Armed with a sparkle wand, you check the perimeter of the gutted church. It's less decayed than stripped like a busted Oldsmobile on the side of the highway. Stained glass, wooden doors, even building stones have been rehomed. It's hella atmospheric. You wish you knew how to graffiti. A fox startles you and darts back into the woods. Some robins tell each other about it. A bell tolls. The tower is long empty. A breath of Gregorian chant wafts by. A tonsured figure in a dark habit appears.