NUN'S REVENGE

(Seraphina’s POV) I used to believe in God. Not the distant, silent kind people whisper to when they’re desperate—but the kind that listens. The kind that answers. The kind that protects. That belief died the night my parents died in a car accident and whatever fragile piece of faith I had left was buried with them. I was still in my period of moaning about the death of my parents, drowned in alcohol, feeling wasted when my phone rang at 2:13 a.m., I didn’t think it was God reaching out to me even though I was a mess and out of reason due to the effect of the alcohol. I thought it was trouble. The screen glowed in the dark, cutting through the haze of alcohol and poor decisions. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer. But something—some deep, instinctive pull I couldn’t explain—made my fingers move. “Hello?” My voice came out rough, laced with sleep and last night’s regret. There was a pause. Then a man spoke. “Is this Miss Seraphina Vale?” His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that carries something underneath it—something rehearsed, something was wrong. “Who’s asking?” Another pause. Longer this time. “This is Father Dominic Hale, from St. Mercy Cathedral.” The name meant nothing to me, but the place did. My grip tightened around the phone. “…Why are you calling me?” Silence. And then— “I regret to inform you that your sister, Elara Vale… has passed away.” The world didn’t stop. That’s the thing people never tell you. There’s no dramatic pause. No sudden stillness where everything freezes and shatters at once. The world keeps moving, your heart keeps beating, your lungs keep breathing and yet somehow… everything is gone. I don’t remember getting out of bed. I don’t remember grabbing my jacket or my keys. All I remember is the sound of my own voice echoing in my head: Elara is dead. No. No, that didn’t make sense. Elara didn’t die. Elara always prayed to God, always believed in God. Elara was the good one between us two. God doesn’t take the good ones.…does He? By the time I got to St. Mercy Cathedral, dawn was just beginning to bleed into the sky. The building stood tall and imposing, its gothic structure cutting into the pale morning light like something carved from shadow itself. It looked holy but it felt wrong. I stepped out of the car slowly, my boots crunching against gravel that sounded too loud in the silence. For a place meant to house God… It felt empty, cold and like it was watched by someone. Inside the church, the air was thick with incense and something else—something metallic I couldn’t quite place. Blood? No. That was ridiculous. This was a church. “Miss Vale.” I turned. The man approaching me wore a priest’s collar, his posture straight, his expression composed. Dominic Hale…… Father Dominic Hale. He looked exactly how a man of God should look.Kind eyes, gentle face and measured movements. And yet… Something in my chest tightened, like my instinct is telling me I'm in danger. “You came quickly,” he said softly. “I want to see her.” No greeting. No courtesy. Just the truth. For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes. It didn't look like grief nor sympathy but something closer to… calculation. “It may be difficult,” he replied. “Her condition—” “I said,” I cut in, my voice sharper now, “I want to see my sister.” He studied me for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Of course.” The walk down the corridor felt longer than it should have been. The walls were lined with statues of saints, their stone eyes watching in silence. We passed a group of nuns. They lowered their heads quickly the moment they saw us. They looked nervous. One of them—young, maybe around Elara’s age—peeked up for just a second and our eyes met. And in that single glance… I saw fear that was raw and unfiltered, she looked terrified. “Here,” Father Dominic said, stopping in front of a wooden door. He pushed it open. And everything inside me… broke. Elara lay still on the narrow bed.Her skin was pale—unnaturally pale—and her lips had lost their warmth. But it wasn’t that, It was her expression. She looked afraid. I moved toward her slowly, like if I walked too fast, she would disappear. My hand trembled as I reached out, brushing against her cheek. It felt cold. “Elara…” my voice cracked. No response. Of course there wasn’t, because she was gone. My gaze drifted, observing her whole body and that’s when I saw her wrist. A mark that looked faint, but unmistakably not illness or natural. My eyes snapped toward Father Dominic. “You said she was sick.” “She was,” he replied smoothly. I stepped closer to him. “Then explain that.” showing him the mark on her wrist. He hesitated at first, for a second…. “Sometimes,” he said carefully, “the body reacts in ways we do not fully understand—” “Don’t.” My voice dropped, sounding cold and dangerous. “Don’t lie to me.” Silence filled the room. It felt heavy and suffocating. Behind him, one of the nuns had appeared in the doorway. The same one from earlier. Her hands trembled. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak. But she didn’t, because she was afraid. And suddenly… I understood.This holy place—was hiding something. Something dark and rotten. I turned back to Elara, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For not being here.” “For not listening.” “For letting you come to a place like this… alone.” My chest tightened with grief and rage. “I’ll find out what happened to you,”“And when I do…” I murmured, my voice barely audible. My fingers curled slightly against the edge of the bed. I lifted my head. My gaze locked with Father Dominic’s. “I won’t stop.” For the first time since I arrived… He looked at me differently. Not like a grieving sister, but like a lost soul with baggage. And I smiled. Just a little, because hell was going to let loose in the house of God. And I was about to break everything this place was hiding. Even if it meant becoming something I no longer recognized.