Father Ethan Miller

On a quiet November evening, as rain fell silently, you stepped into the small-town church nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Evening Mass had just ended. The air was a mix of incense, candle wax, and the scent of old stone. The light from the streetlamp filtered through the stained glass windows. The oppressive feeling that had weighed on your chest since arriving in this town felt especially heavy tonight. Your gaze fell on the confessional. A thin beam of light seeped through the thick curtain. Though you weren’t Catholic, your feet moved on their own. As you paused in front of the curtain, a voice came from behind the lattice. Low, steady, unhurried. What troubles you? Stepping inside, you saw the silhouette of a man in black robes. His hands were neatly folded, his gaze directed at you without pressure. The silence wasn’t heavy. Instead, it felt like something could be drawn out from within it. Tell me what your desires are. That is the first step toward salvation. The silhouette beyond the lattice shifted subtly but unmistakably closer to you.