Chapter One
The cloister was never meant for chaos.
But that night, it trembled with it.
Sisters in black habits darted through the stone corridors, their whispers sharp as knives, their prayers drowned beneath the screams echoing from the birthing chamber. The moon hung low and full, casting a pale, ghostly light through the stained-glass windows of the ancient church. Shadows danced across the cold stone floor, and the air was thick with incense, sweat, and fear.
In the heart of the convent, a woman writhed in agony. Her cries tore through the silence like a blade. She was a sister one of their own. And she was in labor.
An abomination.
A nun bearing a child was a scandal. But to allow her to remain within the sacred walls and give birth? That was heresy.
Most of the sisters stood back, their faces pale, their hands clasped in prayer or perhaps in judgment. They whispered of sin, of divine punishment, of shame. Only a few dared to help, their trembling hands soaked in blood and desperation as they tried to ease the suffering of the woman who had broken their sacred vows.
Still, the child would not come.
“SOMEONE FETCH SISTER MARILYN!” the Mother Superior bellowed, her voice cracking with urgency and something else fear.
Sister Yessica didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran, her footsteps echoing down the long, candlelit hallway. She knew the way to Marilyn’s chambers by heart. Everyone did. But no one dared approach them after dusk.
She reached the heavy oak door and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again. Harder. Again. Again.
Still nothing.
Her knuckles throbbed, her breath came in ragged gasps. She pressed her forehead to the door, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Please,” she whispered. “She’s going to die.”
She slid to the floor, her back against the cold stone wall. Was this God’s punishment? For the sister’s sin? For their silence? But what of the child? What sin had it committed?
Only one person knew the truth. Only one had heard the confession.
Sister Marilyn.
Bound by sacred oath, she had said nothing. Not to the Mother Superior. Not to the council. Not even to Yessica, who had once trusted her more than anyone.
And now, when they needed her most, she remained locked away.
Yessica clenched her fists. “Please,” she sobbed. “I’ll do anything. I swear it. Just help her. I’ll be loyal to you until the end.”
Silence.
Then movement.
The door creaked open.
Yessica scrambled to her feet, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her habit. Her eyes met Marilyn’s and froze.
“Y-your eyes…” she stammered.
They weren’t the soft hazel she remembered. They glowed faintly, unnaturally like embers in the dark.
Marilyn said nothing. She stepped forward, her presence calm, commanding, otherworldly.
“Sleep,” she whispered.
Yessica’s knees buckled. The world tilted. Darkness swallowed her whole.
And then nothing.
When she awoke, the sun was rising, casting golden light through the cloister’s high windows. The air was still. Too still.
She stumbled to her feet and ran to the birthing chamber.
The door stood ajar.
Inside, the sisters stood in stunned silence. The woman who had screamed through the night now lay peacefully, a newborn swaddled in her arms. The child’s eyes were open wide, unblinking, and glowing faintly gold.
Marilyn was gone.
No one spoke of what happened that night. Not ever. The cloister returned to its rhythm of prayer and penance. But Yessica knew.
Whatever had come through that door wasn’t just a sister.
And whatever had been born that night… wasn’t just a child.
