these buildings look lived in. Occupied, unlike the shells Mercy passed on her way in.
Homes of those who could not so easily leave after the city lost its luster.
Was that an observation of her own, or the entity’s? Mercy is disconcerted that she can no longer tell the difference.
Past the many lanes of ramshackle homes, the boulevard takes on a slight incline. The neighborhoods thin out until reaching some unmarked but understood boundary. On the hill, framed by the glowing embers of the setting sun, sit a row of nine impressive buildings.
Temples, Mercy knows at once.
Just Another Struggling Writer 
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