

She couldn't help but utter softly. "It seems that maybe my heart did truly die...