1

                                        

                                              
The sisters, clad in white robes and veils, marched from one table to another, jolting their miniature bells. Metal spoons clanked against uneven plates, throwing the dining room in an uproar.
A dark gloom hung over the dining hall as candles were knocked off various tables in the chaos.
The seers had come to watch us. The matron and the sisters were all seers, but none matched the intellect of those whose veils were black.
Some girls argued the matron was once a revered seer who lost her sight to this confinement. Who wouldn't? This place does things to one's mind in ways they can't quite comprehend. Until Monday, I would watch as the kids rushed their food, refusing to let the running soup and stone bread soil my mouth.
Holding my bowl, I crossed over the bench and heaped it in a low basin that sat in front of the dining area, then strode to the courthouse. We'd assemble there before being guided to the sisters' quarters where our assigned seer would receive us. 
Despite stuffing my face, I couldn't make it to my soft spot, resting by the blooming guava tree with a worm in hand.
The convent was a place where noise could not escape—every cry, laugh, or secret remained trapped within its walls. Yet, the whispers always found a way to spread, crawling through the cracks like a determined vine.
My eyes met Stephanie's, and I looked away. Followed, her step grew uneasily loud as she marched toward me, brushing past countless others. She wore a smile today. She needed a familiar favor, and I found myself uneasily fixated upon.
A hand suddenly grabbed me towards the end of the courthouse. The whispers died as the kids collectively made way for sister Gift. She always saw to it that we met the seers.
Stephanie's darkened eyes followed with each forced step. Her lips parted in an attempt to remind me in case I had forgotten but sister Gift was quicker. 
"Father Benedict," sister Gift grumbled, still dragging me to the sisters' quarters.
I stared at her, then at my hand, but she only frowned, looked ahead, and continued to jab me forward.
"He's watching," a soft voice said.
A voice too close to comfort and chaos, it boiled my ears. 
My feet glued to the ground as I willed my neck to turn. Racheal wouldn't look at me, her gaze burning down on sister Gift. She too felt it. Just as Rachael moved toward sister Gift, I groaned and fell to the ground.
Rachael still wouldn't look at me. After a moment, she stepped back and returned to her confinement. She would wait and wait until Father Benedict guided me to his meeting room. When sister Gift would be left alone.
The air lightened with the stench of stale oil, instantly overwhelmed by dull detergent. I would pick the oil any day.
Father Benedict helped me up, dusting some damp twigs off my gown. Then he turned to sister Gift with a smile. As he did, I slipped through the lint of his robe. Often, I wondered how he'd look in something different. Something less nauseating.
Sister Gift hurried back to the courthouse after their brief exchange. Ray was next. He'd be taken to Sister Constant, the old seer with milk sheets clouding her eyes. But she saw still—more than others.
"I'll write you a note," Father Benedict said as he let go of my arm. "Be sure to clean up."
A reply couldn't form in my head, so I remained still, watching him. His black hair was cropped short, and he had trimmed his beard. That would be his biggest mistake.
Father Benedict headed up the short stairs, and I followed suit to the room. The damp air hit me from the first window, thick with the smell of old books stacked on every corner of the room—even the window sills weren't safe—and something faintly metallic. A black wooden table sat in the corner with a stool in front and a chair behind. Father Benedict would have his chair after which I'd take the stool and we'd begin.