"There is still meaning, below all the hurt." Lottie assured him, laying her palm on his chest above his heart for a moment as if it were a butterfly on a flower before dropping it back to her lap. Was this why people found religion? Did they look for something to heal such a gaping wound? Did they use it to find a use? None of it would bring a loved one back, but perhaps they turned to the church like Lottie did to writing - to help understand the things to large to hold in the world alone.

Her musings wandered down this path as she lapsed into silence, weighing the comparsion of religion and writing, twisting the words as if she were writing it. Her fingers longed for a quill to capture the thoughts, to form them into perfect words on creamy parchment, as they so often did, but instead she focused on remembering each turn of phrase and thought, imprinting them into her mind to refine them later.