The plume of steam from the locomotive slowly dissipated into the distant clouds as Sister Agnes watched. She had been trundled, hastily, into the back of a rickety mule cart and given a thin woolen blanket to wrap herself in, but it did not do much to shield her from the sharp sting of the cold air. She shivered as she watched the steam blend and disappear into the pallid sky, and tucked herself as deeply into her covering as she could manage. Her eyes remained fixed on the clouds as the cart lurched further away from the depot. 
Agnes’ hands were numb. This cold was different from the cold at home. The cold of the prairie was temporary, the gusting wind and trembling grass always pushed it onward past you, it never quite settled into your bones before summer began to return. Here though, the cold permeated every surface and grew like mold over her skin. There seemed to be no escape.
She heard a sniff from the front bench of the cart. There sat her temporary chaperone, Sister Brigid, staid in her thick gray habit and traveling cape. She looked back at Sister Agnes as she would at a sheep or goat that was struggling against its ties, disapproving of this new novitiate’s apparent softness.
“Were you not outfitted sufficiently at your last posting?” Sister Brigid asked, her words clipped. 
Agnes, who seemingly couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering, just shook her head. Sister Brigid sniffed again but did not comment, instead turning forward to look out onto the approaching forest.
The trees ahead were massive and dark. Fog swirled around their crowns, looking for all the world like a second sky about to swallow their little cart up. Sister Agnes had never seen their like. She had grown up around scrubby groves and solid, sentinel oaks that stood lonely watch over the open fields of her childhood. She looked once more back toward the train depot, straining to make out the town in the far distance, before they crossed the threshold into the forest and frozen gloom overtook them. 


                    -


It was another hour before the treeline began to break. Agnes could not feel her toes, nor her hands, and was almost certain she was on death’s door before sudden sunlight passed over her closed eyes. 
Her heart lurched, and she squinted into the scant light, searching. It was dusky, but she could make out that the impenetrable forest was thinning. There was a faint twinkle through the trees, and for a moment she questioned if she had passed on and was being tested, like Christ in the Wilderness. She had been traveling so long that it had become a condition instead of a task, and she could only dimly believe that it was all at an end. 
The Convent of the Franciscan Sisters of Christ the Lamb jutted out of the haze ahead, a battered stone fortress that seemed to be floating alone in space to Sister Agnes’ tired eyes. Fog and lingering trees obscured the base of the building, and past it seemed to be nothing but empty air. She had been told, of course, that the convent was on the coastline of the great lake, clinging to the rocks above the waves. But as she stared at the approaching edifice, it seemed to her numb mind that she was approaching the gates of a blank afterlife, adrift in the cloudy air.
“Gather your things so we may all part ways efficiently.” said Sister Brigid suddenly from the bench seat, not sparing a glance back in Sister Agnes’ direction. 
Agnes registered the words, and slowly began untangling her limbs. The numbness gave way to stabbing pains as she stirred, collecting her bag and fumbling to keep the blanket pulled tight around her body.  She wanted to lay down, to cry, to sink into the earth, but instead she braced herself as the cart bumped to a halt in front of the great doors of her new home.
Closer now, Agnes could see that it was in fact an ordinary building made of ordinary stone, but still, as she rolled herself to the edge of the cart with her bag the unease only grew. Neither the driver nor Sister Brigid offered her any help, so with a heave she pushed herself off the splintery wood of the cart’s bed.
Immediately, her legs crumpled beneath her and she went sprawling into the cold dirt, her little bag following with a thud. The mule startled at the sound and balked. The cart rolled back suddenly. Sister Agnes registered a dull throb as she watched the wheel roll over the outstretched hand that she had been bracing herself with, and as she watched the flesh pop and felt the bones grind into the muddy ground, the only thing she could think was that Sister Brigid would surely be upset at the delay this would cause. 
The wheel pulled away and the cart began to move down the path away from the convent, the driver and mule unaware of the mangled hand and the little pool of blood they left behind. Sister Brigid looked at Agnes balefully, sharply, before turning and knocking on the great walnut doors. They opened quickly, and after a hushed conversation, Sister Brigid disappeared within and a pallid young nun hurried outside. 
“Sister Agnes! Oh, little Agnes. Let’s get you inside and get your hand sorted. How did it happen? That muleteer is a ghoul.”
Agnes did not have the strength to answer, and instead, when the jarringly warm hands of the nun reached her shoulders she surrendered to the darkness that had begun to creep into the edges of her vision. Sister Agnes crumpled into the damp earth with a sigh, her begging eyes lifted to the sky, as a flock of pale nuns joined their Sister in welcoming their new member inside.


                    -


The palest blue she had ever seen was the first thing she noticed when her eyes opened again. The ceiling of wherever she was was painted the most delicate shade of robin’s egg, and though it was chipped and cracked and dotted with little spots of mold, the color was an immediate comfort. It reminded her of her mother’s faded apron, and of the sickly crocuses that had been planted outside of their farmhouse door, both long ago luxuries. 
The second thing she noticed was the pain in her hand. She lifted it unsteadily, shakily, into view. She counted one, two, three. One, two, three. Three. She began to make a low noise in her throat, in protest at suddenly having only three fingers on her right hand. This quickly alerted the familiar Sister perched in the corner, who shut her book with a snap and leapt to her feet. 
“Oh Little Agnes, you’re awake! I am so sorry for the trouble, I am so sorry. They couldn’t be saved. Even if the bones had made it they were practically frostbitten, I wonder that you traveled this far North without gloves or even a scarf, poor filly.” 
The nun bustled at the side table. Agnes’ fuzzy vision took in the sight of a ceramic pitcher, a glass, and a bowl stuffed with blood-soaked rags. As her caretaker poured water into the glass it sloshed over the sides and into the bowl of bloody rags, causing the red stains to spread lewdly across the fabric. Agnes watched, unmoving, until the glass was thrust under her nose.
“I’m Sister Mary Thomas, by the by, I suppose I should introduce myself again since you almost certainly didn’t hear me the first time. I am so glad you’re joining us, sparing the unlucky welcome of course.” 
Sister Mary Thomas held Agnes’ head firmly and tipped the glass past her lips, like you would feed an orphaned calf. A farm girl, surely, like Agnes. She kept a tight hold until the water disappeared, and Agnes didn’t even have time to cough until the liquid was gone and her head was released. The water was like a balm, soothing the scratchy pain in her throat that had been overshadowed by the throb in her hand.
Mary Thomas continued on. “The Reverend Mother will want to see you now that you’re awake.” She put the empty glass down and perched herself on the edge of Agnes’ bed, her face growing sorrowful.
“Her office is just upstairs. I’m going to bring her down in a moment, alright?” Agnes nodded. 
“Considering your accident it was decided that you had to be cared for before going into solitary contemplation, but the Reverend Mother will certainly insist on it now.” 
Mary Thomas picked at a stray thread on the bedspread as she spoke. “It’s only three days, and the cell is plain but comfortable enough. I’ll offer to bring you your meals perhaps, so at the very least you’ll know that a friend is nearby, poor Little Agnes.”
    Mary Thomas pushed herself off the bed and straightened her habit. “I can’t delay getting the Reverend Mother.” She patted Agnes’ hunched shoulders with the air of a schoolteacher encouraging a particularly dim pupil. “I’ll be praying for you, and at the end of your contemplation I will be your very first friend here.” 
Mary Thomas smiled widely, the gesture vulgar on her pale face, before bobbing back on her heel and turning to leave. Agnes parted her cracked lips and spoke, for the first time since regaining consciousness. The words were river rocks in her throat. 
“I look forward to being your friend, Sister Mary Thomas. Thank you.”
Sister Mary Thomas hesitated. She looked for all the world as if she wanted to comfort Agnes, like one would a fussing baby in a cradle, but she turned back around and disappeared all the same. This left Sister Agnes alone for the first time she could recall, at least since beginning the journey to this new home.
As she looked around the room she began to understand just how different this convent was from her former one. The simplicity here was not purposeful, not a choice made to further the experience of humble worship, instead it was a dreary state. The room was bare and the plaster was crumbling, pieces of the lovely blue ceiling gathered in little unswept piles in the corners of the room. The single window was crusted with grime, and the peeling carcasses of insects were still baked into the glass somehow, even in the midst of the frozen winter. The only ornamentation was a rough wooden crucifix on the wall opposite Agnes’ bed, carved seemingly out of green fir, or maybe pine. Resin had oozed out of the pores of the wooden and hardened, grimy teardrops that stained the crucifix and the wall below.
    The door opened with a rush of air and the Reverend Mother entered, filling the little room almost entirely. Agnes could just make out the shadow of Sister Mary Thomas hovering behind the Reverend Mother before the door was shut. 
The Reverend Mother was a monumental presence, her great height only overshadowed by the deep lines on her face and the sallow expression it wore. Agnes struggled to sit up a bit straighter on her narrow bed, forgetting her mangled hand. She swallowed her yelp as she put her weight on it, knowing to be silent with all the instinct of a wounded deer.
    “Be welcome Sister Agnes.” The Reverend Mother began. Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, a hushed soprano that did not match her large body. “We are glad that you are with us once again after that unfortunate accident. I would like to assure you that the muleteer has been dealt with. We cannot lose his services unfortunately, he is the only person with a cart that can make it up the trail, but we have taken back the fee that was paid for your transportation. May it be a blessing.” 
Agnes kept her eyes down, not wanting to meet the gaze she could feel on her. She had been trained her entire upbringing to not be a burden to anyone, and on her first day in her new home she had already failed. 
The Reverend Mother went on. “Now that your injury is healing and you are awake, it is imperative that you enter prayerful contemplation. It is a requirement for all who join or visit this place, but considering the circumstances that brought you here, I am going to make some adjustments to the practice. Sister Mary Thomas is a kind soul, and will be bringing you meals personally in order to check on your condition and state of mind. She will enter your cell with your meal, pray the Salve Regina with you, and take her leave if all appears to be well.” 
    The Reverend Mother turned to face the window, folding her hands in front of herself. Agnes took the opportunity to get a better look, raising her eyes to study the face of her new protector. The Reverend Mother could have been middle aged or elderly, it was difficult to place, and her eyes were a dusty brown that matched the crust on the windows. 
“I know this will be difficult for you, adjusting to the stricter routine and environment we have here, but understand that this is for the health of your soul. You belong to the Church, and though Our Lord is merciful, missteps like the ones you committed previously will not be tolerated here.” 
The Reverend Mother turned her head sharply, suddenly, catching Agnes’ eyes before she had the chance to return them to her lap. “We are a week’s travel from where you were living, and your chaperones were on alert for anyone who may have been following.” The Reverend Mother’s lip curled slightly as she spoke. “Any ‘temptations’ are far behind you, and no one from your former life knows where to find you. I trust that will be sufficient to keep your virtue intact, but I would remind you that forgiveness is limited. This will be your second and last chance to live a worthy life. You will not be given mail privileges or the ability to visit town on errands for the first two years you are here-”
    Agnes spoke, interrupting. “I would go to confession.” 
The Reverend Mother stared at Agnes, unused to even the most minor disrespect, before deciding that this strange girl wasn’t worth chiding quite yet.
“My dear, even if we had a Priest nearby I would not allow you to sit in confidence with him. You have not won my trust, and even our most stalwart Brothers in Christ can be swayed by the evil intentions of a woman.” The Reverend Mother’s dull eyes had begun to take on a damp gleam. “I agreed to take you in because I believe in the mercy of our Lord, but you will have to earn the grace of the Church again. However, it would go against my vows to deny you comfort. Though I cannot give you the sacrament, I will hear your confessions and offer counsel.” 
    The Reverend Mother settled her bulk, precariously, on the small stool previously occupied by Sister Mary Thomas and looked at Agnes intently. It was apparent that the flash in her eyes was not one of holy fervor, but of the humble, earthly desire to hear good gossip. Agnes felt tears begin to spill out of the corners of her eyes, and she saw the Reverend Mother lean in ever so slightly, waiting to hear the sordid confession of the wayward novice from the southern prairies. 
She wished with a dull ache to be in the comfort and safety of a confessional booth, to be able to close her eyes in the dappled darkness and feel her sins being absolved amidst cedarwood and smoke. But Sister Agnes was in a damp little room, lost in the fog at the edge of a great empty lake, and she did not have any sins to be forgiven. She began to speak anyway. 
    “I did not do what I am accused of.” Sister Agnes began. 
The Reverend Mother stiffened, and then began to deflate with the disappointment of someone denied a scandal. 
Agnes went on. “And, I have to return to my home. I did not try to run away with that man, not with any man. I was visited, yes, but not by a man. I was visited by an Angel.”
There was a pause, and then the Reverend Mother spoke with a cruel chuckle in her voice. “They told me your story already, Sister. But you were found in a field, dirty, desecrated, and bleeding from between your legs.” 
The Reverend Mother was forcing a sneer down. “I would believe that you had maybe been abducted or attacked, but they told me, girl. They told me that when they found you you had a vulgar smile on your face that you would not drop.”
She spat her next words at Agnes. “I have already told you, our Lord is merciful but my forgiveness and my patience do not stretch so far. I don’t want to hear any of your lies. You will have supervised confession with the Parish priest-”
“No! No, you will listen to me!” Agnes said. 
Her words were forceful but her voice trembled. She heard a floorboard creak on the other side of the wall, no doubt her new sisters, listening in. 
“It was no man. I was visited by an angel of the Lord. I swear it on my life, I swear on the blood of Christ-” The Reverend Mother began to protest at the blasphemy, but Agnes barreled on. “It came to me as a beautiful light, it was so hot, and it enveloped me and began to whisper.” 
Agnes had begun to look like a zealot, trembling and sweaty, her legs and arms twitching with the energy of an excited spaniel. 
“Don’t you understand that I have to go back, to that field, to the sky, he wasn’t finished yet and I need-” Her eyes were growing wild and hazy. “I was drawn into the light and I felt so- so whole. I had been chosen, me, I am no one and I had been chosen for a holy purpose, to be taken into It and made complete.” 
Agnes had begun to weep openly. “But before the Angel could finish Her message and take me, I was pulled back. That man had found me, out in the field, and he lied! He lied! He said I was thrashing about like mad and screaming but that’s only because he hadn’t been blessed, he couldn’t see-”
The Reverend Mother’s hand hit Agnes’ face with such a force that it knocked her back onto her pillow. Agnes’ hand flew up to soothe her cheek, but she only succeeded in doubling her pain as the stumps of her fingers connected with jawbone, blood beginning to seep through the bandages. 
“That is enough Sister Agnes. Enough! I will NOT tolerate hysteria in these walls.” The Reverend Mother threw the door open and the figures that had been crouching by the door scattered. 
“We are no longer in the age of angels and miracles. You are no prophet. You are a whore that we have taken pity on because we need help with the chores here, and that is all you will ever be.”
The Reverend Mother seized Agnes by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet roughly. Agnes’ legs, still weak from exertion and the lingering cold, collapsed under her once again, and she fell to the floor with a puff of plaster dust. 
“You will be taken to the contemplation cell at once. Mary Thomas!” 
Mary Thomas appeared around the corner, meek. 
“Take Sister Agnes to the contemplation cell immediately. Do not allow her to speak to anyone and do not stop until the door is closed. She will not be permitted breakfast this morning and will wait until the evening meal.” 
The Reverend Mother looked down at Agnes one last time with contempt in her eyes. “I do hope that your time in contemplation will relieve you of these sinful ideas, Sister Agnes. If you do not become an obedient, productive member of this order we will have no choice but to cast you out. Do you understand?” 
Agnes nodded into the floorboards, and the Reverend Mother turned on her heel and disappeared into the hallway beyond the door. 
Sister Mary Thomas, fretful, gathered as much of Agnes into her arms as she could and eased her back up onto her unsteady feet. 
“Poor, poor Filly.” 
She brushed Agnes’ damp hair off of her face, gently. “Now a split lip too. We have to hurry but I will try to slip you a rag and some snow with your supper. Now onward, Little Agnes. The contemplation cell is just downstairs.” 
With that, Sister Mary Thomas began to pull Agnes forward, and she had no choice but to follow. Agnes mumbled as they descended the stairs, murmuring of sunlight and grass and air.


                    -


Sister Agnes dreamt of that day. 
She had dreamt of it every night since, but each time it was as if she was stepping out into the chilly sunlight of that morning for the first time. She had woken up as usual for morning prayers, had jostled in the hallway with the other novices before breaking their fast, and had finally stepped out of the front door of the convent to begin the day’s chores. 
Agnes had been tasked with hanging the laundry that day, not her favorite job, but as she breathed in the cool air of the courtyard she didn’t really mind. The sun was tawny in the sky, and just warm enough to keep her from shivering.
She walked off to the laundry line near the well. She could hear the distant sounds of the river port, and if she inhaled deeply she could smell the water and mud, but it was all overpowered by the prairie. It whispered around her as she set her basket down and began hanging aprons and sheets on the line. 
She worked diligently, quietly, and though she was no more than a dozen yards from the sturdy, familiar walls of the convent, something began to feel different. She looked up and around, wondering if she had missed someone calling to her or a friendly wave, but she saw no one and heard nothing. 
She waited for a breath, and then bowed her head again and continued her chore. But she could feel, clear as day, a heat creeping along the back of her neck. Goosebumps seared along her arms and belly, and she suddenly felt as if she was doing something she shouldn’t be. She hurried to pin one more apron to the line, before gathering her basket and backing away toward home, her eyes never leaving the ground. Something told her that if she looked up and into the distance, everything would change, and Sister Agnes didn’t know how she felt about that. But her heart was racing.
She went about the monotony of the rest of her day with warmth in her cheeks and a tremor in her voice. She felt alive, truly, for the first time in her memory, maybe the first time in her life. Colors seemed brighter, sounds sharper, but every time she looked over her shoulder there was nothing there. 
Something was happening, something was approaching her, she just couldn’t figure what it could be. She blushed every time she walked by a window, or a darkened doorway. It was there, somehow, in the empty spaces. It was reaching out, asking her to meet it, but she just couldn’t work up the courage. She sat at the evening meal, picking at her food, her stomach twisting in anticipation. Her Sisters asked her what was wrong, but Agnes could only giggle gently and whisper that she didn’t know.
When she laid down in her little cot that night, she knew that she wouldn’t be sleeping. Her heart was thumping against her lungs, and she could feel every fiber of her nightgown scratching at her skin. She laid, so still, staring up at the moonlight that painted the wall across from her window, and waited. Sister Agnes waited for what could have been a minute, or could have been the rest of her life, until finally, her Angel came to her. 
 First it was a breath across her lips, steaming and crisp with energy. Agnes gasped in relief, trying to inhale it, but it flitted away before it could be caught. Next, the air around her began to heat. It felt like she was stepping into a bath that was just a little too warm, her skin ached, raw and sensitive. She sat up to greet this hot, gusting thing, and as she did, it was as if a jeweled sun rose with her. Technicolor light burst around her and filled her vision, dancing before her, playful and beckoning. She was consumed by it. It was here.
Sister Agnes felt weightless. It, He, She, smoothed itself over her skin in licks of glittering flame. She wept. She sighed. She was being pulled upward, pushed downward, expelled and filled. 
It began to murmur to her, it whispered of the sacred, of the profane, of perfection. She understood what it needed, and gave herself over to it entirely. She felt fire and silk surround her body, and it pushed around her so intensely that she didn’t think she’d be able to feel anything else ever again. It built and crashed and twisted and purged in her, until she felt herself being torn from her root. It felt like flying, and smelled of holy oil. She wondered, as she began to let her eyes drift closed, how she had ever managed to live under something as heavy as a body.
Then, brutally, Sister Agnes was in the cold wet grass, and a man had his hands on her. She screamed, realizing quickly that she had already been screaming. The anguish poured out of her as she struggled on the unforgiving Earth, trying to chase her Angel as it drifted away, unfinished. The man held her down as she writhed in the dirt, as she bled into the dust and tore at the ground in grief. Soon she would be surrounded by lanterns and raised voices, and even sooner still, taken from her Angel and pushed into cold darkness of the North Woods.


                    –


For the second time since arriving at The Convent of the Franciscan Sisters of Christ the Lamb, Sister Agnes woke up with no memory of falling asleep. 
She was in a tiny, bare room, no bigger than a pantry. The walls were bare limestone, and damp cold permeated through the scratchy blankets that had been draped over her. She was so tired of being cold. 
Her hand ached dully, and her lip felt swollen and hot where she had been struck by the Reverend Mother. She licked her lips delicately, and dried blood flaked onto her tongue. 
The faintest gray light came in through the miniscule window at the top of the room. It was dusk. She sat up with a quiet groan and took in her surroundings. The floor was lime-washed dirt, and there was another crude wooden cross on the wall, this time with an equally crude wooden kneeler on the ground beneath it. Agnes’ heart fluttered at the sight. At least here, she could pray. Her one true comfort.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The knocking may have been going on for a while she realized, and was likely the reason she was awake. The cold air burned her throat as she spoke, her voice creaky.
“Enter.” Said Agnes. 
The knocking continued. 
“Enter!” She said again, this time managing it a little louder.
The door practically flew open, and Sister Mary Thomas fell into the room, barely managing to keep hold of the clanking dishes in her hands. 
“Sister! Oh I am so pleased to see you’ve recovered yourself yet again! You must have slept so deeply after the morning you had.” 
Sister Mary Thomas tutted at the thought, as if the events of earlier were nothing more than the actions of a naughty child. She set a tiny bowl of bread and steaming porridge on the bed, and a ceramic crock. 
“Don’t tell, but I warmed the water a bit. I remember how it gets in here, I do hope it helps. The Reverend Mother has been keeping a hawk’s eye on me so I couldn’t get you any snow for your lip, but it already looks better! You are remarkably resilient my dear.” 
Agnes pulled the crock of warm water into her lap and sighed. Even the small impression of warmth it brought was precious in this bleak place. Sister Mary Thomas stared expectantly. 
“Aren’t you going to eat?” She asked. 
Agnes shook her head, slightly. “I’m not hungry.” 
Sister Mary Thomas scoffed. “ Not hungry? You haven’t eaten since you’ve arrived. Are you feeling ill?” 
Agnes did not respond.
“Here!” continued Mary Thomas. “Let me see that hand, I brought fresh wrappings and I want to make sure it isn’t turning on you.”
Sister Mary Thomas took Agnes’ hand in hers and sniffed in disapproval at the bloody bandages.
“The Reverend Mother really should have let me change these before I locked the door on you.” 
She began to unwrap them slowly, and Agnes could feel her gorge rise in her throat as she saw the raw stumps where her fingers had been just the day before. 
“They look alright, actually. And you don’t feel feverish.” 
Mary Thomas felt around Agnes’ forehead for good measure and nodded approvingly, before wrapping the hand tightly once again. 
“Well.” she said, rising to her feet and brushing off her apron. “I was supposed to stay and pray the Salve with you, but I think I ought to let you rest, poor Little Agnes!” 
Sister Mary Thomas winked at Agnes, still sitting on the bed with the cooling crock of water on her lap. 
“It can be our little secret from the Reverend Mother. I’ll be back for the dishes when I bring your breakfast tomorrow morning. Try not to get into any more trouble while I’m gone, dear!” 
With that, Mary Thomas whirled on her heel and left, shutting and locking the door behind her with a click.
Sister Agnes sat on the bed, mourning the warmth from the crock of water as it dissipated. The porridge had cooled as well, and the bread had been cold to begin with. With nothing more of interest to be found in her supper, Agnes stood, shakily, and found the chamber pot under the bed. 
She wondered if this place had running water like the other convent had. It had been an unfathomable luxury after a childhood of outhouses, but as she looked around at the bare stone walls of the cell, she somehow doubted she would ever get to experience its like again. Agnes relieved herself, and with nothing else keeping her from it, gingerly worked her way to the kneeler at the end of the room. 
There was no pad, and the wood bit into her knees, but she welcomed the humble discomfort. It kept her mind from her sore right hand, or her pulsing lip. She raised her eyes to the crooked cross above her and wondered where to begin. After all that the past weeks had brought, where could she put her devotion? Her Angel had been left behind in the prairie, had likely forgotten her, sitting now as she was, hunched and disfigured in a mildewed cell at the edge of the world. 
Perfect, It had called her. Anointed. She closed her eyes tight and tried to remember the heat and brightness He had brought, the caresses like licks of a candle flame that lingered just a breath too long. 
The cold and damp surrounding her faded away as she fell back into the embrace of prayer. Agnes could almost feel the warmth of the Angel’s presence as she knelt in the still air. Almost. 
Her tongue began the prayer before her mind caught up to what she was saying. Her mouth cradled the words intimately, tasting each vowel as it spilled past her bruised lips.
“Veni… Sancte Spiritus.”
    Tears formed in her eyes as she prayed. She had called Agnes beautiful, had smoothed her copper hair and had praised its softness and luster, had guided Agnes into Its light and shown her what to do. How disgusted He would be with her now, broken and lost as she was. 
She shivered as she continued.
“Reple tuorum corda fidelium, et tui amoris in eis ignem acce-”
Her skin began to prickle. A breath came and tickled her ear. Warmth began to blossom all around her and Agnes gasped in wonder.


                        -


    Sister Mary Thomas was certain she had locked the door. The Reverend Mother kept the keys, after all, and she had had to go request them to get the door open in the morning.
She had alerted her Sisters with a screech and the loud shattering of a ceramic crock, but when they came running she swore up and down that it had been empty when she opened it. The little window was much too small and high for a person to fit through, and even if it hadn’t been, the solid pane of glass was unbroken. 
The Sisters of The Convent of the Franciscan Sisters of Christ the Lamb burst onto the landscape like a flock of gulls, calling into the wind and trees, crying out for their lost soul.
After the initial shock, it did not take long to find Sister Agnes. There really was nowhere to go, the convent was marooned between the rocky lake shore and the forest, and she likely wouldn’t have been found at all if she had gone too far in either direction. They had sent two sturdy runners onto the long road into town, but they hadn’t even made it to the treeline before shouts came from a stone jut just to the East of the building.
    Sister Agnes lay swaddled by rocks and fog, her empty eyes looking up toward the unchanging grey sky. Her hair was glossy, her head covering missing, and her skin bloomed a gentle pink in the early morning sunlight. A beatific smile split her face. She looked for all the world as if she was on the cusp of saying “Hello” to an old friend. 
In the coming months, as the tale spread slowly through the North Woods, people would say that she was unharmed and that the death was bloodless. But that wasn’t quite true. A pool of blood grew gently from between her spread legs, bright ruby red, uncongealed, and smelling oddly of incense ash. 
    Even with all of these mysteries, there was only one thing the good Sisters never spoke of. Not to anyone, not to the constable, nor even to the investigator the Diocese sent out. That thing was Sister Agnes’ perfectly folded hands. They laid on her unmoving, still chest, clasped together like the hands of the Penitent Magdalene. The very picture of worshipful, reverent prayer. Sister Mary Thomas wondered at how pretty they were as she knelt by the body of her new lost friend and counted and recounted the ten delicate fingers one more time.
________________