The first thing I noticed was the silence.
Not the kind of silence that hums in empty streets or abandoned houses. No, this was a silence that pressed down on me, heavy and expectant, as though the stones themselves were holding their breath. Saint Maria's Cathedral loomed ahead, a fortress of gray stone and stained glass, the sunlight refracting through the windows into sharp shards of color that danced across the courtyard. It was beautiful, in a way that made my chest tighten, but it was also intimidating—too large, too holy, and somehow too alive.
I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders. My family had forced me into this life, into these robes, into vows I barely understood and a God I barely felt. The world I'd left behind—a world of cruel words, bruised shoulders, and cold hands—had taught me caution. Yet standing here, on the marble steps of this cathedral, I felt something else too: hope. Fragile, trembling hope, like a candle flickering in a storm.
I had only just begun my novitiate, and already I felt out of place. Perhaps that was inevitable. Perhaps I had never belonged anywhere.
"Welcome, Sister Donovan."
The voice startled me, a low, calm sound that carried easily through the courtyard. I turned toward the figure standing at the entrance—a man in priest's robes, dark hair streaked with silver, and eyes that measured me, assessing without judgment.
"Father Benedict," I replied, bowing slightly. My throat felt dry, my lips hesitant. "Thank you for receiving me."
He nodded once, briskly, then gestured toward the door. "Come. We have much to discuss, and the novices' schedule will begin shortly. Saint Maria's expects discipline."
I followed him through the heavy wooden doors, past the scent of polished stone and burning incense. It was overwhelming at first, the sheer weight of holiness, of ritual, of expectation pressing down on me. I had always sought safety in quiet corners, in hiding, but here there were no corners. No hiding.
As we walked down the echoing hallways, I kept my gaze lowered, afraid of meeting anyone's eyes. I didn't need anyone else's judgment; I carried enough already.
"Your arrival is timely," Father Benedict said, his voice softer now, almost conversational. "The new trainee priests arrived yesterday. You will meet them shortly."
I nodded, pretending calm. Inside, my stomach churned. Meeting the priests… I had expected old men, kindly or harsh, but something in his tone made me wary.
The chapel opened suddenly, sunlight spilling through the high windows. My breath caught. The pews gleamed, the altar was immaculate, and the air smelled of wax and incense in perfect balance. I wanted to kneel. I wanted to pray. But my hands fidgeted in my sleeves, my knees unsteady.
And then I saw him.
He was sitting at the far end of the pews, head bent slightly over a book I could not see from here. Blond hair fell over his forehead in a careless sweep, and the sunlight caught it, making it almost glow. I froze. My heart stuttered. I had not expected—could not have expected—anyone like him here.
Even sitting, he radiated something dangerous and magnetic at once. Hands folded over the book, I could see the strength in his fingers, the subtle tension beneath the calm. He glanced up at the sound of our footsteps. And then… our eyes met.
Blue. Piercing, impossible blue.
I felt a jolt, a spark I could neither name nor resist.
"Aria," Father Benedict said, breaking my daze. "This is Leonardo Moretti. He will be among your instructors."
Leonardo. The name felt heavy on my tongue. I swallowed. He inclined his head ever so slightly—a gesture polite enough, yet weighted with something… unspoken.
"I… I'm pleased to meet you, Father Moretti," I managed, my voice sounding small, even to me.
He studied me, and I could not tell if it was curiosity or amusement. "Sister Donovan," he said finally, voice low, smooth, and quiet like velvet over steel. "The monastery has its routines. You'll learn quickly—or you'll find the rules… unforgiving."
I nodded, though I had no idea what he meant. I felt my cheeks heat.
Father Benedict cleared his throat. "You two will have lessons together today. Pray you can focus." He gave a slight, inscrutable smile and moved away.
I was left alone with him. Alone in the silent chapel, with sunlight casting colors across his sharp features.
"I'm not… very good at this yet," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've only just arrived."
He closed the book, and I noticed the way his hands flexed, almost imperceptibly. "Good," he said simply. "Then you will learn faster. Fear keeps you sharp. Discipline keeps you alive."
"Alive?" I echoed, startled.
He leaned back slightly, blue eyes locking on mine. "There are dangers here. Some you will see, some you will not. It is… a sanctuary for some, a prison for others. Be aware of which you are entering, Sister Donovan."
A shiver ran through me. I wanted to step back, to leave, but my feet were rooted to the polished stone. There was something in his voice—calm, commanding, almost intimate—that made me want to stay, despite the warning.
"I… I'll try," I murmured.
He gave a faint smile, brief, almost imperceptible. "That is all anyone can ask."
The lessons began.
I barely remember what I learned in those first hours—the names of the other novices, the chants, the ritual movements—but I remember the way he watched me. Always watching. My every falter, every hesitation, met with a steady, unreadable gaze. It was unnerving and… thrilling.
During a break, I stepped into the courtyard. Sunlight struck the fountains, and birds circled overhead. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth touch my face. And then I heard the softest of footsteps behind me.
"You shouldn't be standing out here alone," he said. The words were low, almost a whisper.
I turned, my breath catching. "I… I just needed air," I said, trying to sound calm.
"Air," he repeated, his tone amused. "It's funny. I've been here months, and I've yet to see anyone breathe freely in this place."
I blinked. "Months?"
"Yes," he said, stepping closer. The sun caught his hair again, golden, almost unreal. "Time moves differently here. And people… are rarely what they seem."
I wanted to ask what he meant. But I didn't. Somehow, asking questions felt dangerous. My instincts screamed caution, yet my curiosity… my heart… pulled me closer.
"You're different from the others," he said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "Nervous. Hesitant. Afraid. And yet…" He tilted his head, studying me. "You're not hiding from me."
I swallowed hard. My hands clenched at my sides. "I… I don't know how to hide," I admitted.
His lips curved slightly. "Good. Secrets are… exhausting. But they can be deadly."
I stepped back, startled by the weight in his gaze. He didn't smile, not really. There was something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, something I couldn't name—but I knew it had nothing to do with the lessons, nothing to do with the monastery, and everything to do with him.Then Father Benedict voice from the other side of the courtyard—broke the tension
"I should go back," I said, trying to regain composure.
"Yes," he said, stepping aside. "Before you fall in love with danger."
I stopped. The words echoed in my chest. "Fall… in love?"
He didn't answer, only watched me as I hurried back inside. The echoes of his words lingered, like smoke curling through the air long after a fire has burned.
By the time I returned to the chapel, Father Benedict had assembled the other novices. The day passed in a blur of chants, kneeling, whispered instructions. I kept my eyes on the floor, trying to ignore the memory of those piercing blue eyes, the sense of danger, the strange pull that had already begun to take root inside me.
And yet… I knew, even then, that nothing in Saint Maria's was as it seemed.
As the sun dipped low, spilling gold and red across the stone floors, I felt a presence behind me. I dared to glance up, and there he was. Leonardo Moretti, sitting alone, book closed, eyes on me.
"You'll get used to it," he said softly. "Or it will get used to you."
I shivered, and not from the cold.
The church bells tolled, echoing through the courtyard, marking the end of the day. The sound reverberated inside me, deep and resonant, as if the cathedral itself were warning me: this place will test you. And he will test you more.
I returned to my small quarters, exhausted, mind whirling with lessons, prayers, and that impossible pull toward a man I barely knew but already could not forget.
I pulled the thin blanket around me and stared at the ceiling. I had come here seeking safety. Instead, I had found something else—something thrilling, terrifying, and forbidden.
And I feared… I was already in too deep.