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Afternoons slowed to a crawl during late siestas when the convent went to sleep. The perched birds returned to their nests, and Racheal joined them. I waited, my back pressed against the bed, the metal rods digging into my skin. I waited for the bell to shake the convent awake.

The heavy silence that followed the bell was always deafening, as if the world itself paused, holding its breath before the girls' frantic movements.

When it did, the hostel came to life. The girls rose and hurried to the bathhouse with their buckets. All but Stephanie. She'd wake by dinner time and would stroll through the garden until devotion began.

Chills engulfed my skin as a pale hand clasped Stephanie's face, and then Racheal appeared. She let her hand rest there for a moment before sitting on the low stool next to my bed.

I turned my back on her.

"She felt you. You can't be that careless, ever." My voice came out sharper than I had intended, but the frustration gnawed at my insides.

Silence.

I could feel her presence beside me, still as a shadow. I jolted up and turned to Racheal, searching her eyes. No, this can't be the mute Racheal. I've always told them apart.

"Racheal?"

Racheal looked away, her gaze catching the flower beside Stephanie's bed. Once she touched it, the petals shriveled and fell, turning to dust within its pot.

"You were hurt by her and I had to feed," Racheal croaked.

"Did you take her?" I asked, my voice tight.

Racheal shook her head, resting her hands on her legs.

"Take her. She'll be replaced in a day."
The weight of my words lingered in the air like smoke—thick, suffocating.

The longest it would take to notice is a day after which a new sister would replace sister Gift. Rachael had to feed to survive but I had to be careful, or she'd be taken, and a part of myself would be lost.

Rachael dragged the sheets off my body and helped me sit up. I shrugged her off, planting my feet on the cold floor, the chill sharpening my senses.

"Mum sent a letter," My hand dug under my pillow, lingering on the letter. "Maybe the last."

Now, Racheal would tell me what was in the letter, why Mum hadn't visited in weeks, and I'd decide if she had to be taken.

"She has become two," Racheal said softly. "She smiles with Williams and speaks of an uncertain future. Now, she carries his child."

Mum's pregnant. Again.

Mum's image appeared before me, so vivid I could almost reach out and become one with her again. With Dad, Naya, Helen. I was cradled between Mum and Dad, and even then, I knew this day would come, though I couldn't prepare.

I knew of Naya and Helen. That was when I asked Racheal to take them. Now, I had to do the same to this nameless child.

A new scene began. I was locked in a box, with Mum and Dad chanting in Latin with a priest. I remained still and asked Racheal to take him. Then Mum brought me here.

The letter crunched in my hand, I rose and wrapped my towel around my waist. "Take the child and let Mum remember."

Mum still hasn't learned to love me, to accept just myself for her but she will. Soon enough. Sooner after she loses another.

Suddenly, a bird slammed against the net outside the window, feathers scattering across the sill. Then more came, shrieking, their cries like a baby's wail.

I turned to Racheal, but hunger clouded her eyes a milky sheen. She sat straight as tears trailed down her chin and soaked her satin.

The hallway was now filled with chatter as the girls returned, their buckets clanking together.

I wanted to scream, to do something to stop it all, but I was frozen in place, unable to move. My gaze widened, moving from the small door to Racheal and the crying birds outside the window. The awful stench of their blood, like decayed meat, threatening to suffocate me.

Rachael was turning, and the children could see her.

I wrapped the towel around Racheal's head and held her close, soothing her, and letting her feed on my conscience. For now, I'd do until I had someone to offer.

"I'll prepare a feast before I meet Father Benedict next," I said, stroking Racheal's head until she was no more.

The kids all stopped outside the door and stared. As their eyes fell on the flowerpot, they screamed, dropping their buckets and then rushing to examine the flower. When they had stared their fill, they hurriedly dressed amidst soft murmurings.

The air seemed to hang heavy, thick with dread, as if the whole world were holding its breath. My knees buckled to the ground as my hands clutched the bed's edge with my ears thumping.

A figure stood behind me, stretching something. I turned to meet Dera, all dressed for dinner, holding out my towel.

She smiled, and I smiled back, wondering if I should offer her. I couldn't. I didn't know her well enough. Rachel only took those who meant a lot.

I took the towel and turned to Stephanie. She'd forgotten but I'll make her remember, as much she could and then I'd free her of her misery. She'd always wanted that but had been too scared to admit it.

Dera skipped out of the room, granting me peace. Slowly, I crawled to Stephanie's bedside and gently brushed her hair to her side.

She was almost at ease.

Her eyes flickered open, the solemn glint clashing with mine. Hers as steady as what I'd imagine a place outside this confinement, mine a darker hell.

Her lips parted but before she could recite her snarky words, I wrapped the towel around my body and hurried to the bathhouse, gripping my bucket to my side.

The sun had stretched past the convent, leaving it in a goldish-brown hue.

I stretched my neck to the sky, etching to look past the woven cotton that hardly ever had a bright spot. I wondered if, maybe the cottons above would be a mix of white and blue hues. Like those in my memories.

The bathhouse was quiet but even being in here couldn't stop the eyes that watched me.

A boy was hidden in the tree that curved atop the exposed bathhouse's rooftop. Every day without stopping, he'd watch me scrub, memorizing the curves of my body. When he'd meet with Father Benedict, he too would see as he took the pictures. And the boy would receive his punishment during confession.

Stephanie was sitting at the bed edge, seemingly cradling back and forth until I dropped my bucket by the door.

She paused, glanced at me then resumed.

"We're having a cleansing," she said, an unusual amusement lingering in her voice.

The reverend would storm the hostels with several sisters. He'd stride as quietly as a ghost with a thurible in hand whilst the sisters sang a hymn in accordance.

It was sung in an old tongue. Latin.

Stephanie would then take short breaths, fearing the intoxicating smoke from the thurible would suffocate her.

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.