SANCTIFIED AND SINNED.

CHAPTER 002

CELESTE:

It was early in the morning and the sun hadn’t risen yet, but I didn’t care. I quickly changed into my habit and headed out of my tiny room. I made my way to the chapel and sat down in the front row, rosary clenched tightly in my hands.

The unholy image was still etched behind my eyelids, and even when I closed my eyes in prayer, I couldn’t get it out of my head. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” I muttered, caressing my rosary.

A shadow loomed over me, causing me to raise my head. My blood ran dry. It was Sister Theresa. She was an elder nun, but since day one, she had never liked me. Something about seeing her in person was even more terrifying.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought that she knew what happened in my dream, with the way her eyes narrowed on me with deadly precision.

“Good morning, sister.” I bowed my head to greet, my voice low.

She didn’t say anything; instead, she allowed an awkward silence to stretch out between us. “Why are you here?” she said, breaking the silence.

I swallowed. “I had a bad dream; I came to pray,” I replied, eyes darting between her and the image of the holy Mary on the wall.

She scoffed. “You should get ready for mass; after that, get to cleaning.”

“Yes, sister.” I avoided her eyes as I rose to my feet and made my way out. Mass began at exactly 6:30am, and throughout I still couldn’t take my mind off the dream.

Off him.

As we dispersed, I was still strolling down the hallway, absentmindedly, when someone grabbed my shoulders. I gasped, my heart almost exploding.

“Esme! Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

She chuckled, crossing her arms. “Sorry about that. I noticed you seem spaced out this morning even during mass; what is the problem?”

I lowered my gaze, embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. I didn't know if this was an appropriate thing to say out loud, but then again, Esme was my friend, and we'd been friends since childhood. We were both orphans and to survive, we had to watch each other's backs.

“I want to tell you something; promise me you will never tell any soul about it.”

She looked stunned for a moment and then blinked weakly. “O- okay…”

Without wasting another second, I grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her away from the corridor towards one of the quiet hallways.

I looked both ways before telling her what happened. “I had a dream, Esme. A very bad dream. Sinful even. I had a moment with a man. I don’t even know how I got there, but I was in the cell of the abbess, and he was directly on top of me.”

She frowned. “Wait a minute, why is a man even in the cell of Abbess?”

“That's not really an important detail; the point is he was touching me in unholy ways, and I felt it… When I woke up, I was still feeling him.”

She stayed silent for a while before speaking. “Is this the first time you've had such dreams?”

I nodded. “I try to pray it out, but every time I close my eyes, I just remember… what should I do?” I couldn’t help but whine. I was desperate to stop all this. It was shameful.

The corner of her lips twitched into a small smile. “Nothing.”

“What?” I blurted before I could even think.

She placed an arm on my shoulder and gave me a soft squeeze. “Nothing; you don't need to do anything. It's called a wet dream, and it's a normal part of developing into a woman. Every girl faces such a thing as this. We have hormones, girl. Own it.”

Before I could say anything in response, she turned and walked away, leaving me more confused than comforted.

By the time I got to the storage closet, Sister Theresa was already there waiting with a scowl on her face and a mopstick in her hand.

“You're late.” Her tone was clipped. She thrust the mop at me.

“I'm sorry, sister,” I whispered, barely managing to catch it.

“Sorry, won't clean these floors; move!”

I flinched at the sound of her voice and immediately started working. I scrubbed hard. My knees were aching, and my hands occasionally ground against the rough floor.

Nothing was ever good enough for Sister Theresa. Even if I cleaned the entire cathedral a million times, she would always find a way to complain.

When I was done, I got up, but then I heard her footsteps approaching.

“It's still filthy.” She snapped her fingers, pointing at the spot I had scrubbed three times already.

“But I—”

A sharp, searing pain radiated across my cheeks as the sound of the slap resonated in the room.

“No back talk! You're here to clean the floors, not question discipline!”

My eyes burnt with unshed tears. I bit the inside of my cheek, bowed my head, and bent lower, pressing the cloth to the ground with trembling hands. The stone felt cold beneath my fingertips, but not colder than the shame that wrapped around me.

Despite all I’ve been through today, the dream still lingered.

His eyes.

His touch.

The heat of his body against mine.

How could I possibly confess such things to anyone?

How could I say the devil came to me, dressed as a man… and I didn’t want him to leave?

When the bell tolled for noon prayers, I exhaled a breath of relief I hadn’t realized I was holding. My knees buckled from exhaustion, but I dragged myself to the pew. My fingers trembled as they threaded through my rosary beads, my lips moving in silent prayer though no sound left them.

I said my silent prayer.

Trying to focus.

To surrender to peace.

To forget him and overcome this temptation.

The chapel doors creaked open.

I didn't look up—not at first. Not until I felt the cold breath of wind graze the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I whipped my head up and turned around.

And froze.

There, at the rear of a chapel, stood a man in a simple dark suit. He seemed to be having a conversation with one of the sisters when suddenly, he turned, sweeping his eyes over the room until they locked with mine.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

It was him.

Again!

My fingers gripped the edge of the pew so tightly they ached. I couldn’t tear my eyes away—until I forced myself to. I lowered my head, clutching the crucifix at my chest as though it might anchor me to something holy.

He shouldn’t be here.

He couldn’t be here.

Not again.

Not when my soul had barely begun to recover.

I took a deep breath and hoped with every fiber of my being that this had better be another dream. A figment of temptation sent to test my faith.