Chains of Faith - Chapter 1: The Last Day

[IsabellaRose]

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the small house as Lena sat on the porch, watching her little sister chase fireflies in the yard. The warmth of the evening was deceptive, almost comforting, but it couldn’t touch the knot of dread tightening in her chest. Tomorrow, she would be gone. Tomorrow, the Divine State would take her to the cloister.

“Got one!” her sister, Livia, squealed, cupping her hands around a glowing insect before letting it flutter away. She spun around, her blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight, her face lit with pure delight.

Lena smiled despite herself. Sixteen years old, and tomorrow she’d be dragged into a world where joy like that didn’t exist. The weight of it pressed down on her, but Livia was still too young to understand, too innocent to realize what it meant. She was only twelve, with a few more years of freedom before the Divine State took her too.

“You’re getting slow, Liv,” Lena teased, trying to keep her tone light, though her voice wavered. “Maybe you should practice more. You might catch one if you tried harder.”

Livia puffed out her chest, hands on her hips. “You think you’re faster than me? Just wait, Lena. You’ll see! I’m going to catch the biggest, brightest one ever. You’ll be jealous.” She darted after another firefly, her laughter ringing out across the yard.

Lena’s smile faded as she watched her sister run, the sunset painting her golden. Livia was everything pure and sweet in the world—everything Lena wanted to protect. The thought of leaving her behind, of not being able to see her grow up, twisted something inside her. But there was no stopping it. No changing the path laid out for her.

“Dinner’s ready, girls,” her mother’s voice called from the doorway. Mira stood there, her thin figure framed in the fading light. Her brown hair, streaked with early grays, was tied back in a loose braid, her eyes soft but distant. “Come on in.”

Lena stood, brushing the dirt off her dress, and called to her sister. “Let’s go, Liv. Before you catch cold.”

“Coming!” Livia bounded back toward the house, her energy contagious. She grabbed Lena’s hand as they walked inside, her grip warm and tight. “I wish you didn’t have to go tomorrow,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lena’s heart ached. “I know, Liv. I know.”

The kitchen was small but cozy, the wooden table set for dinner. Her father, Damon, sat at the head of the table, his dark eyes quietly watching as Lena and Livia entered. He offered them a tight-lipped smile, the same one he always wore when he had no words left to give. His broad shoulders seemed smaller than they had before, as if the weight of the world had bent him. He nodded at Lena, his way of showing love without saying it.

“Sit, sit,” Mira said, her voice too cheery, too bright for what tomorrow held. She set a bowl of stew on the table, her hands trembling slightly as she ladled portions into each bowl. Lena caught the flicker of worry in her mother’s eyes, the lines on her face more pronounced than usual. Mira was pretending, just like the rest of them, trying to hold it all together for one more night.

Lena sat beside Livia, her sister’s leg bouncing against hers under the table. Across from her, Damon cleared his throat.

“So, Lena,” he began, his voice deep and careful, “tomorrow... tomorrow will be a big day.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll make us proud. I know it.”

“Right.” Lena forced a smile, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair. “Proud.”

The silence stretched, awkward and heavy. Mira set a plate of bread on the table, her hands shaking now, though she tried to hide it. Lena’s eyes met her mother’s, and for a moment, everything unsaid passed between them. The fear. The worry. The knowledge of what lay ahead in the cloister.

Her mother quickly looked away, busying herself with arranging the dishes.

Livia, ever oblivious to the tension in the air, dug into her stew with gusto. “I bet Lena’s going to be the best at everything. I bet the cloister’s going to be so boring without me, though.” She grinned at Lena, her mouth half-full. “Right?”

Lena’s chest tightened, but she nodded. “Yeah, Liv. It’s going to be so boring without you.”

Mira finally sat down, folding her hands in her lap. “They’ll take good care of you, Lena,” she said, her voice thin. “You’ll... you’ll learn so much.”

Lena nodded, unable to speak. She couldn’t ask her mother what she wanted to—What will happen to me? What did they do to the other girls?—because she already knew. Her mother’s silence was the answer. The cloister wasn’t a place for learning. It was a place for breaking.

Damon cleared his throat again, filling the uncomfortable silence with more hollow words. “You’ll be fine. Just... just follow the rules, Lena. Keep your head down. Do what they ask.”

Lena felt her stomach churn. Her father meant well. He always did. But his acceptance of the system, his quiet submission, was something she couldn’t understand. Why couldn’t he fight it? Why couldn’t he stop it? He loved them, she knew that much, but his love wasn’t enough to save her from what was coming.

“I’ll try, Dad,” she murmured, her gaze falling to her untouched bowl.

Livia kicked her lightly under the table. “When you come back, I’m going to show you how many fireflies I can catch. And then I’m going to teach you how to run faster.”

Lena chuckled softly, pulling herself from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume her. “Deal,” she said, ruffling Livia’s hair. “But don’t be too good. I still need to be faster than you.”

“You wish!” Livia giggled, and for a moment, the tension lifted, the weight of tomorrow fading into the background.

But as dinner ended, and the night crept in, the house grew quiet again. The laughter died, and the reality of what was coming settled in like a fog.

Later, in the quiet of their shared bedroom, Lena sat on her bed, staring at the packed bag at her feet. It held only the basics—nothing personal, nothing that reminded her of home. Just the uniform, the shoes, the notebook she would use to copy down the teachings they’d force on her.

Livia lay beside her, curled under the blanket, already half-asleep. But even in sleep, her small hand clung to Lena’s, as if trying to keep her here just a little longer.

“I’ll miss you,” Livia whispered, her voice drowsy.

“I’ll miss you too, Liv,” Lena whispered back, her throat tight. She didn’t know if she’d ever see her again—not really. Not as the Lena she was now.

Tomorrow, she would be taken. Tomorrow, the cloister would begin its work.

But tonight, she was still here, with her family, pretending everything would be okay.

Lena squeezed her sister’s hand tighter, willing the night to last just a little longer.

 

[IsabellaRose]

Chapter 2: Departure

The grass was still damp from last night’s rain, and the soles of Lena’s shoes sunk slightly into the earth with each step. The sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky, casting long shadows over the fields and the woods behind her father’s property. She walked slowly, letting her fingers trail over the tall blades of grass, savoring the last moments of solitude. The air smelled of damp soil and pine, and for a fleeting moment, she could almost pretend everything was the way it had always been.

She wandered deeper into the backyard, where the woods bordered the property, remembering the games she’d played with her sisters when they were younger. Amara, her older sister, had always been the brave one. She had been the first to venture into the woods alone, daring Lena and Livia to follow her into the shadowy depths. They had spent hours chasing each other through the trees, imagining themselves as explorers of uncharted lands.

Amara had been taken five years ago, on a day much like this one. Lena had watched from the porch as the Custodian arrived, his looming figure stepping out of a black vehicle with the insignia of the Divine State emblazoned on the side. Amara had tried to look calm, brave even, but Lena had seen the fear in her eyes when the Custodian placed his hand on her back, guiding her into the vehicle that would take her to the cloister. Lena remembered the way their father had stood silently, hands clenched at his sides, and how their mother had wiped her tears discreetly with her apron.

Now it was Lena’s turn. Tomorrow it would be her, and in a few short years, Livia would follow.

She turned back toward the house, her heart heavy. There were so many memories here, etched into every tree and every stone. The thought of leaving it behind felt like a final severing from the life she had always known. But there was no escape, no way out. The only thing left was to face what was coming with as much dignity as she could muster.

Lena was still lost in her thoughts when her mother’s voice called from the house. “Lena, it’s time.”

Her breath caught. The Custodian had arrived.

As she walked toward the house, her pace slowed. On the front porch, Livia stood chatting excitedly with a man Lena had never seen before but recognized instantly. The Custodian of Purity. He was dressed in the dark, formal attire of the Divine State, his tall frame leaning down toward Livia with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice was smooth, too smooth, as he complimented her sister on how bright and full of life she was. It made Lena’s skin crawl.

“Ah, Lena,” her father said, his voice strained as he stood beside the man, one hand resting protectively on the porch railing. Damon’s face was tight, his eyes fixed on the Custodian with a mixture of resignation and discomfort. Her mother stood nearby, wringing her hands, her gaze downcast.

The Custodian turned as Lena approached, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of charm and something darker. “There she is. The young woman of the hour.”

Lena’s stomach tightened as his gaze swept over her, but she kept her expression neutral. She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Custodian.”

He smiled, though the gesture didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. “Such obedience already. You’ve raised her well,” he said, casting a glance at her parents. “It’s always a relief when a family is truly devout.”

Damon shifted uncomfortably, and Lena noticed the subtle way her father’s shoulders tensed at the Custodian’s words. “We do our best to honor the Divine State,” Damon said quietly.

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” the Custodian replied, his tone deceptively friendly. He turned his attention back to Lena, stepping closer. “Now, Lena. Before we take you to the cloister, let’s see how well you’ve learned the tenets of the faith. After all, we wouldn’t want you going unprepared, would we?”

Lena met his gaze, her heart pounding but her face composed. She knew this game. Her parents had prepared her for this exact moment.

The Custodian’s smile widened. “Tell me, Lena, what is the First Tenet of Obedience?”

Lena didn’t hesitate. “To serve with humility, and to obey without question. A woman’s duty is to honor her family and the Divine State through her actions.”

The Custodian raised an eyebrow. “Good. And the Third Tenet of Obedience?”

“To submit to the will of her husband, and through him, to the will of the Divine.”

He nodded approvingly. “Very good.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “And what does the scripture say about pride?”

Lena’s pulse quickened. She knew where this was going. The Custodian wanted to see if she would falter, if she would reveal any hint of pride in herself, an easy trap for girls who thought they were clever. But Lena kept her voice steady, her answer rehearsed.

“Pride in oneself is a sin,” she said, her voice even. “But pride in one’s service to the Divine and to men is a virtue.”

The Custodian’s smile faltered, just for a moment, before it returned, broader than before. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “You’re sharp, I’ll give you that. But be careful, Lena. Pride and hubris are dangerous things for a girl like you. There’s a fine line between being obedient and being… difficult. You wouldn’t want to cross that line.”

Lena held her ground, forcing herself to meet his gaze without flinching. “I understand, Custodian.”

His smile turned predatory, but he nodded. “Good. Then you should have no trouble at the cloister. Keep that sharp mind of yours focused on where it belongs—serving the Divine.”

Lena felt a rush of defiance welling up inside her, but she swallowed it down. Now was not the time. She would play their game, for now.

“Shall we go?” the Custodian asked, turning to her parents. Damon gave a stiff nod, while Mira’s eyes remained on the floor, her hands twisting together nervously.

Lena’s heart ached as she glanced at them one last time. Her father, resigned and powerless. Her mother, quietly broken. And Livia, blissfully unaware of the world Lena was about to enter.

The Custodian gestured toward the vehicle, parked ominously at the end of the driveway. Lena squared her shoulders and stepped forward, keeping her chin high. She would not let them see her fear.

As she approached the car, the Custodian opened the door for her, but there was no comfort in the gesture. It was a reminder of the control he held over her. Lena hesitated for just a moment before climbing into the back seat.

The Custodian followed, sitting in the front, but turning to face her, his eyes watching her every move. Lena focused on keeping her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, projecting an air of composure that she didn’t feel.

“Graceful,” the Custodian mused, his voice low. “That’s what the Spiritual Mothers will like about you. Grace under pressure.” His eyes flicked over her again, lingering in ways that made her skin crawl. “But we’ll see how long that lasts.”

Lena met his gaze evenly, refusing to let him see the unease his words stirred inside her. She would not give him the satisfaction.

As the vehicle pulled away, her childhood home growing smaller in the rearview mirror, Lena kept her eyes forward, her expression calm. But beneath the surface, her mind raced. This was only the beginning.

And she would not let them break her.

[IsabellaRose]

Chapter 3: The Cloister

The vehicle rumbled along the winding road, its engine humming against the eerie quiet of the countryside. Lena stared out the window, watching the landscape change as they drove further away from her family’s home, and closer to the cloister. The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, casting long, foreboding shadows across the fields and hills. The air felt different here—thick, oppressive, as if the very atmosphere knew what awaited.

The road narrowed, flanked by tall, dark trees that seemed to close in around them. The Custodian had said little since they left, but Lena could feel his eyes on her, the weight of his gaze following her every subtle movement. She kept her face composed, her body still, but inside, her nerves were fraying.

As they continued, the road became rougher, the trees giving way to barren stretches of land with nothing but low, rocky hills in the distance. And then, ahead, she saw it.

The cloister.

At first, it looked like nothing more than a cluster of dull, gray buildings nestled in a valley, but as they drew closer, the true nature of the place became clearer. The outer walls loomed large, dark stone towering above the road, crowned with jagged iron spikes that curved inward like claws. The entrance was a heavy gate made of reinforced steel, with a solitary guard post on either side. Behind the walls, Lena could just make out the tops of squat, windowless buildings that seemed to stretch endlessly across the landscape.

It wasn’t a school. It wasn’t even close.

It was a prison.

The approach to the cloister was deliberately isolating. The road curved so tightly that the tall trees behind them disappeared from view, leaving nothing but the looming wall ahead. Lena swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. The entire design of the place was meant to intimidate, to remind anyone who arrived that this was a place of confinement. A place you didn’t leave until they let you.

The Custodian glanced back at her, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Quite something, isn’t it? The cloister was built with one purpose in mind—to ensure that the next generation of women knows its place.” He paused, savoring his words. “To break down what’s unruly and shape it into something... useful.”

The road leveled out as they approached the gate. Two guards, clad in dark uniforms, stepped forward from the guard posts, rifles slung over their shoulders. They moved in sync, their expressions cold and unreadable as they performed their checks. One of them approached the window of the vehicle, briefly nodding to the Custodian before peering inside. His eyes flicked over Lena, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“New one?” he asked, his voice flat.

The Custodian gave a slow nod. “Lena. From a devout family, though she’ll need some... work.”

The guard gave a grunt of acknowledgment, then waved them through.

The gate creaked open, revealing the interior of the cloister. As the car rolled forward, Lena’s stomach tightened at the sight before her. Inside the walls, the space was vast but utterly barren. A series of rectangular, gray concrete buildings were arranged in perfect rows, each identical to the next. The only windows she could see were high up, narrow slits more reminiscent of prison cells than rooms. The grounds were empty, save for a few groups of girls being led between buildings, their heads bowed, their footsteps silent. The entire place was wrapped in an oppressive stillness, broken only by the distant sound of the wind against the stone walls.

They passed by what looked like a central courtyard, but it wasn’t the kind of courtyard one might expect from a place of learning. There were no trees, no grass, no benches. Just cracked concrete and rows of what appeared to be stations—tall wooden frames with ropes hanging down, and platforms that looked too much like gallows. Lena shivered, realizing that they weren’t gallows—they were punishment racks.

The vehicle came to a stop in front of the largest building, the main entrance to the cloister. A single wooden door, reinforced with iron, stood at the top of a short flight of stairs. There were no windows on the lower level, just cold, impenetrable stone.

The Custodian turned to her, his smile thin and satisfied. “Welcome to the cloister, Lena. This will be your home for the next two years. I trust you’ll learn quickly what’s expected of you here. The Spiritual Mothers are... thorough in their teachings.”

Lena’s heart raced as she climbed out of the car. The cold wind stung her skin, and the silence of the place pressed down on her like a weight. She could hear the echo of her footsteps as she walked up the steps, her legs trembling beneath her.

As she reached the door, one of the guards opened it, and a wave of cold, sterile air rushed out. Inside, the hallway was dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The walls were bare, save for the occasional portrait of the Divine State’s leaders, their eyes hollow and severe. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant, but beneath it, there was something else—a scent Lena couldn’t place but knew instinctively was wrong. The smell of fear. Of desperation.

A woman stood at the end of the hall, dressed in the formal robes of the Spiritual Mothers. Her expression was stern, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her sharp eyes flicked over Lena, then turned to the Custodian.

“Is this the new one?” she asked, her voice as cold as the air around them.

The Custodian nodded. “Yes, Mother Elara. Lena Hartwell. She comes from a devout family, but she’s... spirited. I suspect you’ll find her a challenge.”

Mother Elara’s lips thinned into something resembling a smile. “We enjoy challenges here. Don’t we, girls?”

Lena’s eyes darted toward the darkened corridors, where she caught glimpses of other girls in identical gray uniforms, their faces blank, their movements mechanical. They didn’t speak. They didn’t look at her. They were shadows, remnants of whatever they had once been.

Lena’s stomach twisted as she realized what awaited her here. They didn’t just break girls down. They erased them.

“Come along, Lena,” Mother Elara said, her tone final. “Your training begins now.”

Lena squared her shoulders, keeping her head high as she followed the woman deeper into the cloister. Behind her, she could hear the Custodian chuckling softly to himself, his footsteps echoing as he left.

The door slammed shut, sealing her inside.

[IsabellaRose]

As Lena stepped further into the cold, dimly lit hallway of the cloister, Mother Elara turned to her, her sharp eyes locking onto Lena like a hawk eyeing its prey. The air in the corridor was stifling, not from heat but from the oppressive weight of authority that clung to every inch of the stone walls. Lena held her breath, bracing herself for what was coming.

Mother Elara’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked Lena up and down, her expression one of grim judgment. “So,” she began, her voice as cold and sharp as the stone floor beneath them. “The Custodian believes you need work. I must admit, I find it curious.”

Lena swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly, though she kept them at her sides, trying to appear as composed as possible. Mother Elara stepped closer, her eyes narrowing.

“Tell me, Lena,” Mother Elara continued, her voice thick with disdain, “what could you have done to make the Custodian believe you were anything less than the most humble and obedient young woman? How could you have offended him?”

Lena opened her mouth to respond, but Mother Elara cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“Don't answer,” she hissed. “It hardly matters now. What matters is that from this moment on, any offense you may have given, any hint of arrogance or disobedience, will be purged from you. Thoroughly.”

Her voice grew more pointed, and Lena could tell that this was no ordinary conversation. This was a speech, one well-rehearsed and likely given to every girl who crossed these iron gates. But that didn't make it any less terrifying.

“You have come to the cloister,” Mother Elara continued, pacing slowly in front of her, “to be shaped into the woman you are supposed to be. You will learn obedience. You will learn to serve, to perform any task that is asked of you with grace and humility. You will do this because you must, because you were born for this purpose.”

She stopped in front of Lena, her face just inches from Lena’s, her breath cold against Lena’s skin. “And I will make you into the most obedient young woman that has ever come out of this cloister. You will not leave here until you are perfected in your role.”

Mother Elara’s eyes blazed with an unsettling intensity, her voice taking on a low, almost menacing tone. “You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not think unless you are told to think. Your every action, your every breath, will be in service to the Divine State. You will live for obedience.”

She straightened, folding her hands in front of her. “By the time you leave here, you will not know the taste of pride, or the temptation of defiance. You will serve, because that is all you will know.”

Lena's heart pounded in her chest. Mother Elara's presence was suffocating, and the words seeped into her bones, heavy with the promise of pain and punishment if she dared stray from the path laid out for her. The truth of this place—its purpose to break her, to bend her into something she was not—sank in fully. But Lena could not flinch, could not show fear. Not now.

Mother Elara tilted her head slightly, watching her like a vulture circling its prey. “Do you understand, Lena?”

“Yes, Mother,” Lena answered, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. She would survive this. She had to.

“Good,” Mother Elara said with a slow, satisfied nod. “Because if you fail, I promise you—there are consequences here far worse than you could ever imagine.”

With that, Mother Elara turned on her heel, her robes swishing around her as she walked down the hall, leaving Lena standing in the cold, dim corridor, the weight of her words pressing down like a leaden shroud.

[IsabellaRose]

The hallway was cold and dimly lit, the air thick with silence. Lena stood alone, her heart pounding from the encounter with Mother Elara, every word echoing in her mind. She was still trying to calm her racing thoughts when she heard footsteps approaching.

Two women, both clad in the same gray uniforms as the other girls she had seen, appeared at the end of the hall. Their expressions were cold, their movements deliberate as they walked toward her with matching sneers. Lena swallowed hard, instinctively straightening her posture, trying to steel herself against whatever came next.

One of them, taller with dark hair pulled tight into a severe bun, spoke first. “Come with us,” she said, her voice flat and unwelcoming.

Lena hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “I—I'm Lena,” she began, trying to introduce herself, hoping for some small semblance of humanity.

The second woman, shorter but with an equally harsh expression, laughed bitterly. “We know who you are. But your name doesn't matter here.” She looked Lena up and down, her lip curling in disdain. “You are nothing now. Remember that.”

The taller woman smirked. “And keep quiet. We don’t need to hear your thoughts. Your opinions are irrelevant. The less you speak, the better it’ll be for you.”

Lena's stomach twisted. She fell silent, keeping her eyes downcast as they led her down the corridor. The weight of their words, the coldness in their voices, made her feel smaller than ever. But it wasn’t just their words—it was the way they moved, the way they towered over her, as if she was already beneath them.

As they walked, the shorter woman suddenly turned to the other and smirked. “You know,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern, “she’s pretty enough. If she falters, I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent her to the service centers.”

Lena’s blood ran cold. The taller woman chuckled, clearly enjoying the fear that flickered across Lena’s face. “Oh, definitely. The men there would have a field day with her. The new ones always do.”

They spoke as if Lena weren’t standing right between them, as if she were invisible.

“And you know what they say about the service centers,” the shorter one continued, her voice lowering but still loud enough for Lena to hear. “Once you're sent there, you're never really the same. They break you faster than the cloister ever could.”

The taller one laughed softly. “Or worse. They use you until there’s nothing left to break.”

Lena's throat tightened, the fear clawing at her insides. She knew they were trying to scare her—of course they were—but the truth in their words hung heavy in the air. The service centers were a place every girl feared, a fate worse than anything she could imagine. Stories whispered in the dark, about how girls sent there were treated like property, used in ways too horrifying to speak of, and when they were broken, they were discarded like trash.

The thought of being sent there, of becoming that, sent a wave of nausea through her.

The shorter woman glanced at her, her eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “You’re scared, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice almost playful. “You should be. One wrong step, one little mistake, and you’ll find out just how bad it can get.”

Lena kept her eyes forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. But inside, terror gnawed at her, her body trembling with every step.

Finally, they reached the door to her room—a plain, wooden door with no markings, no sign that it was hers. The taller woman opened it with a creak, gesturing for Lena to step inside.

“Get comfortable,” she said, her voice dripping with mock kindness. “You’ll be here a long time. If you’re lucky.”

The two of them shared a final smirk before closing the door behind her, leaving Lena alone in the small, bare room. The walls seemed to close in on her, the weight of their words pressing down on her chest. She sank to the floor, her heart pounding in her ears.

She could still hear their laughter echoing in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the terror they had planted in her heart.

The service center loomed in her thoughts—a place she could never allow herself to end up. A fate worse than death.

And she knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that they would use every opportunity to push her there if she slipped.

[IsabellaRose]

The door closed behind her with a dull thud, leaving Lena standing in the middle of her new "room." It was more like a cell—a small, cold space with bare stone walls that seemed to absorb any trace of warmth. The air was still, oppressive. The single bed was pushed against the wall, a narrow thing with thin, scratchy sheets. Next to it stood a small nightstand with a simple lamp, the only source of light beyond the dim, flickering ceiling bulb.

Across from the bed, an empty armoire loomed, its doors slightly ajar as if waiting for her to fill it with belongings she didn’t have. The only thing in the room that truly belonged to her now was the plain gray nightgown folded neatly on the bed. It was long-sleeved, ankle-length, designed for modesty above all else. A prison uniform for the life she was about to enter.

Lena stood still for a moment, letting the weight of the room, of the entire cloister, press down on her. The cold seeped into her bones, but it wasn’t the chill in the air that made her shiver. It was the emptiness. The isolation. The sense that she had been cut off from everything she had known, from everyone she loved.

Her parents were far away now. Livia’s bright laughter was nothing but a distant memory. And Mother Elara’s words, along with the cruel taunts of the two other girls, echoed in her mind.

"You’ll learn obedience… You will not leave until you are perfected in your role."

"You’re pretty enough… They’ll use you until there’s nothing left to break."

Lena's stomach twisted as she ran her fingers along the rough edges of the nightgown, her mind spinning with fear and uncertainty. She had to be strong. She had to survive. But how? The threats of punishment, of being sent to the service centers, loomed like dark clouds, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, she changed into the nightgown, folding her clothes and placing them on the armoire’s empty shelf. She slipped under the thin sheets, curling up tightly, trying to make herself small as the darkness of the room enveloped her. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the occasional distant creak of the cloister settling, or the shuffle of feet down the hall. Every sound made her heart race, every noise filled her with dread that someone might come to her door.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but sleep didn’t come easily. When it did, it came in jagged pieces, pulling her into nightmares more vivid than anything she could imagine.

In her dream, Lena was in the central courtyard of the cloister, strapped to the punishment rack, the rough ropes digging into her wrists and ankles. The cold wind bit into her skin, and overhead, a storm gathered, dark and threatening. She struggled against the restraints, but no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t move. She could feel eyes on her, watching, waiting.

Then she heard Mother Elara’s voice, cold and detached, like an executioner reading a sentence. "This is where disobedience leads, Lena. This is what happens to girls who think they know better."

A shadow loomed over her, and Lena looked up to see the leering faces of the two girls who had escorted her to her room. They smirked down at her, their expressions filled with cruel satisfaction.

“She’s pretty enough,” one of them whispered, her voice echoing in the cold air. “Pretty enough for the service centers.”

The scene shifted, and suddenly Lena was no longer in the cloister courtyard. She was in a dark, crowded room, surrounded by men. They were everywhere, pressing in on her, their hands grasping at her clothes, ripping them away, stripping her bare. Lena tried to scream, but no sound came. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t obey. The men’s hands were on her, touching her, pulling her apart.

The air was thick with their jeers, their laughter, as they circled her like predators. Faces blurred together, their expressions twisted with desire. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless. They wanted her, all of them, for things that only a wife and husband should share. But here, in this nightmare, Lena was nothing more than an object—something to be taken, something to be used.

One of the men leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "This is what happens to pretty girls who fail."

Lena’s chest heaved as she struggled, desperate to escape, desperate to wake up. But the nightmare held her in its grip, dragging her deeper into the horror. She felt herself breaking, splintering into pieces, as the faceless men closed in around her.

She woke with a gasp, her body drenched in cold sweat, her heart hammering in her chest. The room was silent again, dark and oppressive. She could feel the rough fabric of the nightgown clinging to her skin, could hear the faint hum of the lamp beside her bed.

But the terror of the dream lingered. She could still feel their hands on her, the jeers, the laughter, the feeling of being stripped bare and powerless. Lena pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now. Not here.

But as she lay back down, curling up under the thin sheets, she couldn’t shake the thought that the nightmare was only a taste of what was to come. If she faltered, if she failed, the service centers would be waiting.

[IsabellaRose]

Chapter 4 In the Cloisters

Lena's first day began in a blur of cold, early morning light and the sharp sound of the cloister’s bell echoing through the stone halls. There was no time to linger in bed, no moment to collect herself after the restless, nightmare-filled sleep of the night before. The second the bell rang, the door to her small, cell-like room swung open, and one of the Spiritual Mothers stepped in without a word, gesturing for her to rise.

Her day started with chores—endless, menial tasks that left her hands raw and her back aching. The first job was cleaning. She was handed a bucket of water and a rag and ordered to scrub the cold stone floors of the corridor outside her room. The floors were already clean, but Lena scrubbed them with as much effort as she could, knowing that to falter would mean punishment. Mother Elara passed by several times, watching her with a look of cool indifference.

“Harder,” she snapped at one point, her voice slicing through the silence like a whip. “You call that scrubbing? Useless.”

Lena bit her lip and kept her head down, pushing harder, feeling the rough stone beneath her rag and the ache building in her arms. Every movement felt heavy, weighed down by the tension of knowing she was being watched, judged.

When breakfast finally came, it was meager—a bowl of gruel so bland that it might as well have been paste. The meal hall was silent, the long tables lined with other girls, but they were too far away to recognize. No one made eye contact. No one spoke. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint clatter of spoons against bowls. The gruel was barely enough to keep the hunger at bay, and it sat like a stone in Lena’s stomach as she quickly ate and returned to her chores.

The rest of the day followed the same pattern: cooking, preparing meals for others, though nothing was given to her beyond what was allowed. Laundry, her hands submerged in freezing water as she scrubbed fabric until her fingers went numb. All of it was punctuated by mandatory prayer and penitence sessions, where they were reminded over and over that they were there to learn obedience and to serve the Divine State.

Each task was a reminder that she was no longer in control of her life. Everything was dictated to her. There was no room for error, no space for individuality.

Lunch was no better—a flavorless stew made of limp vegetables and beans. She ate quickly, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest that came with the silence of the meal hall. The other girls worked alongside her, but there was no connection, no shared words of comfort or camaraderie. They were like ghosts, passing each other in the halls, silent and obedient.

Mother Elara was the only one who spoke to her directly, her sharp voice cutting through the day like a reminder of how far Lena had fallen from her old life.

“Faster, Lena. You’re not at home now, are you?” Mother Elara’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction when Lena fumbled with the laundry. “Do you think this is good enough? Useless. If you can’t even manage this, what good are you?”

At one point, when Lena managed to fold a stack of linens quickly and without error, Mother Elara paused, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Hmm. Maybe you’re not utterly useless,” she muttered, barely loud enough for Lena to hear. It was the only thing resembling praise that she received all day.

Dinner came, and it was no more satisfying than the other meals. Beans and rice with a piece of flatbread, eaten in the same enforced silence as before. By then, her muscles ached, and her stomach twisted with hunger that the small portions did little to ease.

The day dragged on, each moment blending into the next, each task an exercise in endurance. Lena’s thoughts were consumed by a single goal—survival. Just get through today. Don’t draw attention. Don’t make a mistake. Don’t give them a reason to punish you.

As the evening wore on and she was finally allowed to return to her room, Lena’s body felt heavy with exhaustion. Her mind, however, was anything but quiet. Mother Elara’s words echoed in her head, along with the memory of the two girls who had escorted her the night before. The service centers loomed large in her thoughts, a dark shadow over everything she did.

Her future in the cloister was uncertain, but the one thing Lena knew for sure was that she couldn’t let herself break. She wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

Not yet.

[IsabellaRose]

The weeks blurred together in a haze of repetition. Each morning began the same, with the echoing clang of the cloister’s bell waking Lena in the dim light before dawn. The cold stone floors, the bucket of water, the endless scrubbing, cooking, and laundry filled her days. It was the same mind-numbing routine, day in and day out, punctuated by the forced prayers and Mother Elara’s sharp, ever-watchful gaze.

But something had shifted inside her, and she hated herself for it.

As the days passed, Lena found herself growing more adept at the chores. She learned to scrub the floors to perfection, to fold the linens in perfect, even stacks. The tasks became second nature, her hands moving automatically, even when her mind screamed at her to resist. She thought about Livia, about her parents, and about the life she used to have. But those thoughts grew quieter, buried beneath the overwhelming monotony of her new life.

And then there was Mother Elara.

At first, Lena had tried to block out the woman’s harsh words, the constant criticisms. But as she grew more competent at the chores, something unexpected happened. The rare, fleeting moments of praise—like “maybe you’re not utterly useless”—began to affect her. When Mother Elara passed by and gave the smallest nod of approval, a part of Lena felt something that resembled pride. She hated it, hated that such minor praise made her feel good, but she couldn’t help it.

It was exactly what Mother Elara wanted. Lena knew that. The woman wanted her to crave approval, to find satisfaction in pleasing her. And knowing that made Lena furious. But no matter how much she tried to resist, the feeling still twisted inside her. She couldn’t stop the tiny flicker of pride when a task was done well. It was infuriating, maddening, but it was there.

Weeks of this routine wore on Lena’s body and mind, but just as she thought this cycle of endless chores might never end, everything changed.

[IsabellaRose]

It was a Friday morning when Mother Elara approached her as she finished folding the last of the linens. The usual disdain in the woman’s eyes was still there, but there was something else, a sense of finality, or perhaps readiness, that Lena hadn’t seen before.

“You’ve been here almost a month,” Mother Elara said, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room. “You’ve proven that you can follow orders and perform tasks adequately.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over Lena as if assessing her once more. “You’re ready for the next stage.”

Lena’s breath caught. The next stage?

Mother Elara folded her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ll be measured and fitted for your new uniform this weekend. Monday morning, you’ll begin classes.”

Lena’s heart pounded in her chest. Classes. She had almost forgotten that the cloister wasn’t just about chores and obedience training. There were classes, meant to further mold them, to teach them the ways of obedience, service, and submission to the Divine State’s expectations. It wasn’t freedom by any stretch, but it was a shift in her routine—one that both terrified and intrigued her.

“Do not mistake this for progress, Lena,” Mother Elara warned, her eyes narrowing. “Your purpose remains the same. You will obey. You will learn. And if you think for one second that this means you’ve achieved anything worth celebrating, you are sorely mistaken.”

Lena swallowed hard, keeping her expression neutral. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust herself not to reveal the small flicker of hope that had sparked inside her at the thought of something, anything, other than the endless cycle of chores.

“Do you understand?” Mother Elara’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

“Yes, Mother,” Lena replied, her voice steady.

Mother Elara gave a curt nod. “Good. Prepare yourself. The classroom is no easier than the work you’ve been doing here. You’ll need to be focused.”

With that, Mother Elara turned and left the room, leaving Lena standing there, her hands still slightly trembling.

The classroom. It was a shift, but Lena knew better than to think it would be an improvement. If anything, it might be worse. But still, it was different, and that tiny difference gave her the smallest shred of something she hadn’t felt since she’d arrived.

Lena took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She would be measured for her uniform tomorrow, and by Monday, she would begin this new stage of her life in the cloister.

And whatever it brought, she would be ready. She had to be.

[IsabellaRose]

The room where Lena was brought for her fitting was small and windowless, lit only by a single harsh overhead bulb. The air smelled faintly of mothballs and dust, and the space was dominated by racks of fabric and a large mirror positioned against the far wall. A table covered with spools of thread, measuring tapes, and fabric scissors sat in the corner, and beside it stood a woman in her thirties, voluptuous and smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes.

Lena's stomach churned the moment she stepped inside. She had known the fitting process would be uncomfortable, but nothing could have prepared her for this. The seamstress, with her perfectly coiffed hair and an air of condescending cheer, waved her over with a flick of her wrist.

"Come now, dear. Let’s get this over with," the seamstress said, her voice light and airy, as if she were discussing nothing more important than the weather.

Lena hesitated for a moment, her hands twitching at her sides. The seamstress’s smile widened, though it was more predatory than friendly.

"Don’t be shy," the woman continued, reaching for a measuring tape. "You’ve got nothing to hide."

With no other choice, Lena began to undress. Every layer she removed felt like a shield being stripped away, leaving her exposed in the cold air of the fitting room. Her heart pounded as she stood naked in front of the seamstress, every inch of her skin prickling with discomfort.

The seamstress stepped forward, her hands gentle but clinical as she began to take measurements, wrapping the tape around Lena’s chest, her waist, her hips, her thighs. Each number was called out and recorded with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times.

But it wasn’t the measuring that made Lena’s skin crawl. It was the idle comments.

"My, my," the seamstress said, her eyes flicking over Lena’s body with a mixture of appraisal and satisfaction. "Look at that waist—so small and delicate. You’ll make quite the impression, I’m sure. The sons of the Divine State members will be lining up for someone like you."

Lena felt her throat tighten, but she remained silent, staring straight ahead as the woman continued her work.

"Such a lovely shape," the seamstress continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "A womanly figure, just the way the Divine State likes it. Wide enough hips for childbearing, but not too wide, hmm? And those breasts—perfect. Just enough to be noticed, but not too much to seem... improper."

Each comment felt like a slap, though the seamstress said it all with the lightest of tones. The woman’s eyes gleamed with amusement as she measured Lena’s legs, her arms, every inch of her exposed skin.

"Oh, and that face," the seamstress added, pausing to tilt Lena’s chin up with one finger. "Pouty lips, big eyes... Beautiful. Just beautiful. I bet the boys will fight over you once you’re finished here."

Lena’s stomach churned. She felt sick, a deep nausea welling up inside her. The woman wasn’t complimenting her; she was evaluating her, like someone inspecting merchandise. Lena was nothing more than a commodity in this place, her worth determined by the measurements the seamstress so casually rattled off.

The seamstress finished her work, scribbling the last of Lena’s measurements onto her clipboard with a satisfied hum. She stepped back and gave Lena one last appraising look.

"Yes," she said, almost to herself, "you’ll do nicely. Just behave, dear, and everything will turn out fine for you."

Lena didn’t respond. She stood there, numb, her body stiff and cold in the dim light of the room. The seamstress gathered her supplies, humming to herself as if she hadn’t just reduced Lena to a collection of numbers and physical attributes.

"You can put your clothes back on," the seamstress said, waving her hand dismissively. "We’ll have your new uniform ready by Monday."

Lena dressed quickly, her fingers fumbling as she pulled her clothes back on. She could still feel the seamstress’s eyes on her, that predatory smile lurking behind every comment. As she left the fitting room, the weight of what had just happened settled heavily in her chest.

She wasn’t a person to them. She was an object. An asset to be shaped, measured, and offered up when the time came.

And she hated it.

[IsabellaRose]

The dormitory was colder than Lena had expected. Though the room was large and filled with bunk beds, the atmosphere felt just as oppressive as the small cell she had been in for the last month. She had few belongings to carry—just the plain nightgown and a small stack of folded clothes, all provided by the cloister. Her new uniform would arrive in time for her first day of classes on Monday. For now, she settled her things onto the lower bunk of a bed at the far end of the room, the thin mattress feeling just as unforgiving as her old one.

She was still getting used to the echoing sound of footsteps and whispers in the dormitory when a sudden flurry of movement drew her attention. The other girls, most of whom she had only seen in passing, rushed toward the high, narrow windows along the far wall, craning their necks to peer outside.

"What's going on?" Lena asked, more to herself than anyone else.

One of the girls looked back at her briefly, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "They're in the courtyard. The suitors."

Lena’s heart skipped a beat. She had heard about the suitors—the young men who came to inspect the girls once they were of age, choosing their potential partners for the upcoming public ball. The ball wasn’t just a dance; it was a marketplace, a spectacle where the elite men of the Divine State would negotiate dowries, finalize agreements, and claim their future wives.

Lena followed the others, curiosity and dread swirling in her chest. She reached the window and stood on tiptoe to see outside.

Below, in the courtyard, half a dozen young girls stood in a line. Their modest but carefully tailored dresses clung to their curves, the fabric designed to highlight their bodies in a way that was both subtle and deliberate. It was clear these dresses were made to display the girls like commodities, not too revealing, but enough to make it obvious what was being offered.

Across from them, lounging against the stone walls of the courtyard, were the young men. They looked relaxed, some with arms crossed, others leaning casually as they examined the girls with cold, calculating eyes. They were all dressed in fine clothing, clearly men of high status, their ages ranging from late teens to early twenties. And they were picking apart every detail of the girls in front of them.

“That one’s got good hips,” one of the men said, his voice loud enough to carry up to the dormitory windows. “She’ll bear strong sons.”

Another laughed, nodding at a girl with long, dark hair. “Look at that face. Soft. Innocent. She’ll be easy to mold.”

They talked as if the girls were cattle, measuring them by their appearance, their potential for childbearing, and nothing else. The girls in the courtyard stood still, their heads slightly bowed, as if they were trying to shrink beneath the weight of those gazes. Yet they had been taught to be proud, to show their obedience and submission to the men who would choose them.

As the men continued to make comments, the girls in the dormitory whispered excitedly amongst themselves, their faces pressed against the glass. They were envious, jealous of the girls down below, who would soon leave the cloister and move on to what they believed would be a life of joyous obedience to their husbands. The idea of being chosen, of being freed from the cloister to live a life dedicated to serving a man, seemed to fill them with anticipation.

"Do you think we’ll get to meet them at the next ball?" one of the girls murmured.

"I hope so," another replied. "Look at how handsome some of them are. And they’re all from good families. It’s what we’ve been training for."

Their voices were soft, filled with longing, as if they couldn’t wait for their turn to be lined up in the courtyard, displayed like the girls below.

Lena’s stomach twisted. The thought of being paraded in front of strangers, inspected and chosen for her body alone, filled her with dread. The men’s voices, their careless comments, and the objectification made her feel sick. She wasn’t envious. She was horrified.

She was about to step back from the window when her eyes caught sight of someone else, standing near the back of the group by the bunks.

A girl with short, dark hair and a sharp jawline stood alone, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t watching the scene outside with the same excitement or envy as the others. Instead, her eyes were narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Lena frowned, watching her. Unlike the other girls, this one didn’t seem pleased with what was happening. There was something in her posture, a tension that suggested she wasn’t buying into the idea of joyous obedience.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and the girl’s gaze flicked away, but not before Lena saw a flash of understanding. It was brief, but it was there.

Lena’s heart raced, a mix of nerves and hope swirling inside her. She had been alone for so long—too long, it felt like. Maybe, just maybe, this girl was someone who felt the same way she did. Someone who didn’t want to be part of this system, who saw through the false promises of what awaited them.

She stepped away from the window, watching the other girls chatter eagerly. But her thoughts lingered on the one girl who hadn’t joined in. Maybe she had found someone who could be more than just another obedient follower of the Divine State.

Maybe she had found an ally.

[IsabellaRose]

Lena’s new uniform, though slightly more comfortable than the scratchy gray dress she had worn during her first weeks in the cloister, did little to ease the weight of her new life. The fabric was thicker, more structured, but still plain and devoid of any color or individuality. The high collar and long sleeves made her feel more confined than before, a constant reminder of the life she was being trained for.

Her days were long, filled with a relentless schedule of tasks and lessons that left little time for her to think about anything other than obedience. The classes were designed to drill into her every expectation of her future role, and they began in the same way every day—endless rewriting of church tenets. She would sit for hours, copying passages over and over again until they were etched into her mind. The words blurred together after a while, but the purpose was clear. She would be able to recite every tenet by heart, to repeat them on command, and to live by them without question.

When she wasn’t memorizing scripture Lena’s classes focused heavily on ladylike behavior. She was drilled on how to keep her eyes downcast when speaking to a man, how to curtsy properly, and what phrases a man would use that indicated it was appropriate for her to respond.

"You speak only when invited," the instructor would say over and over, her voice a monotone as she paced the room. "A man will indicate with phrases such as 'What do you think?' or 'You may speak.' Until then, you are silent. Silent, but attentive."

Lena learned the timing of her movements—when to bow her head, how long to hold a curtsy, and how to respond with a soft voice and perfect deference. The training was endless, and the weight of each lesson pressed down on her.

Her other classes were no better. She was taught to sew, knit, and cross-stitch, her fingers working through intricate patterns that were meant to perfect her skills in domestic life. The needle pricked her fingers more times than she could count, and yet the instructors demanded perfection. Mistakes were unacceptable.

She was also taught to cook—learning how to prepare meals that were nourishing but plain, designed to be humble offerings to those she would serve. Her daily chores shifted to include more time in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, while still maintaining her duties of cleaning. Each task was mechanical, done without thought, and the monotony of the work was endless.

Her daily schedule left her with almost no time to herself. From the moment the bell rang in the early morning until late at night, Lena was shuffled from one task to the next. There was no space for reflection, no time to breathe. It was constant obedience, constant work, all designed to strip away any sense of individuality or resistance. She was being molded, shaped into something she could barely recognize.

And yet, in the back of her mind, that flicker of resistance remained. It was buried deep, but it was there—quiet, waiting. Lena knew she couldn’t let it go out, even if she had to hide it behind her carefully trained demeanor. She still remembered the other girl in the dormitory, the one who hadn’t looked as eager as the others, the one whose eyes had shown the same unease Lena felt.

But for now, there was no time to dwell on that. Her every movement, every thought, was controlled by the relentless schedule of the cloister. And all she could do was survive.

[IsabellaRose]

It was during a break between classes, while Lena was waiting in line for her next chore, that she finally had a chance to speak to the other girl—the one who had seemed so different from the rest.

They were in the laundry room, folding linens in silence, with the overseer momentarily distracted by another group of students. Lena stole a glance at the girl beside her. Her short, dark hair framed her face in sharp angles, and her eyes remained focused on the task in front of her, but there was a tension in her expression that Lena recognized all too well.

Summoning her courage, Lena whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “Do you hate it here too?”

The girl didn’t look up at first, continuing to fold the sheet in her hands. For a moment, Lena thought she had overstepped, that the girl would ignore her or worse—report her. But then, slowly, the girl’s lips curved into a small, sardonic smile.

“Is that a trick question?” she whispered back, her voice just as low.

Lena felt a small rush of relief, though she kept her expression neutral, her hands moving automatically as she folded the linens. “It feels like it sometimes,” she replied.

The girl finally glanced at her, just for a brief second, her dark eyes flashing with something that looked like understanding. “You get used to it,” she muttered, though the bitterness in her voice made it clear that “getting used to it” wasn’t the same as accepting it.

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Lena said quietly, her heart pounding as the overseer’s gaze swept past them. She quickly bent her head, pretending to concentrate on the linens, but she could still feel the other girl’s presence beside her.

“Neither do I,” the girl admitted, her voice barely audible.

There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by the sound of the linens being folded and the distant murmur of the other girls. Then, just as quickly as the conversation had begun, the overseer returned to the room, her sharp eyes scanning the line of students.

The girl straightened immediately, her expression returning to the blank mask she had worn before. Lena did the same, heart racing, but something had shifted. She had spoken to someone who understood, if only for a brief moment.

And that moment was enough to spark something inside her that had nearly gone cold.

[IsabellaRose]

The days that followed were much like all the others—endless hours spent on the same tasks, moving through the motions of folding, cleaning, sewing, and memorizing the church tenets until they blurred together. The routine was relentless, designed to keep the girls in a constant state of obedience and submission. But for Lena, there was now a small flicker of something that helped her endure the monotony.

One day, while standing in line during a meal break, Lena caught sight of the girl again. Their paths had crossed only in brief moments since their last whispered conversation, but this time, Lena flashed a quick, small smile in her direction. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The girl’s lips twitched in response, her eyes glinting with a flicker of acknowledgment before they both turned their attention back to their meals.

For the next few days, they exchanged only brief glances—never enough to draw attention, but enough to remind Lena that she wasn’t entirely alone. Then, finally, another chance to speak came.

They were alone again in the laundry room, folding linens as usual. The overseer was present but preoccupied, distracted by a few other girls struggling with their tasks. Lena and the girl worked quietly side by side, their hands moving in sync, until Lena dared to whisper once more.

“How long have you been here?” Lena asked, keeping her eyes focused on her work.

The girl’s hands didn’t falter as she responded in a low voice, “Too long. Over a year now.”

Lena's heart sank at the thought of spending that much time in the cloister. “Has it always been this…?”

“Mind-numbing?” the girl finished for her, a hint of dry humor in her voice. “Yes.”

Lena hesitated for a moment, glancing at the other girls before continuing. “Do you have a name?”

The girl smiled faintly, the first genuine expression Lena had seen from her since their first conversation. “I’m Silvia.”

“Lena,” she whispered back, relieved to finally know her name.

Silvia’s eyes flicked toward the overseer, then back to Lena. “We have to be careful,” she warned. “Talking like this... it’s dangerous. They’ll use it against us if they find out.”

Lena nodded, feeling the weight of Silvia’s words. But despite the risk, the small exchanges between them had become the one thing that made the cloister bearable.

And Lena wasn’t willing to let that go.

[IsabellaRose]

Over the next few weeks, Lena and Silvia began to find subtle ways to connect amidst the oppressive routine of the cloister. Their conversations were brief, whispered during moments when they were out of earshot of the overseers, but those fleeting exchanges became the highlights of Lena’s days.

They shared small gestures, like quick smiles when they passed each other in the hallways or a nod of acknowledgment across the room during mealtime. Sometimes, while folding laundry or sweeping floors, their hands would brush for just a moment, a silent reminder that they were not entirely alone in this place.

Lena found herself looking forward to those moments. The drudgery of the tasks, the endless recitations of church tenets, and the monotonous lessons on ladylike behavior all became a little more bearable knowing that Silvia understood. It was a quiet rebellion, hidden beneath the surface, but it was enough to keep Lena’s spirit from being completely crushed.

Though they couldn’t speak freely, those small, shared moments gave Lena a sense of hope she hadn’t felt since arriving at the cloister. And for now, that hope was enough.

[IsabellaRose]

The surprise inspection came without warning. The bell rang out sharply, breaking the routine of the day, and the girls were gathered quickly into the central hall. Lena’s heart pounded in her chest as she lined up with the others, her hands trembling at her sides. She glanced at Silvia, who stood a few feet away, her face pale but expressionless.

Neither of them had been expecting this. No one had. The inspections were rare, but when they happened, they were thorough—and terrifying.

The Inspectors entered the hall in a slow, deliberate procession, their eyes scanning the rows of girls with sharp, predatory focus. They were dressed in the dark, austere uniforms of the Divine State, their faces hard and unreadable. Behind them trailed Mother Elara and the other Spiritual Mothers, watching closely as the Inspectors began their work.

Lena’s pulse quickened, panic rising in her throat. She knew she had to appear calm, obedient—just another student going through the motions. But the fear that gripped her was suffocating. She couldn’t help but feel that the Inspectors would see right through her. They would somehow know about the brief conversations, the shared glances with Silvia, the small acts of rebellion she had kept hidden beneath the surface.

As the Inspectors moved through the rows, Lena noticed that they weren’t just inspecting the girls’ uniforms or their posture. They were watching for something deeper. Their eyes lingered on those who seemed most uneasy, who shifted their weight nervously or glanced away too quickly.

Silvia stood stiffly, her eyes trained on the ground, but Lena could see the tension in her body. She knew Silvia was feeling the same fear—the fear that somehow, the Inspectors would sense their resistance, their dissatisfaction with the cloister’s demands.

One of the Inspectors, a tall man with graying hair and a cold, calculating gaze, stopped directly in front of Silvia. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, studying her with unsettling intensity.

“You seem nervous,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Is there something you’re hiding?”

Silvia swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “No, sir,” she replied, her voice steady, though Lena could hear the strain beneath it.

The Inspector circled her slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. “Are you sure? You know, we can always tell when someone has... doubts.”

Silvia’s eyes flicked up for the briefest moment, and the Inspector caught it immediately. He smirked, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t want to be marked as a troublemaker, would you?”

Silvia shook her head, her jaw tight. “No, sir.”

Lena’s heart raced as she watched, fear gnawing at her insides. She tried to keep her breathing steady, tried to stand perfectly still, but the tension in the room was unbearable. And then, before she could prepare herself, another Inspector, a woman with sharp features and an icy expression, stopped in front of Lena.

“And you,” the woman said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Why do you look so frightened?”

Lena’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words. The woman’s gaze bore into her, unyielding and suspicious.

“Are you hiding something, girl?” the Inspector demanded. “Something we should know?”

Lena’s mind raced, panic swelling inside her. She forced herself to take a breath, to answer before the silence gave her away. “No, ma’am,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The Inspector leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? We find out everything here. There are no secrets in the cloister.”

Lena shook her head quickly, desperately. “No, ma’am.”

The woman studied her for a moment longer before finally stepping back, her expression hard and unreadable. “Keep it that way.”

As the Inspectors continued down the line, Lena and Silvia remained frozen, the weight of the encounter pressing down on them. They had made it through—for now. But the fear still clung to them, a reminder that in the cloister, nothing stayed hidden for long.

Lena’s heart pounded in her chest, and though she didn’t dare look at Silvia, she knew they both understood the same thing: this was a warning.

[IsabellaRose]

The hours dragged on as one by one, the girls were called into the small, dimly lit room where the Inspectors waited. Lena stood with the others, her heart racing as she watched each girl return, pale and shaken, from their interviews. Every time a name was called, the tension in the room grew thicker, the fear palpable.

When Silvia was called, Lena felt a jolt of panic. She couldn’t help but glance in her direction, but Silvia’s face remained unreadable. She disappeared behind the door, and for what felt like an eternity, Lena waited, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. When Silvia returned, her face was tight with tension, but she gave no indication of what had happened inside.

Finally, Lena heard her name.

Her stomach clenched as she stepped forward, her legs trembling beneath her as she approached the door. The weight of the room felt oppressive, pressing down on her as she turned the handle and walked inside.

The interview room was small, the walls bare and cold. A single table stood in the center of the room, with two Inspectors seated behind it. The tall, graying man from earlier leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp and unyielding, while the woman with the icy expression watched Lena like a predator waiting for its prey.

“Sit,” the man ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

Lena obeyed, sitting down meekly in the chair across from them. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her eyes downcast, trying to appear as submissive and obedient as possible.

The woman leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “Lena Hartwell, correct?” she asked, her voice cold and clipped.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lena replied softly.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the man asked, his tone deceptively casual.

Lena swallowed hard. “For... an interview, sir.”

The woman smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “This is more than just an interview, Lena. We’re here to determine your loyalty. To see if you are truly obedient to the Divine State.”

Lena nodded, her throat tight. She knew they were looking for any sign of rebellion, any crack in her facade. She had to be careful—every word, every expression, could be used against her.

The man leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You seemed nervous earlier, Lena. Is there something you’re hiding? Some... doubts you might have about your place here?”

Lena shook her head quickly, her voice trembling as she spoke. “No, sir. I—I don’t have any doubts.”

The woman’s smile widened, though it only made her seem more menacing. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t want to lie to us, would you? Lying is a sin, after all.”

Lena’s hands trembled in her lap. “I’m not lying, ma’am,” she whispered. “I’m obedient. I follow the rules.”

The man exchanged a glance with the woman before speaking again, his voice low and dangerous. “You see, Lena, we’ve been watching you. And we’ve noticed that you seem... different. Not as eager, not as obedient as the others. Why is that?”

Panic surged through Lena’s veins, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I—I don’t know what you mean, sir. I do everything I’m asked.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Is that so? Then why do you look so frightened? Surely, a good, obedient girl like you has nothing to fear.”

Lena’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. “I... I just want to do well, ma’am,” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

The Inspectors exchanged another glance, and for a moment, Lena thought they might believe her. But then the man leaned back in his chair, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice dark with promise.

They continued to grill her, their questions cutting deeper, trying to unravel her carefully constructed facade. They pushed, probing for any sign of weakness, any hint of defiance. But Lena kept her head down, her answers short and soft, doing her best to give them nothing.

After what felt like an eternity, the interview finally ended.

“You can go,” the woman said dismissively, her tone sharp. “But remember, Lena—we’re watching you.”

Lena stood slowly, her legs shaking as she left the room. The door closed behind her, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The inspection wasn’t over, but she had made it through.

For now.

[IsabellaRose]

As the interviews dragged on, the tension in the room grew unbearable. The girls waited in silence, some clutching their hands tightly in their laps, others standing rigidly as they listened to the faint murmurs from the interview chamber. Lena’s heart was still racing from her own interrogation, but she kept her head down, trying to blend into the background.

Suddenly, the doors to the interview chamber swung open with a loud bang, and a girl Lena recognized was dragged out by two Inspectors. Her face was streaked with tears, and she was shaking uncontrollably, her sobs echoing through the hall.

“I’m obedient!” the girl screamed, her voice hoarse with desperation. “I was just nervous! I’m not rebellious, I swear! Please!”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. One of the Inspectors quickly gagged her, silencing her cries, while the other bound her wrists behind her back. They forced her to the floor, where she writhed and kicked, her eyes wild with terror.

The other girls looked on in horror, but no one dared move. No one dared speak. The room was filled with the sound of the girl’s muffled sobs and the dull thud of her body hitting the cold stone floor. Eventually, her struggles slowed, her energy draining away, and she lay still, quietly weeping.

Lena’s stomach churned as she watched. The girl couldn’t have been more than seventeen—barely older than Lena herself.

Whispers began to spread among the girls, soft and hurried, as they exchanged frightened glances.

"They say she’s a traitor," one girl murmured under her breath, her voice trembling. "Her pride was in herself, not in her duties."

"She’s being sent to the service centers," another whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

The words hit Lena like a punch to the gut. The service centers. It was the one fate worse than anything else, a place where disobedient girls were sent to be used and broken. The thought of that happening to someone so young, so desperate to prove her obedience, made Lena feel sick.

She glanced at Silvia, who stood a few paces away, her face as pale as Lena’s own. Their eyes met briefly, and though neither of them spoke, Lena knew they were both thinking the same thing.

The Inspectors were ruthless. And it didn’t matter how obedient you claimed to be. One slip, one sign of nervousness or fear, and you could be marked as a traitor. Sent to the service centers, where there was no coming back.

Lena swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She had made it through the interview, but the fear still clung to her like a second skin.

The girl’s sobs continued to echo in the hall, a haunting reminder of how fragile their place in the cloister truly was.

[IsabellaRose]

The atmosphere in the cloister grew even more oppressive after the first rounds of inspections. Every day, Lena could feel the weight of fear settling over the girls like a heavy blanket. The punishments were swift and brutal, and none of the girls were spared. The Inspectors seemed to relish their authority, issuing humiliating punishments that ranged from forcing the girls to stand in degrading positions for hours, to verbal and psychological attacks meant to strip away their dignity.

The punishments served one purpose: to remind the girls of their complete submission to the Divine State, to break their spirits and make them compliant. Physical pain was meted out with cold precision, from lashes on the palms for minor infractions to harsher methods for perceived acts of rebellion. But worse still were the psychological games—mockery, public shaming, and isolation. The Inspectors humiliated the girls in front of their peers, stripping them of their last shreds of self-worth.

When the punishments were complete, the Mothers would tend to the girls, treating their wounds, physical and emotional, before sending them back to the dorms. But the rules were clear: no one was to speak to the punished girls. No one was to offer support or kindness. They were isolated, left alone in their shame and pain, while the others were forced to watch from a distance.

For Lena, the punishment came one evening during the inspections. She had slipped up—too much fear in her eyes, too much hesitation in her voice when questioned. The Inspectors had noticed. She was dragged to the front of the room, her body trembling as they humiliated her, their words cutting deep. They forced her to kneel in front of the other girls for hours, berating her for her lack of obedience, for her weakness. When it was finally over, her legs were shaking, and the pain in her knees was unbearable.

She was sent back to her dorm, forbidden from speaking to anyone. Her head throbbed, and her body ached from the ordeal. She lay in her bunk, feeling hollow and broken, staring up at the ceiling as the darkness closed in around her.

But then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

It was Silvia.

Lena turned, her eyes wide with surprise. Silvia’s face was tense, her eyes filled with concern. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room to make sure no one was watching. Then, with a quick movement, she pulled Lena into a hug, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat, and for a brief moment, the weight of her punishment lifted. She clung to Silvia, grateful for the small act of kindness in a place that offered none.

But the moment didn’t last.

One of the other girls, standing near the door, caught sight of them. Without hesitation, she marched toward the Mothers, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. Lena’s heart sank as she realized what was happening.

Silvia was turned in.

It didn’t take long for the Mothers to arrive. They dragged Silvia away, and Lena could only watch in horror as her friend was led out of the dorm, her face pale and resigned.

The other girl, the one who had reported Silvia, smiled slightly, satisfied with herself for earning favor with the Mothers. It was a betrayal, one driven by fear and the desperate need to survive in a system that rewarded obedience and punished compassion.

Lena lay back down, her heart heavy with guilt and anger. She had wanted to protect Silvia, to keep her from facing the same punishment she had just endured. But now, because of her, Silvia was about to face something far worse.

And in the darkness of the dorm, Lena realized just how little control she had over her own fate in the cloister.

[IsabellaRose]

When Silvia returned to the dorm that night, her clothes were soaked through, and her skin was pale from the cold. She moved slowly, her body stiff from holding the humiliating posture of compliance for hours on end in the rain. Her face was expressionless, her eyes distant, as if she had retreated deep within herself to survive the ordeal.

Lena watched her from her bunk, her heart aching with guilt and helplessness. Silvia’s punishment had been brutal—standing out in the courtyard for hours, her body frozen in place, exposed to the elements while the Inspectors ensured she didn’t waver. It was a punishment designed to break her spirit, to remind her of her place.

Lena wanted to get up, to go to her, to offer her the same comfort Silvia had given her only hours before. But the fear of punishment held her in place, her body frozen as if weighed down by the very rules of the cloister. She couldn’t risk it. Another act of kindness would only lead to further punishment for both of them.

Instead, Lena stared at Silvia, willing her feelings to be conveyed through her gaze. She hoped that in her eyes, Silvia would see the apology, the understanding, the silent promise that she wasn’t alone.

Silvia, shivering slightly, sat on the edge of her bunk, her head bowed, water dripping from her hair. For a brief moment, she glanced up, meeting Lena’s eyes across the room. There was no smile, no acknowledgment—just the faintest flicker of recognition, as if she understood without needing words.

Lena stayed where she was, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, feeling the weight of her failure to protect her friend. But in this place, survival often meant silence, and in that silence, they were forced to find whatever comfort they could in stolen glances and shared understanding.

Silvia lay down in her bunk, her back turned to the room. The dorm was quiet, the only sound the soft drip of water from her soaked clothes hitting the floor.

And Lena, lying in her own bed, could only hope that her eyes had spoken what her voice could not.

[IsabellaRose]

Later that week, Lena found herself in the kitchen, quietly preparing vegetables for one of the simple meals they were assigned to cook. The kitchen was busy with activity, but the silence remained oppressive, just like everywhere else in the cloister. The clinking of knives and the soft shuffle of feet on the cold stone floor were the only sounds that broke the quiet.

Across from her, Silvia worked, her movements slower than usual after the punishment she had endured. Her face was still pale, her eyes tired, but there was a resilience there that Lena recognized. She hadn’t been broken—not yet.

For a moment, the overseer stepped out of the kitchen, her absence offering the girls a rare opportunity to speak. Lena glanced at Silvia, catching her eye. Without saying a word, she slipped her hand under the edge of the table, her heart pounding as she reached for Silvia.

Silvia hesitated only briefly before her hand met Lena’s, their fingers intertwining in a way that felt both natural and desperate. The warmth of Silvia’s hand was a quiet comfort, a small act of rebellion in a place designed to strip them of any sense of connection.

The brief touch between them felt like more than just the holding of hands—it was like holding each other’s hearts, a silent acknowledgment that they weren’t alone in this nightmare. Lena squeezed Silvia’s hand gently, hoping it conveyed the emotions she couldn’t say aloud: I’m sorry. I’m here. I won’t let them take this away from us.

Silvia’s fingers tightened in response, the smallest smile flickering across her face for the first time since her punishment. It was fleeting, but it was enough.

They held on for a moment longer before the sounds of footsteps echoed down the hall, signaling the overseer’s return. Quickly, they pulled their hands apart, resuming their tasks as if nothing had happened. But the warmth of Silvia’s hand lingered, a reminder that even in a place like the cloister, friendship and resistance could survive.

And for Lena, that small act of defiance—holding Silvia’s hand—was enough to keep hope alive, even if only for a little while longer.

[IsabellaRose]

The cramped supply room was barely big enough for two people to move around without bumping into each other. Shelves filled with neatly stacked linens, boxes of cleaning supplies, and jars of food lined the walls, and a dim light overhead flickered occasionally. It was one of the many mundane tasks assigned to Lena and the other girls—a chance to keep them busy, keep them in line. Today, she had been paired with Silvia, and though they worked silently for most of the time, the tension between them had been quietly building.

The closeness, the fact that they were isolated from the others, gave the room a different atmosphere than usual. Lena found herself more aware of Silvia’s presence—how her movements brushed against her as they passed by each other, how their hands almost touched when reaching for the same item. It wasn’t physical attraction that pulled Lena in, but the connection they had shared over the last few weeks—small moments of rebellion, of trust, of quiet understanding.

As they worked, the silence between them became heavier, as if they were both waiting for something to break it. Lena’s thoughts drifted back to the punishments, the inspections, the small acts of defiance that had bonded them. She glanced at Silvia, noticing the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened as she carefully placed a box on the shelf.

After a while, Silvia broke the silence. “It’s never-ending, isn’t it?” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t look at Lena, but her words hung in the air between them.

Lena nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It feels like it’ll never stop.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet of the small room felt suffocating, but in a way, it was comforting to be alone together. They didn’t need to pretend here, didn’t need to put on the obedient mask that was required everywhere else in the cloister.

Silvia turned to face Lena, her eyes searching her face. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “All of it... the silence, the fear, the waiting.”

Lena swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. She felt the same—lost in the endless cycle of obedience and submission, waiting for the next punishment, the next demand for perfection. And yet, she didn’t have the words to ease Silvia’s fear, because she didn’t know if there was anything to say that would make it better.

As they stood there, the closeness of the room pressed down on them, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Without thinking, Silvia took a step closer. Her eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that Lena hadn’t seen before. There was something raw and vulnerable in the way she looked at her.

“Lena,” Silvia whispered, her voice soft but urgent.

Before Lena could respond, Silvia leaned in, closing the gap between them. Her lips brushed against Lena’s, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. For a moment, Lena froze, her mind racing. She wasn’t physically attracted to Silvia, but the kiss wasn’t about that. It was about the connection, the comfort, the shared struggle. And in that moment, the physical intimacy felt like something she couldn’t resist.

Lena kissed her back, letting herself sink into the warmth of the moment, even though it wasn’t about desire. It was about the need for closeness, for someone who understood, for the small rebellion they shared. The kiss was gentle, but it was filled with all the unspoken words they hadn’t been able to say.

When they finally pulled apart, Silvia’s face was flushed, her breathing unsteady. She looked at Lena, her eyes wide with something between hope and fear.

Lena didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected to feel so torn between the connection she had with Silvia and the confusion of their kiss. But in the small, quiet room, the kiss felt like a moment of escape from everything else.

They stood in silence for a long time, the weight of the kiss lingering between them.

[IsabellaRose]

Lena lay in her bunk that night, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t quiet. Sleep felt impossible, her thoughts spinning as she replayed the kiss with Silvia over and over in her head. It had been so unexpected, so intense, but now, in the darkness, all she could do was question everything she thought she knew about herself.

Was she really attracted to Silvia? The kiss had felt comforting, yes, but was it truly desire that had pulled her in, or was it something else—something born from the isolation and fear of the cloister? Silvia was the only person who had shown her any kind of warmth or care since she’d arrived. Could it simply be that? Could it be that, in a place where they were stripped of everything, even the smallest act of kindness felt like something more?

Lena’s thoughts churned. She had never imagined being with another woman before. The thought made her stomach twist, not out of revulsion, but out of confusion. She had always believed she knew who she was—what she wanted—but now, in this place, nothing felt certain anymore. Could she truly imagine being with Silvia, or was it just the circumstances pushing them together? Was this just her mind reaching for the only connection it could find in a place designed to break her?

And then there was the fear—what would happen if anyone found out? The rules of the cloister were clear, the expectations rigid. Any hint of disobedience, of deviation from the path laid out for them, would lead to punishment. She had seen what happened to girls who didn’t comply. What would they do to her if they knew about the kiss? What would happen to Silvia? The thought of the Inspectors, of Mother Elara, discovering their secret filled her with dread. They would be torn apart, isolated, punished in ways Lena couldn’t even imagine.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, gnawing at her. The kiss had been so brief, yet its impact was lasting, unraveling everything she thought she understood. Was she willing to risk everything for a connection that she wasn’t even sure was real?

The night stretched on, long and silent, and Lena lay awake, torn between her confusion, her fear, and the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—there was something more to this than the walls of the cloister would allow her to see.

[IsabellaRose]

The weeks following the kiss were a blur of quiet exchanges and fleeting glances. Silvia, emboldened by their connection, began to talk to Lena more frequently, slipping small, whispered conversations into their routine whenever she could. The risks were growing—both of them knew it—but Silvia seemed willing to push the boundaries, and Lena, despite her confusion, found herself drawn into it.

Then, Lena fell ill.

It started as a mild fever, but quickly worsened, leaving her weak and confined to the cloister’s small infirmary. The fever kept her disoriented, her body aching as she spent days in a state of fitful rest, under the watchful eyes of the Mothers. The other girls came and went, the routine of the cloister continuing as usual, but Lena remained in bed, isolated, waiting for the sickness to pass.

On the last day of her stay in the infirmary, Silvia was assigned to overnight duty—a stroke of fate that left them alone together once the last Mother Superior had gone to bed.

The room was dim, lit only by a small oil lamp on a table by the window. Lena lay beneath thin blankets, still feverish but recovering, her mind clearer now than it had been in days. Silvia moved quietly around the room, checking on the supplies and ensuring everything was in place, but there was a palpable tension in the air, the same one that had been growing between them for weeks.

Finally, after the sounds of the Mother Superior’s footsteps had faded into the silence of the night, Silvia came to sit beside Lena’s bed. Her face was soft in the low light, her expression filled with something Lena couldn’t quite read—affection, concern, maybe even longing.

“You’re feeling better,” Silvia whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

Lena nodded, her throat still sore but the fever no longer as overwhelming. “I think so,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet of the infirmary seemed to press in on them, wrapping them in a cocoon of intimacy and isolation. Silvia reached out, her hand resting gently on the edge of Lena’s blanket.

Then, without warning, Silvia leaned in and kissed her again. The kiss was soft, tender—just like before—but this time, there was something more behind it. Silvia’s touch, though chaste at first, lingered longer than before. Her fingers brushed against Lena’s arm, then slid slowly down, her hand resting on Lena’s waist.

Lena’s heart raced. She knew what Silvia wanted. It was clear in the way her touch lingered, in the way her breathing quickened slightly as their kiss deepened. There was a desire there, something more than the comforting connection they had shared before.

Silvia pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Lena’s face. The question was unspoken, but it hung heavy between them. Would Lena allow this to go further?

Lena’s mind swirled with confusion. The warmth of Silvia’s touch was comforting, but her thoughts were still a tangled mess of uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what she wanted—what any of this meant for her. Yet, Silvia’s presence was the only constant in the sea of control and fear that defined the cloister.

Silvia’s hand, still resting on Lena’s waist, squeezed gently, a wordless plea for something more.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to make sense of her emotions, torn between the physical closeness and the deep well of uncertainty she still felt. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process the moment. The closeness, the warmth—it felt good, comforting, even grounding in the midst of the confusion and chaos of the cloister. But as Silvia’s hand remained on her waist, Lena’s mind raced with doubt, fear, and guilt.

Lena gently pulled away, her breath shaky. “Silvia…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t know what to say, how to articulate the storm of emotions inside her. She wasn’t rejecting Silvia, but she couldn’t move forward either—not without understanding what it all meant for her.

Silvia froze, her hand still resting on Lena but no longer moving. Her eyes searched Lena’s face, confusion and a hint of hurt flickering in her gaze. “I’m sorry,” Silvia whispered, pulling her hand back slowly. “I just… I thought…”

Lena shook her head gently, feeling the need to reassure her. “It’s not that. I just don’t know what this is, what I’m feeling.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and the weight of the situation pressed heavily on her chest. “I’m not sure if I’m ready.”

Silvia nodded, biting her lip as she looked down. The vulnerability of the moment was clear, and she seemed to be struggling with her own emotions as well. “I didn’t mean to push you,” Silvia said softly, her voice laced with regret. “I just… I thought we both needed something, some kind of connection. This place, it strips everything away from us, and I—” She stopped, her words trailing off as if unsure how to continue.

“I do feel connected to you,” Lena admitted, her voice quiet but sincere. “But I don’t know if it’s in the way you think. I don’t know what I’m feeling. Maybe it’s just because you’re the only person here who’s been kind to me.”

Silvia looked up, her expression softening as she met Lena’s eyes. “Maybe,” she agreed, her voice barely audible. “Or maybe we’re both just scared.”

The silence between them stretched for a moment, filled with the weight of their shared uncertainty. Silvia, her hand still resting by her side, didn’t move any closer. The intensity of the moment had passed, replaced by the quiet understanding that neither of them truly knew where this was heading—or what it could mean for their friendship, or for their lives in the cloister.

“I’m sorry,” Silvia whispered again. “I won’t push you. I just… wanted to be close to someone.”

Lena nodded, understanding the need but still unsure of what to do with it. “We’ll figure this out,” she said softly, not knowing if she even believed her own words.

The room seemed colder as they sat in silence, the moment between them hanging in the air like something fragile and unspoken. Eventually, Silvia rose from the bed, her eyes lingering on Lena’s for a second longer before she turned away.

“I should get back to work,” Silvia said quietly. “You should rest.”

Lena nodded, her heart still heavy with everything left unsaid. As Silvia left the room, the door closing softly behind her, Lena lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

She felt more confused than ever.

The kiss, the touch—it had stirred something inside her, but whether it was desire or something else, she didn’t know. Was it the environment? The fear? The need for connection in a place designed to strip everything away? Or was it more than that?

Lena wasn’t sure of anything anymore, but as she closed her eyes, the warmth of Silvia’s hand still lingered on her skin, a reminder that even in the most controlled, suffocating places, emotions and desires could surface in ways she hadn’t expected.

What they meant, though, remained a question that only time—and perhaps more difficult moments with Silvia—could answer.

[IsabellaRose]

As the months passed, Lena and Silvia’s bond deepened, though it was forged in secrecy and quiet moments that they could steal away from the watchful eyes of the Mothers and Inspectors. Each shared glance, each fleeting touch, became more precious to them. They grew bolder, finding comfort and strength in their connection even as the fear of discovery loomed over them.

In the cloister, where silence and obedience reigned, their closeness felt like rebellion. A shared smile across the room during morning chores, fingers brushing against one another in the line for meals, or a quick hug when they found themselves alone in an empty corridor—all these moments felt like defiance against the rigid rules of their world.

The stolen time they spent together became a lifeline for Lena, easing the loneliness and confusion she had felt for so long. And although she was still uncertain about her feelings for Silvia, she couldn’t deny the warmth and safety she found in her presence. The connection wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, a deep sense of trust and understanding that neither of them had with anyone else.

But with each passing day, the risks they took became greater. They both knew that if they were ever caught, the consequences would be severe. Still, the bond between them was undeniable, and neither could resist the pull of their shared moments.