"Sister Cécile, I'm not hungry. My stomach cannot touch another burned morsel of bread," Giselle muttered, her voice tinged with frustration as she pushed the pte aside.

  "Honey, why not take just one bite? If you do, we can go out to py in the garden," Sister Cécile coaxed, her eyes soft with concern. "The flowers are blooming, and the air is warm today. A little walk will do you good."

  Giselle gnced at the pte, her gaze hardening. "I don’t want to py. We always py the same game, with the same flowers, and the same sun. It’s boring."

  Sister Cécile sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from Giselle's face. "But it's what you need, child. Sometimes, it’s the simple things that help us feel whole again."

  Giselle pouted, pressing her lips together, her small fists curling tightly in her p. "I don’t like simple things," she muttered almost under her breath. All she wanted to do was call Cécile a big fat liar, but she knew those words were too big for her.

  If anything, Cécile is a sinner—one who let the truth rot like fruit left too long in the sun. 1Cécile is no better than a sinner, letting the truth decay until it's unrecognizable, like overripe fruit left to rot.

  She stared down at her hands, her fingers digging into the fabric of her robe. "I want to go to the harvest festival," she said suddenly, her voice small and tremulous.

  Sister Cécile hesitated, just long enough for Giselle to feel it deep in her chest.

  "No," she said gently. "Not this year."

  Giselle's face scrunched up in confusion, her hands curling into tight fists. "But... but I want to go!" she whined.

  "You’re still recovering, sweetheart. The doctor said—"

  "I hate the doctor!" Giselle shouted, her face flushed with heat and her hands smming against the table. "I hate him!" she repeated, her voice loud in the otherwise silent room.

  "Why do you hate the doctor?" Sister Cécile asked, her brow furrowing in concern as she studied Giselle’s flushed face. "He’s only trying to help you."

  "He said I’m just a dirty little thing... something that shouldn’t have even been born!" Giselle shouted, her voice cracking with raw emotion. Her fists trembled on the table, and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. "He said I’m a mistake," she choked, her voice breaking.

  Sister Cécile walked through the temple corridors, her steps soft, muffled under the weight of her prayers. The moonlight filtered through the stained-gss windows, casting long, dark shadows across the cold stone floor. Her fingers were pressed together in quiet devotion, whispering fervently beneath her breath.

  "Let no eye see me. Let no ear hear the lies I weave," she murmured, her voice trembling like a fragile breath in the stillness. "May the shadows cloak me, and the patrons turn their gaze away. May the sin within me remain hidden, for should it surface, it would surely be my undoing." 2This prayer reflects the concept of hiding one's sins from others, as seen in passages like Psalm 32:3-5, where David speaks of the burden of unconfessed sin. It echoes the idea of seeking God's mercy and forgiveness, fearing that unrepentant sin will lead to destruction. The request for shadows to cloak her and the turning away of patrons parallels the idea of spiritual concealment and the desire for divine protection to avoid judgment.

  Her eyes flicked nervously to either side, praying no one would see her as she made her way toward the west wing.

  Before she reached the beautifully carved door, with the nguage of their deities etched into it, she rapped her fist three times on the door before quickly stepping back.

  The door opened, and there stood Brother Seidel, his tall, thin—malnourished like a reed—figure outlined by the dim light from within. His eyes, hollow and dark, regarded her with a solemn, distant expression. He stepped aside wordlessly, gesturing for her to enter.

  Sister Cécile quickly entered, but not before checking to see if anyone had witnessed her actions.

  Once the door closed behind her, she spoke in a hushed voice. "I... I’ve done as you asked, Brother Seidel," she said, her hands csped tightly in front of her. "I can't bear the guilt any longer... it’s tearing me apart." Her voice quivered as tears rimmed her eyes, and a soft sniffle followed.

  "Sister Cécile, it was your own decision to take this path, wasn’t it?" he asked quietly, picking up a gss of water and sipping slowly, eyeing her with an some calmness.

  Sister Cécile flinched at his words, her shoulders tensing.

  "You've come to seek my forgiveness, haven’t you?" Brother Seidel's voice was low, his eyes narrowing as he studied her, the fair-skinned maiden who had once pledged herself to the gods.

  Sister Cécile's expression twisted in guilt. She nodded slowly. "Yes, but the temptation... it was too much. I'm a murderer... this sin alone is too heavy to bear."

  Brother Seidel didn’t move for a long moment, his hollow eyes never leaving her. He took another slow sip of water, savoring the silence, before setting the gss down with a soft clink on the table.

  "Sister Cécile," he began, his voice barely above a whisper as if someone might overhear, "The gods do not forgive such transgressions lightly. Did anyone see you do it?"

  "I don’t know!" Sister Cécile's voice cracked, panic rising in her chest. "What if they reported me to the high priest? What if they find out what I've done?" Her voice trembled, and her hands shook as she pressed them together, desperate for reassurance.

  "It will be fine," he said, his tone almost too soothing. "We have the Seal of the Aether. As long as we perform the ritual, no one will know."

  Sister Cécile nodded slowly, her thoughts clouded, the words barely reaching her.

  "You must understand, Sister," he said softly, almost coaxingly, "this is our only path. The ritual will cleanse you of your burden, but only if we do it correctly."

  "But we don't have that stupid artifact yet!" Sister Cécile interrupted, her voice rising in frustration. "The Seal of the Aether—it's not here! How are we supposed to perform the ritual without it?"

  "Patience—... You just need to wait and —"

  She cuts him off. "I told you—there’s no way we can do this without it!" She yelled nearly like a scream, her voice sharp with panic as she knocked the gss off the table in her distress.

  The gss hit the floor with a deafening crash, sending shards scattering across the room. The sound echoed in the silence, and Sister Cécile froze, her face paling as if it hit her. She stumbled back, her breath quickening.

  "It’s going to be fine. No one will know. We have the patrons on our side. During the Harvest Festival tomorrow, everything will fall into pce," Seidel whispered—low, hurried, almost like a breathless promise.

  Just then, there was a cough outside, causing the two to look toward the closed door.

  "Didn't you hear me? That Brother over there called for you." Giselle looked at Sister Cécile, confused, as she pointed at a tall, thin man standing nearby leaning against a pilr. But she quickly put her hand down, remembering it's rude to point.

  Sister Cécile’s face drained of color as she turned to look in the direction the girl pointed at. She quickly looked away and wrung her hands nervously. "Darling, you mustn't point like that—remember what Sir Lemoine taught you about manners," Sister Cécile said, her voice shaky, trying to divert Giselle's attention.

  Giselle frowned at the mention of that man. "Why should I care about what he said? He doesn't even sit straight." It left a distaste in her mouth, remembering that man made her hold a heavy book over her head just because she couldn't sit up straight during one of their lessons.

  "Come on, Giselle," Sister Cécile said, forcing a gentle smile. "Let’s go. The day is still young, and there are many things we could do to pass the time." She reached out, trying to take Giselle's hand, but the girl pulled back slightly and looked over at the man leaning on the pilr.

  "Don't you have things to do with him?" Giselle asked, pulling her hand back completely as she stared at the man, who gave her a smile, but he's missing a tooth in the front of his mouth, which made her wonder how he lost it. Maybe he had gold and was forced to take it out, as jewelry isn't allowed to be worn in the temple?3It is not customary to wear gold teeth or jewelry in a temple, as these symbols of wealth could distract from the spiritual purpose. Such adornments are often seen as worldly attachments, which contradict the principles of simplicity and humility in sacred spaces.

  Sister Cécile's smile faltered as Giselle's words struck a nerve.

  She looked around the lunchroom; many people were eating there. She couldn't make a scene just because this girl was being difficult.

  She watched Giselle quickly follow after the nuns, waving goodbye without looking back. Sister Cécile's fingers tightened around the hem of her robe before she walked over to Seidel. Her face was taut with strain as he led her outside.

  Not far away, the high priest watched with narrowed eyes, his hands folded together as he observed from across the room.

  A nun beside him frowned. "I can't believe she said that to Giselle. She has to go. Every member of the church must follow the rules, and she’s clearly... testing the boundaries."

  "Sister Weizmann, do not be so hasty in your judgments. Sister Cécile is a faithful servant, but even the most devout are prone to moments of weakness. It’s a test of character—one that only the gods can fully see."4What he meant is that Sister Cécile, despite being a faithful servant, is still human and capable of faltering. He’s suggesting that Sister Weizmann shouldn't rush to judge her.

  "You're only saying that because she's pregnant, which is a sin itself to become pregnant outside the bounds of our vows to the gods,"5Nuns are expected to take vows of chastity, meaning they refrain from sexual retions. Pregnancy would contradict this vow, as it is considered incompatible with their commitment to celibacy and religious life. Sister Weizmann hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Her actions will be the undoing of the temple if left unchecked."

  The High Priest remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving Sister Cécile as she disappeared from the room. "We all fall short of divine grace, Sister Weizmann," he said finally, his tone calm, almost dismissive. "But it is not our pce to judge so harshly."

  "Didn't you judge me yesterday for overeating at the table, High Priest?"6The sin of overeating, often referred to as gluttony, is considered a vice in many religious traditions. It involves an excessive desire for food, prioritizing indulgence over moderation, and can lead to a ck of self-control, which may harm both the body and spirit. Sister Weizmann retorted, her voice sharp. "Or was that a different standard for different sinners?"