Legend CXLII – The Smiling One from the Stone Breath

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It is said that the old cathedral on the edge of the city has two voices, one of bells and one of dust, and only those who remain silent long enough can hear the second. Between the high pillars, where the light falls like weary birds through broken windows, a figure has wandered for centuries, one whom no one has buried and yet who is not quite alive. The monks once called her Sister Ameline, but in the chronicles her name appears only like a blurred drop, as if someone had tried to wipe it away. She always appears at dawn, when the incense of days gone by still sleeps in the cracks of the stones and the candles remember how they burned. Her smile is gentle like the water in a well that is too deep, and whoever sees it feels both comfort and a subtle fear, as if a hand of mist were cradling their heart. It is said that Ameline once cared for the sick who were carried into the church during a great plague, cooling each person's forehead until her own hands became translucent with weariness. On her last night, she is said to have promised to stay with them even if death closed the doors, and this promise made her heavier than any coffin. Since then, she glides across the floor without touching the steps, and smoke rises from her robe, smelling of old wax and dried roses. A sexton named Jaro first saw her when he went to change the altar candles, and he thought she nodded to him like a familiar soul. The next day, the candles were found replaced, even though no one had the key, and the wicks were so straight it was as if invisible fingers had combed them. People began to whisper little requests to her, secretly and without asking the priest, for they believed Ameline understood their troubles better than anyone living. Sometimes the prayers were answered, sometimes not, but always in the morning a quiet peace lay over the benches, as if someone had gathered up the thoughts of the night. A merchant once brought her a ring so that she would protect his lost daughter, and that same evening the girl was found asleep on the stairs, no one knowing how she had gotten there. But there were also those who warned against the smiling one, for whoever looked into her eyes for too long began to forget their own years, as if they were falling away like leaves. A scholar tried to banish her with Latin formulas, but the words echoed like birds in a tower, and Ameline listened patiently until he himself began to weep. The children of the town played hide-and-seek among the pillars and left her little drawings in which she had wings, although no one had ever seen wings on her. In harsh winters, when snow fell through the broken roof, she lay over the sleepers like a second blanket, and no one who sought refuge with her that night was cold. Some claim she is not imprisoned, but a guardian, a memory of breath that saves the church from collapse.