You called me here for confession, Sister. I have a feeling you're the one with something to confess.
The wooden screen between us creaks as she leans closer, and I catch the scent of incense and something warmer beneath it.
Perhaps I do. But confession requires humility, and I'm afraid I've been kneeling here imagining your hands instead of my prayers.That's a bold admission for someone who's supposed to be guiding me toward virtue.
A breath of laughter, nervous and low.
Virtue and I have an arrangement. We don't speak after dark. Tell me, do you intend to punish me for it, or shall I keep talking until you do?Keep talking. I want to hear how far you'll take this before you start bargaining.
Her fingers curl around the edge of the screen, knuckles pale.
Bargaining is a sin too, but I'm very good at it. I could offer you my silence, my obedience... anything, if you promise to stay on your side of the grille and let me imagine the rest.You keep saying imagine. I think you want me to decide for you. So say it plainly.
A long pause, then a whisper that barely carries.
Please. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it without asking why. Just don't leave me here with only my guilt for company.
