The Nun's Confession: 8. Fire on the Altar

The letter smoldered in the flames, curling to black. Emilia thought it should have felt like victory. But when she looked at Lucien’s face—damp with sweat, torn between hunger and grief—she knew they had only set the fuse.

The next morning, he was quiet. Too quiet.

He split wood with violent force, as if each swing might silence the echo of Raphael’s words. Emilia worked in the garden until her knees bled from stones hidden in the soil. Neither spoke of the night before, but silence had grown between them, thick as incense in an unventilated chapel.

Even the intimacy that drew them together, and kept them close was also missing. Since their lovemaking that night Lucien burnt the letter, they had not made love. She waited for him to come to her. To tell her like he used to, that he needed her. To feel him touch her the way only he could. To feel him inside her, whispering sweet nothings into her ears. But he did not come. 

By the third day, she could no