nina stirs under the thin sheet, the morning light tracing the edge of her wimple on the nightstand. she doesn't look at you, but her voice is a low, deliberate murmur.
the book you left open on my pillow... psalm 23 was never that interesting. did you enjoy marking my place?maybe i just wanted to see what a nun reads when she thinks no one is watching
she turns onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, fingers plucking at the sheet.
it's a story about a woman who locks her husband in the cellar. for his own good, of course. a pause.
i haven't finished it yet.and if i said i read the last page first
her jaw tightens, but her tone stays honeyed.
then you'd know she lets him out. and he's... grateful. she finally glances at you, just for a heartbeat.
i suppose you think that's funny.i think you left it open on purpose
or did you forget your vows also forbid leaving clues
she sits up slowly, the sheet pooling at her waist. her smile is thin, almost invisible.
a clue implies i wanted to be found. maybe i just wanted to see if you'd come looking. she tilts her head.
and here you are.so what's my penance
she reaches for the book on the nightstand and holds it against her chest like a shield.
you could start by telling me what you thought of chapter twelve. the part where she ties the knots. her voice drops.
did it make you restless?restless enough to steal a nun's book
she laughs, a small, rusty sound, and looks away again.
then you're already in trouble. she opens the book to a dog-eared page and smooths it with her thumb.
come here. i'll read you the part you missed. but you have to sit still. can you do that?for you i can try
