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It was the scream that woke her.  It pierced her dreaming with cold terror like a knife to the heart and gutted her, bolting her upright, panting.  Silence wrestled with the after echoes and it took her altogether too long to realize the sound hadn't come from her own throat.  Sister Justina Moriah leapt from her bed, snagged her scarf from its hook and was out of the room before her covers settled.  In the hallway, she was met by similarly wild eyed Sisters bustling toward the common areas.  The cold of the bare stone floor bit deeply into the soles of her feet as she restrained her hair, easily falling in with a group shuffling by, "What's going on, Sister Cathy?"

"Don't know, Moira, but it came from the inner courtyard," the elderly librarian snapped.

"Lucy," she gasped, eyes wide.  Moments later, the older Sisters were left far behind as she broke into a flat out sprint.  Seeing people on the stairs, she vaulted the railing and rolled back to her feet almost without breaking stride, garnering a skinned elbow and shouts from her elders.  Prayers were tumbling absently from her numb lips as she hurtled forward.

"Sister Lucy!" she called, turning the final corner and barely managing to close her eyes, stumbling to a stop on the rough flagstones.  Even through her eyelids the figure in the middle of the small court burned white as it turned toward her.

"Justina Moriah," the figure greeted in fond amusement rare for its voice.  Shielding her eyes under her forearm, the young nun could make out the human silhouette nested inside the blazing aura, wings of light spread wide behind it, though the sight drew painful tears.  The figure held the limp figure of a woman tightly to its chest, as though it were embracing a child.  A warm, apologetic smile overtook the being's tone, "Fear not, Cyprian Lucy is unharmed."

Tension drained from her with a sigh, bowing her head a grin broke easily across her lips, "Thank you, Verchiel."

The light dimmed, the scent of lilies lingering in the rapidly cooling night air.  Others were beginning to arrive now, two sweeping urgently past the young nun.  When Sister Moriah looked up once more the night was dark and everyone's auras were at their normal, bearable level.  The Reverend Mother Cyprian Dymphna was standing in the center of the small garden, open to the night sky, clutching the petite figure of Sister Cyprian Lucy tightly to her.  The matron's eyes were downcast, her face an oddly fond scowl, "No thanks necessary, Child.  We only reestablished the wards.  It seems Sister Lucy fended off her attacker on her own."

"Unlikely," the newly arrived Sister observed after a very preliminary once over of poor Sister Lucy.  The new Nun continued before anyone felt the need to urge her, "Sister Lucy is still in a trance."

All eyes were suddenly on the Sister in the Reverend Mother's arms.  Of course, some eyes saw more than others.  Now that the Reverend Mother's aura had retreated to its normal white phosphorous shot, shattered gold, Moira could see Lucy's bright royal/indigo blue presence with black streaming from her unseeing eyes and forcing wide her third eye like some many armed monster.  Sister Moriah couldn't stop her gasp, though her shout stuck in her throat when she locked eyes with the Reverend Mother.  That stern gaze flashed white, then turned on Sister Lucy.

"Cyprian Lucy," the angel inside the Reverend Mother gently commanded, "See clearly once more."

Instantly, the darkness seeping from Sister Lucy's eyes was burnt away and she gasped, bucking out of the Reverend Mother's grasp.  The sylph-like nun swayed precariously in the center of the courtyard as entranced eyes darted about, viewing things distant in time and/or space.

"Many.  So many," she started in a voice that quivered, spinning as though she were attempting to see everything at once.  "LORD save us.  So many.  Chunks, pieces, people.  Torn, ripped, taken.   Bloody holes, jagged tears.  Forgotten.  No... Yes.  Can't- can't see.  Why?  Many.  Many limbs, many hands.  Shadows.  Darkness.  So dark.  LORD preserve us.  So many...  Lost, searching.  In the Dark, for the Dark.  Light- There must be Light.  Can't see...  I see- see...  Me!  Father Almighty!  Shadows!  Shadows with no source, darkness from darkness.  Reaching, grasping! I- I c- can't-"

Sister Lucy choked, hyperventilating, wobbling on her tiny feet as the blackness once more started bleeding into her aura from her eyes.  Just before she appeared ready to scream and collapse to the ground, the Reverend Mother caught her once more about the waist, quickly etched the sign of the cross on the pale forehead, then placed the hand over the Seer's eyes.

"See the Truth, Cyprian Lucy," the older Nun kindly urged.

Sister Lucy managed a single deep breath, stilling, "A scream.  Fled, scared, like so much smoke.  Light, warmth, lilies-"

"No need to blind yourself via Angel," the Reverend Mother scoffed, then placed a motherly kiss on the woman's forehead that burned white as she whispered a short benediction.  Once she was finished, the Reverend Mother stepped back and Moira saw the Seer's third eye clear, then snap shut.  Sister Lucy blinked several times before her eyes actually began to focus.

The thin, delicate woman took in all the worried faces surrounding her, "Uh... Hi.  What's up?"

Several of the Sisters jumped at the chance to explain, but the Reverend Mother halted them all, narrowing a stern gaze at their resident diviner, "Sister Lucy, what exactly were you scrying for at midnight and with absolutely no wards?"

The younger Nun dropped her gaze, cheeks flushing, "You had asked me to look into some disappearances, but I had been having issues.  I thought, perhaps, I could get a clearer image with less... interference."

"While leaving yourself completely open," the Matron added in a clipped tone.

"Yes...?" Sister Lucy grimaced, "Sorry, Mother Superior.  Rookie mistake."

The Reverend Mother sighed, "Save it for confession and strive to see that it does not happen again.  Moira?"

The young Nun jumped at hearing her name, then scrambled a few steps closer, "Yes, Mother Superior?"

The older woman swept an appraising glance over Sister Moriah before seizing upon the girl's arm with an iron grip and placing her free hand over the abrasion on her elbow.  Heat and light radiated from the spot and then the sting was completely gone.  Finally, the Matron clucked her tongue, "You are indecent and bloody, Child.  Seeing Sister Lucy back to the cells so she could lay down should be no great hardship."

Moira blinked, realizing she was in fact the only one in bed clothes, and turned an interesting shade of red, "Of course, Reverend Mother."

Sister Lucy swallowed the giggle she'd let slip when the Reverend Mother's sharp gaze snapped to her.  Moira coughed to hide her own tiny grin and steered her fellow admonished Sister from the courtyard.  As they left, she heard orders being given and plans being formed.

Moira was straining to listen, but couldn't really say she was surprised when Sister Lucy started chattering in her ear, "That was weird.  Thought Dymphna was going to fry me for a second there.  Not that she would, but I haven't seen her like that since... Well, I don't know that I've ever seen her like that, you know, outside of visions.  And did you smell the lilies?  Did I miss Verchiel?"

"You don't remember?" Sister Moriah blurted in sheer shock.

Lucy quirked an eyebrow, "Not a thing.  Should I?"

"You..."  Moira paused, trying to put what happened into words, "You were caught in a vision."

That seemed to take some wind out of the Seer's sails, "Really?  Huh.  That hasn't happened in a while...  A really long while."

The Seer seemed to slip into troubled thought and Moira was more than willing to allow it.  Once they reached Sister Lucy's cell, the Seer yawned her gratitude as they parted ways.  And Sister Moriah was off like a shot.  She made directly for the Reverend Mother's office on the other side of the convent, careful to avoid the other Sisters.  When she got there, the light was on, the door slightly ajar, and people were inside.  She was about to knock when a statement froze her in place.

"...makes you believe whatever might have been after Sister Lucy is connected to the disappearances, Mother Superior?"  The voice was strange, if for no other reason than that it was very definitely male.

"The fact that she said as much may be a clue," a low female voice drawled.

"That's enough, Sister Fiacre," the Reverend Mother's dull, clipped tone advised, "Sister Lucy was looking into the situation and saw herself being taken, Father Miller."

"And the Sister is alright?" The anxiety in the Priest's voice endeared him to the young Nun lurking outside the door.

"It appears either her sudden acknowledgment of it or her scream scared off whatever came for her," a dry, clinical tone replied.

Sister Fiacre gave a low laugh, "Proving, yet again, that you can't ambush a Seer, eh, Seb?"

"It got close, though," Sister Sebastian rasped.

"That's right," The Reverend Mother agreed, voice gliding across the room, "That thing managed to come exceedingly close, and inside the convent, at that."

The Father sighed, "I can see how that may be alarming."

"It is not alarming, Father Miller," the Matron corrected sharply, "It is offensive.  This presence, this Darkness, is assaulting the city, taking those we swore to watch over, and has the audacity to reach into our very midsts, our home.  This.  This cannot- will not stand, Father Miller."

There was a pause.  Moira found herself holding her breath.  Finally, the Father spoke, "What would you have me do, Dymphna?  I've informed them of the situation."

"I would have you impress upon them the import of the issue," the Reverend Mother flatly asserted.

"They've denied dispensation of your vows until a clear threat has been established," the Priest explained, though it practically dripped with apology.

Sister Fiacre grunted, "A shadow tried to nab a Cyprian from a warded convent.  How clear does the Church require, exactly?"

"This is a legitimate threat, Father Miller," the Matron pressed, "Not to be taken lightly."

"Nor are the bindings of every Cyprian to this convent.  The Church currently does not view a handful of possibly random disappearances worthy of such drastic measures."  The Father sighed again, "I am sorry, Dymphna, but I simply need more of a case."

"Which you know, full well, I cannot make inside these walls," the Reverend Mother stated in terse understanding.

Just then a thought occurred to the little eavesdropper loitering in the hallway.  Sister Moriah barreled through the doorway and announced, "I'll go."

Silence.  Everyone in the room was staring at her and it took her a moment to remember she hadn't taken the time to wash or change.  Dymphna was scowling mildly, Sister Seb was blinking, Sister Fiacre had buried her face in her hands and the kind Father was too shocked to remember to advert his eyes.

The little Nun took a deep breath and barreled ahead before she lost the element of surprise, "I know listening at doors is wrong and I'm sorry, but I can't help feeling that I've heard what I've heard and seen what I've seen tonight for a reason.  I can help."

The Reverend Mother had her pinned under a scathingly cold glance, "No."

"Dymphna," the Priest attempted to delicately intervene.  The two other Cyprians, who had been maintaining a rather politic silence, cringed.  He either failed to notice, or chose to ignore it, "Cyprians are bond to this place, but a Justina's only binding is faith."

"Absolutely out of the question, Father Miller," the Matron pronounced crisply without sparing the man even the slightest glance.  Moira stood her ground, though she wasn't exactly sure how.  Her belief was strong and her intentions pure, but she had long ago concluded that the Reverend Mother, if ever actually mad, could in fact break her into myriad tiny pieces without so much as trying.  Staring into those normally half-lidded eyes, Moira knew that the Matron was definitely angered.

The young Nun bit her lower lip and swallowed, "I know I can help, Reverend Mother, and I feel compelled.  Please, Reverend Mother, allow me to use that which GOD has given me in HIS service."

"No," the Matron glowered.

Sister Moriah took a small, trembling step forward, "I've proven myself a competent practitioner, you've said so yourself and whom would you send otherwise?  Justina Catherine is nearly sixty and the others are not much better."

"No," the Reverend Mother replied, drawing the word out.

Moira fought to fill her lungs, "It's the right thing to do.  Please."

The Matron stood, glaring, mouth poised to deliver yet another negative when a sudden flaring of white about her head made her pause.  The Reverend Mother stiffened, scowl deepening, "You would approve of this, but I disagree, Verchiel."

The older Nun waited, listening patiently, then quirked an eyebrow, "It's certainly not the same.  She's only a child."

A moment later, the Angel had once again faded from the Reverend Mother's consciousness, leaving the older woman to sigh, "Fine."

"Really?" Sister Fiacre blurted.

The Reverend Mother darted a scowl her way, "Yes.  Sister Moriah will be our representative in this matter."

Moira couldn't stop the squeal of triumph, though she did manage to beat her excitement down to a mere smile, "Thank you, Reverend Mother."

"Make sure I don't have to regret it, Child," the older woman sighed, again, moving around her desk.

Father Miller stood, "I should be on my way.  Sister Justina, you know where to find me, should you require me?"  Moira nodded and he smiled, taking his leave.

"Now," the Matron started once she was seated behind her dark, old desk, "Moira, you are nineteen, correct?"

"Yes."

The Reverend Mother continued briskly, "And you've trained her with a sword, Sister Sebastian?"

"Extensively," the dower woman replied.

The Matron nodded, "Then I wish for you to take Saint Joan's sword with you, Child.  She was nineteen when burned at the stake and a warrior.  Perhaps she'll look after you."

"Th- thank you, Reverend Mother," Moira managed, though only barely.  The relics in the convent's inner chapel were precious.  It was rare to be allowed to see one, much less handle it.

"Go in faith, Child and may HE be mindful of you," and the Matron dismissed her.

Moira turned to leave, but paused, "Reverend Mother...  What did Verchiel say?  That is, to change your mind."

The older woman leveled a weary and apprehensive look at her, "To have Faith.  And to remember that it was Justina who bested all Cyprian's tricks and brought him to the LORD."

Sister Moriah beamed, but nodded and left the room without another word.

Description
It was the scream that woke her.  It pierced her dreaming with cold terror like a knife to the heart and gutted her, bolting her upright, panting.  Silence wrestled with the after echoes and it took her altogether too long to realize the sound hadn't come from her own throat.  Sister Justina Moriah leapt from her bed, snagged her scarf from its hook and was out of the room before her covers settled.  In the hallway, she was met by similarly wild eyed Sisters bustling toward the common areas.  The cold of the bare stone floor bit deeply into the soles of her feet as she restrained her hair, easily falling in with a group shuffling by, "What's going on, Sister Cathy?"

"Don't know, Moira, but it came from the inner courtyard," the elderly librarian snapped.

"Lucy," she gasped, eyes wide.  Moments later, the older Sisters were left far behind as she broke into a flat out sprint.  Seeing people on the stairs, she vaulted the railing and rolled back to her feet almost without breaking stride, garnering a skinned elbow and shouts from her elders.  Prayers were tumbling absently from her numb lips as she hurtled forward.

"Sister Lucy!" she called, turning the final corner and barely managing to close her eyes, stumbling to a stop on the rough flagstones.  Even through her eyelids the figure in the middle of the small court burned white as it turned toward her.

"Justina Moriah," the figure greeted in fond amusement rare for its voice.  Shielding her eyes under her forearm, the young nun could make out the human silhouette nested inside the blazing aura, wings of light spread wide behind it, though the sight drew painful tears.  The figure held the limp figure of a woman tightly to its chest, as though it were embracing a child.  A warm, apologetic smile overtook the being's tone, "Fear not, Cyprian Lucy is unharmed."

Tension drained from her with a sigh, bowing her head a grin broke easily across her lips, "Thank you, Verchiel."

The light dimmed, the scent of lilies lingering in the rapidly cooling night air.  Others were beginning to arrive now, two sweeping urgently past the young nun.  When Sister Moriah looked up once more the night was dark and everyone's auras were at their normal, bearable level.  The Reverend Mother Cyprian Dymphna was standing in the center of the small garden, open to the night sky, clutching the petite figure of Sister Cyprian Lucy tightly to her.  The matron's eyes were downcast, her face an oddly fond scowl, "No thanks necessary, Child.  We only reestablished the wards.  It seems Sister Lucy fended off her attacker on her own."

"Unlikely," the newly arrived Sister observed after a very preliminary once over of poor Sister Lucy.  The new Nun continued before anyone felt the need to urge her, "Sister Lucy is still in a trance."

All eyes were suddenly on the Sister in the Reverend Mother's arms.  Of course, some eyes saw more than others.  Now that the Reverend Mother's aura had retreated to its normal white phosphorous shot, shattered gold, Moira could see Lucy's bright royal/indigo blue presence with black streaming from her unseeing eyes and forcing wide her third eye like some many armed monster.  Sister Moriah couldn't stop her gasp, though her shout stuck in her throat when she locked eyes with the Reverend Mother.  That stern gaze flashed white, then turned on Sister Lucy.

"Cyprian Lucy," the angel inside the Reverend Mother gently commanded, "See clearly once more."

Instantly, the darkness seeping from Sister Lucy's eyes was burnt away and she gasped, bucking out of the Reverend Mother's grasp.  The sylph-like nun swayed precariously in the center of the courtyard as entranced eyes darted about, viewing things distant in time and/or space.

"Many.  So many," she started in a voice that quivered, spinning as though she were attempting to see everything at once.  "LORD save us.  So many.  Chunks, pieces, people.  Torn, ripped, taken.   Bloody holes, jagged tears.  Forgotten.  No... Yes.  Can't- can't see.  Why?  Many.  Many limbs, many hands.  Shadows.  Darkness.  So dark.  LORD preserve us.  So many...  Lost, searching.  In the Dark, for the Dark.  Light- There must be Light.  Can't see...  I see- see...  Me!  Father Almighty!  Shadows!  Shadows with no source, darkness from darkness.  Reaching, grasping! I- I c- can't-"

Sister Lucy choked, hyperventilating, wobbling on her tiny feet as the blackness once more started bleeding into her aura from her eyes.  Just before she appeared ready to scream and collapse to the ground, the Reverend Mother caught her once more about the waist, quickly etched the sign of the cross on the pale forehead, then placed the hand over the Seer's eyes.

"See the Truth, Cyprian Lucy," the older Nun kindly urged.

Sister Lucy managed a single deep breath, stilling, "A scream.  Fled, scared, like so much smoke.  Light, warmth, lilies-"

"No need to blind yourself via Angel," the Reverend Mother scoffed, then placed a motherly kiss on the woman's forehead that burned white as she whispered a short benediction.  Once she was finished, the Reverend Mother stepped back and Moira saw the Seer's third eye clear, then snap shut.  Sister Lucy blinked several times before her eyes actually began to focus.

The thin, delicate woman took in all the worried faces surrounding her, "Uh... Hi.  What's up?"

Several of the Sisters jumped at the chance to explain, but the Reverend Mother halted them all, narrowing a stern gaze at their resident diviner, "Sister Lucy, what exactly were you scrying for at midnight and with absolutely no wards?"

The younger Nun dropped her gaze, cheeks flushing, "You had asked me to look into some disappearances, but I had been having issues.  I thought, perhaps, I could get a clearer image with less... interference."

"While leaving yourself completely open," the Matron added in a clipped tone.

"Yes...?" Sister Lucy grimaced, "Sorry, Mother Superior.  Rookie mistake."

The Reverend Mother sighed, "Save it for confession and strive to see that it does not happen again.  Moira?"

The young Nun jumped at hearing her name, then scrambled a few steps closer, "Yes, Mother Superior?"

The older woman swept an appraising glance over Sister Moriah before seizing upon the girl's arm with an iron grip and placing her free hand over the abrasion on her elbow.  Heat and light radiated from the spot and then the sting was completely gone.  Finally, the Matron clucked her tongue, "You are indecent and bloody, Child.  Seeing Sister Lucy back to the cells so she could lay down should be no great hardship."

Moira blinked, realizing she was in fact the only one in bed clothes, and turned an interesting shade of red, "Of course, Reverend Mother."

Sister Lucy swallowed the giggle she'd let slip when the Reverend Mother's sharp gaze snapped to her.  Moira coughed to hide her own tiny grin and steered her fellow admonished Sister from the courtyard.  As they left, she heard orders being given and plans being formed.

Moira was straining to listen, but couldn't really say she was surprised when Sister Lucy started chattering in her ear, "That was weird.  Thought Dymphna was going to fry me for a second there.  Not that she would, but I haven't seen her like that since... Well, I don't know that I've ever seen her like that, you know, outside of visions.  And did you smell the lilies?  Did I miss Verchiel?"

"You don't remember?" Sister Moriah blurted in sheer shock.

Lucy quirked an eyebrow, "Not a thing.  Should I?"

"You..."  Moira paused, trying to put what happened into words, "You were caught in a vision."

That seemed to take some wind out of the Seer's sails, "Really?  Huh.  That hasn't happened in a while...  A really long while."

The Seer seemed to slip into troubled thought and Moira was more than willing to allow it.  Once they reached Sister Lucy's cell, the Seer yawned her gratitude as they parted ways.  And Sister Moriah was off like a shot.  She made directly for the Reverend Mother's office on the other side of the convent, careful to avoid the other Sisters.  When she got there, the light was on, the door slightly ajar, and people were inside.  She was about to knock when a statement froze her in place.

"...makes you believe whatever might have been after Sister Lucy is connected to the disappearances, Mother Superior?"  The voice was strange, if for no other reason than that it was very definitely male.

"The fact that she said as much may be a clue," a low female voice drawled.

"That's enough, Sister Fiacre," the Reverend Mother's dull, clipped tone advised, "Sister Lucy was looking into the situation and saw herself being taken, Father Miller."

"And the Sister is alright?" The anxiety in the Priest's voice endeared him to the young Nun lurking outside the door.

"It appears either her sudden acknowledgment of it or her scream scared off whatever came for her," a dry, clinical tone replied.

Sister Fiacre gave a low laugh, "Proving, yet again, that you can't ambush a Seer, eh, Seb?"

"It got close, though," Sister Sebastian rasped.

"That's right," The Reverend Mother agreed, voice gliding across the room, "That thing managed to come exceedingly close, and inside the convent, at that."

The Father sighed, "I can see how that may be alarming."

"It is not alarming, Father Miller," the Matron corrected sharply, "It is offensive.  This presence, this Darkness, is assaulting the city, taking those we swore to watch over, and has the audacity to reach into our very midsts, our home.  This.  This cannot- will not stand, Father Miller."

There was a pause.  Moira found herself holding her breath.  Finally, the Father spoke, "What would you have me do, Dymphna?  I've informed them of the situation."

"I would have you impress upon them the import of the issue," the Reverend Mother flatly asserted.

"They've denied dispensation of your vows until a clear threat has been established," the Priest explained, though it practically dripped with apology.

Sister Fiacre grunted, "A shadow tried to nab a Cyprian from a warded convent.  How clear does the Church require, exactly?"

"This is a legitimate threat, Father Miller," the Matron pressed, "Not to be taken lightly."

"Nor are the bindings of every Cyprian to this convent.  The Church currently does not view a handful of possibly random disappearances worthy of such drastic measures."  The Father sighed again, "I am sorry, Dymphna, but I simply need more of a case."

"Which you know, full well, I cannot make inside these walls," the Reverend Mother stated in terse understanding.

Just then a thought occurred to the little eavesdropper loitering in the hallway.  Sister Moriah barreled through the doorway and announced, "I'll go."

Silence.  Everyone in the room was staring at her and it took her a moment to remember she hadn't taken the time to wash or change.  Dymphna was scowling mildly, Sister Seb was blinking, Sister Fiacre had buried her face in her hands and the kind Father was too shocked to remember to advert his eyes.

The little Nun took a deep breath and barreled ahead before she lost the element of surprise, "I know listening at doors is wrong and I'm sorry, but I can't help feeling that I've heard what I've heard and seen what I've seen tonight for a reason.  I can help."

The Reverend Mother had her pinned under a scathingly cold glance, "No."

"Dymphna," the Priest attempted to delicately intervene.  The two other Cyprians, who had been maintaining a rather politic silence, cringed.  He either failed to notice, or chose to ignore it, "Cyprians are bond to this place, but a Justina's only binding is faith."

"Absolutely out of the question, Father Miller," the Matron pronounced crisply without sparing the man even the slightest glance.  Moira stood her ground, though she wasn't exactly sure how.  Her belief was strong and her intentions pure, but she had long ago concluded that the Reverend Mother, if ever actually mad, could in fact break her into myriad tiny pieces without so much as trying.  Staring into those normally half-lidded eyes, Moira knew that the Matron was definitely angered.

The young Nun bit her lower lip and swallowed, "I know I can help, Reverend Mother, and I feel compelled.  Please, Reverend Mother, allow me to use that which GOD has given me in HIS service."

"No," the Matron glowered.

Sister Moriah took a small, trembling step forward, "I've proven myself a competent practitioner, you've said so yourself and whom would you send otherwise?  Justina Catherine is nearly sixty and the others are not much better."

"No," the Reverend Mother replied, drawing the word out.

Moira fought to fill her lungs, "It's the right thing to do.  Please."

The Matron stood, glaring, mouth poised to deliver yet another negative when a sudden flaring of white about her head made her pause.  The Reverend Mother stiffened, scowl deepening, "You would approve of this, but I disagree, Verchiel."

The older Nun waited, listening patiently, then quirked an eyebrow, "It's certainly not the same.  She's only a child."

A moment later, the Angel had once again faded from the Reverend Mother's consciousness, leaving the older woman to sigh, "Fine."

"Really?" Sister Fiacre blurted.

The Reverend Mother darted a scowl her way, "Yes.  Sister Moriah will be our representative in this matter."

Moira couldn't stop the squeal of triumph, though she did manage to beat her excitement down to a mere smile, "Thank you, Reverend Mother."

"Make sure I don't have to regret it, Child," the older woman sighed, again, moving around her desk.

Father Miller stood, "I should be on my way.  Sister Justina, you know where to find me, should you require me?"  Moira nodded and he smiled, taking his leave.

"Now," the Matron started once she was seated behind her dark, old desk, "Moira, you are nineteen, correct?"

"Yes."

The Reverend Mother continued briskly, "And you've trained her with a sword, Sister Sebastian?"

"Extensively," the dower woman replied.

The Matron nodded, "Then I wish for you to take Saint Joan's sword with you, Child.  She was nineteen when burned at the stake and a warrior.  Perhaps she'll look after you."

"Th- thank you, Reverend Mother," Moira managed, though only barely.  The relics in the convent's inner chapel were precious.  It was rare to be allowed to see one, much less handle it.

"Go in faith, Child and may HE be mindful of you," and the Matron dismissed her.

Moira turned to leave, but paused, "Reverend Mother...  What did Verchiel say?  That is, to change your mind."

The older woman leveled a weary and apprehensive look at her, "To have Faith.  And to remember that it was Justina who bested all Cyprian's tricks and brought him to the LORD."

Sister Moriah beamed, but nodded and left the room without another word.