It's strange how one changed so easily. 
"A cleansing will be held in three days," she repeated, etching towards my bed. 
 "It isn't until two weeks." My dress slid down with ease and I dragged my towel off. "Unless you want an early death."
The bed creaked as Stephanie stood, she then rested her hands on my bed and remained still, waiting until I conceded. Clutching my bed railings for support, her eyes lit up with her feet dragging through the floor. 
She had my unwavering attention. The cleansing was bringing something. No, someone was coming. 
Father Benedict. 
"Father Benedict would raise the thurible," Stephanie took a few steps back and collapsed on her bed. "It'd be my first seeing him ever so close. He'd see me too."
Anyone but him. Restrictions were imposed to ensure Father Benedict remained a seer and it has been upheld for three years. Maybe this was his redemption, the one he'd craved for years on end following his sin.
First Racheal and now the cleansing, it was all unfolding accordingly. 
"Pray he doesn't see to the cleansing else you'll lose whatever is left of him."
 I stood silently, dressed and ready for the devotion.
"Don't say that," Stephanie warned, her voice low as her eyes searched the room for eyes that watched. 
There weren't, now, the room was confined. A brisk air stringed the dreadful stench in, each breath now drowning a metallic taste in my mouth. 
Stephanie twisted her nose almost as if she too could tell the stench. She would not stay long, it was time she began prancing in the courthouse until deviations started.
It was always done individually with boys and girls. The boys would have the area by the pond which housed a breathing tree. Some said the souls of deceased sisters and fathers rested there.
They had it easier, the boys. 
Husky peals of laughter, as light as a feather reached the courthouse. The boys were done with devotion and now, were telling jokes. 
 We had been at it for two hours, standing like scarecrows while the sisters strode around to make sure we were singing along. 
The father was etched atop, steps ahead on a plastered foundation. He read from a thick red Bible. Its bark had already peeled, exposing the earlier pages.
 
Then we sang and sang an old hymn, our shrill voice ripping through the courthouse and traveling as pleas to the convent. 
What came next always did. A gust, so mighty yet so frail. It hit only the girls, but we had slated for a steady ground so we grabbed for life until it calmed. 
Whoever was taken by the wind never returned. Was never replaced.  
If the wind ever met the boys, we'd never know.
"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."
"Amén," we all chanted in unison. 
It was over. 
Now, we'd work in preparation for tomorrow. For here, the sisters preached that a new day brought new possibilities for change. A change that would please God. 
All we ever did was to please God. 
To remain pure was one that was never upheld, not even the sisters did. In the cellar, they each committed atrocities. I saw and they knew so they took the pictures. Now, I could hardly remember.  
With a long broom in hand and a scarf woven to cover my nose, I began sweeping the library with a few dimly lit candles guiding me, each casting dull shadows. 
Maribel had been cleaning the shelves. It was just us too. We'd be done late. 
After sweeping, I got to cleaning the shelves. Unlike Maribel, I wiped only the edges, lifting to clean the bottom would be a hassle. If the sisters noticed, I'd forfeit eating for a day, spending the time on countless chores. 
That I wouldn't mind. Rachael would be enough company. 
A loud clasp echoed through the shelves, causing the lights to flicker, scattering our silhouettes as giants on the walls. 
I rushed to the other side to see Mirable descending the ladder to pick a book. 
Then, a design caught my eye. An intricately carved box on the bark, with thorns sticking from each corner like that of a woven basket. In the center of the box laid an egg. So closely woven that it looked real. 
 I reached the book before Maribel could. She reached out to receive it, her eyes boring down the markings. 
"I'll have that," she demanded, hands still stretched. 
"This was it," I stepped closer, with the book slipping to my back. "The one Sister Gift had instructed me to fetch. She made me stare at the design until I saw it when I didn't."
Her face churned and she intertwined her arms. 
 "You haven't got a pass." 
I tiptoed to meet her gaze, but I wouldn't return her suspicious glance, so I began watching her.
"When instructed, I don't."
Her eyes still, began blinking until tears strung out and she understood she couldn't win. With that, she climbed the stairs and resumed cleaning.
The bottom shelves glinted a brown wood once I was done wiping. I did so to all until Mirabel was gone. 
 Her steps had disrupted the quiet until it ceased at the door, the pitch outside hiding her but her breaths heaved. She watched and doing so unset the ladder, once erect now shaked with freight too heavy to bear. 
Fingers clutching the shelf, I remained grounded. I wasn't to show the ground shook. It wasn't the ladder. 
The dark hour had come. 
Mirable disappeared in the pitch. She too had understood. 
I jumped down, holding the blackened rag then shoved it in-between the shelf. Steadily, I slipped the book underneath my skirt and raced into the pitch before the candles flickered off.

This chapter was not just it for me and for that, I apologize if some dialogues and descriptions feel a bit out of place. Next chapter will be better.