Chapter 9
The Unholy Trinity
The air in the chapel felt thick, heavy with the scent of old incense and something else, something sharp and metallic that prickled Elara’s nose. It wasn’t the comforting aroma of the herbs she gathered for her poultices, but a scent that spoke of things broken and left to fester. She stood near the back, her heart thrumming like a trapped bird against her ribs. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth that usually flowed from her fingertips when she healed. Here, in the heart of the Sisters of Perpetual Sorrow, her gift felt muted, a tiny ember struggling against a chilling wind.
Before her, the Mother Superior, her face obscured by the stark white mask, stood at the altar. Beside her, two other nuns, their masks equally blank and unreadable, flanked her. They were not the same nuns Elara had seen tending the sparse gardens or scrubbing the cold stone floors. These two carried an aura of grim purpose, their postures rigid, their silence more profound than the usual hushed reverence of the convent. Elara recognized the unsettling stillness of those who had been chosen for a specific, solemn task. The Unholy Trinity, the Mother Superior had called them, her voice a dry rustle of parchment.
Sister Agnes stood a little apart, near the shadowed archway leading out of the chapel. Elara’s gaze found her, a silent question passing between them. Agnes’s mask, like all the others, was a smooth, impassive white, yet Elara thought she saw a flicker of something in the way Agnes’s shoulders were held, a slight tension that wasn’t present in the other masked figures. It was a fragile connection, a shared secret in a place where secrets were hoarded like precious jewels, only to be used for dark purposes.
Keep reading "The Unholy Trinity"
Open the same story in AIBookCraft. Later chapters may require an active subscription.
Free on iOS & Android · No signup to read