Gods In A Ghost Town

Ingrid

Ingrid's hoof falls echoed through the city. Staring at the buildings, she wondered what they looked like in the past. They were probably once white like snow, or daisy petals, or moonlight. She pinned her ears back, shuddering at the thought.

It's been months, Ingrid. Get over it already, she told herself.

She'd never know what the city was like before the rift swallowed it. This dimension had chewed it up the way a fat chipmunk eats a saltine cracker. Now the buildings were crumbling, and white like ghosts. 

"Fucking creepy as shit," she spat, her hooves still loudly clip-clopping on the stone street. 

"Fucking creepy as shit," the city's echo answered.

I want a beer, she thought, just as she passed a building with a large archway. The door had shattered and crumbled, allowing even tall horses entry. She stepped inside, avoiding glass, and did her best not to slip on the dusty floor. Most of the windows were intact, and the light that filtered through them illuminated piles of rubble that were scattered about. There was an alter at the end of the long hallway, surrounded by debris.

This is a chapel, she realized, a place of worship.

She shook her head. It couldn't be allowed to stay like this. She grabbed a small chunk of rock between her teeth, and threw it outside the door. Then she went for another. She'd clean this place, even if it took her years to do it.

         Open to all! Come talk to Ingrid, and perhaps help her clean the old chapel. The more, the merrier!