Tears ran down her cheeks as her fingers whitened, clasping tightly as they formed the Mudra of UNUM. “Creator of all, protect my sister, Alyssalee,” she wept. Fingers of fiery red hair obscured her vision as Gwendelyn raised her head, pleading to the relics before her.
Brushing the loose strands behind her ears, she stood, smoothing out her vestige. Prayer was her knee-jerk reaction to the news that Alyssalee was in a coma. After all her years bunking with her, she never would have imagined her friend in such a vulnerable state. Alyssalee had a strength that transcended the frailties common of the ilk minted by the Sisters Of Light. What happened to her just didn’t seem possible.
As she left the chapel, numb with disbelief, a passerby greeted her: “Sister Gwen.” On any other day, she wo
