Early Mass had ended and Esmeralda once again found herself sharing the quiet spaces with silent cherubs and simpering angels. Alone and seated in the first pew, she was just paces from the altar. Though Esmeralda was no pious woman, she found an eagerness to dwell within the illustrious spires and marveling architect. Eventually, she began attending Mass to cater to this desire. It's hallowed depictions of divinity and vigilant angels had carved itself a home within her thoughts. She dreamt of the place on occasion, recalling its towering columns of pearl-white and gold crown molding. She had difficulty forgetting the numerous pews, the peaking spires that compassed heavenward, even the faint smiles of saints and martyrs alike plagued her.
There was no understanding of this strange affliction, nor did she dwell on the matter much. The church was a beautiful, sanctifying place that surrounded her with a veil of familiarity. During tiring nights where her dreams weighed heavy, her mind would take her to a church much similar to Basilica of the Sacred Heart, but not quite the same. Its girth was far more profound, surpassing this small structure by the hundreds of feet, and outnumbered its variety of bells with its own thunderous carillon. Perhaps her time away at college inspired an affinity for the structure. What did she know?
Basilica of the Sacred Heart brought a questionable intimacy to the tan-skinned girl, which is why she returned as often as she could. Perhaps one day the answer would await her, somewhere, anywhere. Maybe upon the altar, or among the swept back wings of angels or conceivably dancing along the lit candles, lingering just beyond the flame's umbra, waiting to be acknowledged. Wherever the case, it wasn't making it known today. Fittingly, her following class was an Introduction to Theology, located on the south end of campus, a minimum five-minute walk, and she had ten minutes to get there. She gathered her books and made reluctant haste towards the exit. As she reached the door, she paused and gave the altar one last glance.
Its presence held the answer to why within these walls Esmeralda felt an untold story. She had racked her brain countless times, failing to recall why such grandeur and celestial marvel struck such an intimate closeness. Time was ticking and even if she never discovered the answer, it was still a beautiful place.
Esmeralda was the last student to walk into the large auditorium. Majority of the pupils had already found their desired seats and were ready, restless in their seats while attempting to keep themselves distracted. New semester jitters, Esmeralda knew those well. Establishing a footing amongst the student body, locating all your classes and the bathrooms in between. Everyone was trying to find a routine that fit their needs.
At the head of the class stood the professor. A tall, sinewy man with a shrewd face and proud, narrow nose that arched, dipped then came to a hauty point. Esmeralda slinked in quietly. As if he felt the shifting of eyes, he looked up from his podium and regarded her like a hawk. She was on his radar now.
"You must be Esmeralda," he muttered as he reviewed the list before him.
The class, once a hum of relaxed senseless prattle, became quiet.
"I am," she replied primly, eyeing the empty seat front and centered of the room. All the other seats were already occupied and if this class were any similar to the others, students rarely strayed from their first selected seat; the first step to a new routine. She was stuck at the front.
"Next time, the door will be locked," he said flatly, adjusting the entry upon his roster. He then released the cufflinks about his wrist, began folding the fabric neatly back.
Esmeralda was transfixed. Unknowingly she had cocked her head to the side and eyed him with suspicion and study. She assigned him the age of forty to forty-five with a widow's peak of combed back silver hair.
As the paper ran its course about the lecture room, she took a seat as the professor readied the projector. Ahead, against the wall, its projection reached and presented the first slide of a Powerpoint. Its makeup was not one of the artistic feats, but plain with a white background and black lettering. No embellishment resided in the corners or accents that portrayed the efforts of late night sprucing. Simple and straight to the point.
He then moved across the room to dim the lights. As the shadows took reign of the classroom, he said. "Welcome to Theology. My name is Professor Frollo, and these are my office hours."