I woke to the soft creak of the cathedral doors and the muffled hum of morning prayers. The candles flickered, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls. My small fingers clutched the thin blanket wrapped around me, shivering—not from the cold, but from the memory that still clawed at the edges of my mind.
"Adra…" Mother's voice whispered from the doorway, soft and trembling.
I turned, blinking at the bright morning light spilling through the stained-glass windows. She looked pale, thinner than usual, her eyes hollow but filled with something I couldn't name.
"Good morning, my little shadow," she said, kneeling beside me. Her fingers brushed my hair back. "Did you sleep well?"
I nodded silently, too afraid to speak. I never knew what words to use around her anymore—words were fragile, easily broken, like the lives we lived.
The cathedral smelled of wet stone and burning candles. The hum of the organ began—a low, mournful note vibrating through my chest. I gritted my teeth, trying to drown it out.
"Adra, come with me. Breakfast," Sister Beatrix's voice cut through the air, sharp as a whip. The nun's shadow loomed over me, her face stern under the pale sunlight.
I shuffled forward, dragging my feet along the cold floor. Mother's hand lingered on my shoulder before letting go. A pang of fear and abandonment pricked at my heart—but I didn't cry. Crying had never helped. Not when he left. Not when she cried silently at night. Not when the nuns whispered prayers over my tiny bed.
"Sit," Sister Beatrix commanded, pointing to a wooden bench. The other children—small faces etched with the same quiet terror—watched me. I sat, keeping my head low. I hated that I had to live here, under the shadow of the cathedral, away from the world I never really knew.
"Eat quickly," she snapped. Her hand smacked the table with a thud, making my fork clatter.
I picked at the bread and thin porridge, trying to ignore the hollow ache in my stomach. I could hear whispers behind me.
"Did you hear? Her father… he ran away the day she was born."
"Yeah. Her mother's been struggling since. Poor kid."
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks but forced myself to look down. I hated their pity. I hated the way people whispered about what I couldn't change.
"Enough chatter!" Sister Beatrix barked, slamming her palm on the table. The sound echoed through the hall, making the children jump. Even I flinched.
After breakfast, Mother came closer again, whispering in my ear. "Adra, I… I can't stay much longer today. Promise me you'll be good. Promise you'll listen."
Her eyes shimmered with tears she didn't dare let fall. I wanted to hug her, to stop the tremble in her hands, but something told me I shouldn't. Not here. Not now. I nodded quickly.
"I'll be good, Mama." My voice cracked.
She kissed my forehead. "I love you, Adra. Always."
Then she was gone, slipping through the cathedral doors, leaving me with the hollow echo of her footsteps and the cold stone beneath my palms.
Brother Thomas approached, his steps quiet against the flagstone floor. "Adra, come help me in the garden," he said softly. Unlike Sister Beatrix, his voice felt like a warm breeze in winter, gentle but full of weight.
I followed him outside, my small shoes crunching against the gravel. The air smelled of wet soil and herbs, a sharp contrast to the heavy incense inside. The garden was a small patch of green surrounded by the gray walls of the cathedral.
"Why does everyone whisper about me?" I asked, my voice low. The words barely left my lips.
He looked at me, eyes calm and steady. "Because people are afraid of what they don't understand," he said. "And some are just cruel."
"But… why did my father leave?" The question tore from me before I could stop it.
He swallowed, looking away. "Some people… they can't face what life gives them. Some leave, thinking it's easier." His words didn't make it easier. They made it worse.
A sudden clang rang from inside the cathedral—the sound of metal striking stone—and both of us jumped. I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, a boy from the other side of the garden was pointing at me, smirking.
"Hey, orphan! Your daddy ran away, remember?" he jeered.
My hands balled into fists. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream. I wanted the world to stop being so fucking cruel.
Brother Thomas stepped between us, voice firm. "Enough! She is under my care now. Go back!"
The boy sneered but obeyed, stomping away with a thump of his boots. I felt my chest heaving, rage and fear tangled inside me.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. The moonlight spilled through the window, painting silver streaks across the floor. The whispers of the other children crept through the walls, but I didn't hear them. I was thinking about Mother. About the father who never came back. About the life I had been thrown into without asking.
"Adra…" A soft voice broke through my thoughts. Sister Beatrix had entered, her shadow stretching long across the room.
I tensed. "What?"
She didn't answer immediately. She crouched, close to my level. "Listen carefully, child. You must never let anyone see your fear. Never. Fear… it will be the thing that kills you first."
I swallowed hard. I nodded.
"And…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost conspiratorial. "The world outside… it's not kind. Not for little girls like you."
I wanted to ask her what she meant, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I just nodded again, feeling the weight of the cathedral press against my ribs.
A distant crash rang from the bell tower, startling me. The bell swung wildly, even though it was the middle of the night. Wind howled through the open window, scattering loose papers across the floor.
Something was coming. I didn't know what. But I felt it.
Sister Beatrix stood, her silhouette looming like a shadowed sentinel. "Sleep now, Adra. And remember… nothing is ever as safe as it seems."
The words echoed as she left, and I pulled the thin blanket tighter around me. The wind rattled the window frame, and the cathedral groaned as if in warning. My heart pounded. Something—someone—was out there, and I had no idea what was coming next.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to run. But I stayed still, listening to the sound of my own pulse, waiting for whatever would find its way to me in the darkness.
The night stretched on. The shadows deepened. And in the silence, I knew my life was about to change forever.
To be continued…