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He'd been scouting out an area for a job when he came across the path. Eliot followed the winding trail through a small thicket of trees, past an old dilapidated shed, and around a small patch of poison ivy. At the end of it, he found the small chapel. Made out of stone, it looked out of place. Standing outside of it, Eliot would have sworn it'd been abandoned. Yet, when he tried the door, it swung open without a squeak. Inside he found rows and rows of votive candles, some already lit, and others still waiting to be.
Eliot wasn't big on prayer and hadn't been for a long time. He'd had too many of his own go unanswered over the years. Yet, there was something about this tiny tucked-away chapel and these beckoning candles that made him want to try. He lit one of the votives in front and said a small prayer. It felt - right.
He returned whenever he found himself in the area. There was something ritualistic and soothing about walking down the partially hidden path, entering a secret chapel, lighting a candle, and saying a prayer. He liked the way it made him feel. Hopeful.
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