The ceiling goes up so high it almost disappears. Arches repeat one after another, ribs of stone tracing lines that lead the eye upward. It feels ordered, precise, but also alive. The walls are pale and tall, almost bare, yet the shape itself is the decoration.
Far down the aisle, the windows glow. Light spills through them, turning the end of the hall bright and soft at the same time. The altar beneath is darker, more hidden, so the brightness above seems even stronger. The contrast makes the view dramatic but also peaceful.
On the floor, rows of wooden chairs stretch neatly on both sides. They look small against the massive pillars and ceiling. That difference in scale reminds you of how human this space is meant to feel—tiny compared to the structure, yet included within it.
The place feels still, but not empty. The silence has weight. The photograph shows not just architecture but also atmosphere: a hall designed to draw the eye upward and the mind inward.
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