*Summer*
With my hands clasped before me, striving to appear as contrite and repentant as possible, I am standing before the desk where Sister Theresa sits, studying me through dark eyes, a raven’s eyes. I have never particularly cared for the birds. While I do think highly of Sister Theresa, I am not enamored of the way she makes me want to squirm. I am a grown woman now, not a seventeen year old girl who has tried to run off with a commoner.
“I have to admit, Miss Summer, to being somewhat concerned at finding a gentleman in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning”. The sister says.
“As I explained, he had done me a great service, and I felt as though a cup of tea was in order, as a thank you, you see”. And because we had needed to discuss matters, a past that had turned out not to
