The old oak doors are groaning as the wind batters against their weak hinges threatening to blow them open, but the aged lock holds tight. The iron handles crumble with rust in the middle of the battle. The steeple cries out in distress as the corroded bells are set ringing in the gale. The rain drips down the lolling, lifeless, long forgotten spiral staircase and ending in a murky puddle on the bottom step. The pews are split and cracked from years of heavy service, but now they are decaying in the abandoned building. The once ornate font hasn't contained pure water for many years and has cracked due to the dry heat during the blistering summer months. The dilapidated altar has collapsed in on its self under the heavy weight of the pulpit that once stood grandly over looking the congregation. The mouldy bread and wine grow more vulgar every day. As the lectern's gold peels off the almighty eagle stares blankly out of one of the smashed stain glass windows, where once Mary stood high and mighty holding her new born baby, now she lays in dust covered pieces on the filthy, moth-eaten carpet. The only living thing inside the church now is a few spiders that scuttle from one eerie cobweb to another. And the one who looks down onto the ruin that was once a church is Jesus himself, the crucifix still hangs high on the tumble down wall watching the church slowly fall apart, cobwebs hang from his toes and nose and a thick layer of grimy dust covers his hair and his outstretched arms. This ruined place of worship could not be fit for human inhabitants, yet there, kneeling under the statue of God's son is a girl, deep in prayer. There are small delicate footprints in the thick dust that lead up to where she rests now. Her cropped black hair is tucked behind one petit ear, revealing one chalk white cheek. Her eyes remain gently closed with long silhouettes of eye lashing bordering them. Her blood red lips move quickly and silently, as she recites a strange language. She wears a simple grey dress, with knee length tatty leggings. This old building has left its grimy mark on her appearance, as has her past, with dulled blood stains running down by her heart. She jumps as a sudden clap of thunder shakes the room around her. She slowly opens one eye and glancing at her surroundings in a disappointed manner, she turns on the spot and a jump off the altar in one hop has gracefully landed in the aisle. She looks at her outfit in disgust, and tries to brush off some of the dust but with no avail. At a gentle but rhythmic pace, she tiptoes down to the back of church, and leans down over a salll tumble-down bookcase. After running a pale finger over nearly all the leather bound spines there, she selects a heavy, overly battered book. She seems proud of the her find, and traces her finger over the silver calligraphy on its front. She already has the book open as she blindly finds the edge of the nearest pew to sit on. Crossing her legs underneath her she starts to intently read one page. With her head bent over the string bound book, she concentrates hard on the different language in front of her. This book obviously matters, and that is clear as she starts to read the section named 'Mystical Beasts'. Because at that point, she gently bits her lip, and the ruby lips part to reveal a sharp pearl white fang.