"Jamie? What are you doing here—"
Before Sister Eloise could even finish her sentence, she already saw the answer — spread out on the floor beside Jamie and Marcia were several sheets of old newspapers.
"Miss Eloise…" Jamie's face went pale in an instant, but he quickly regained his composure.
He moved to block her view of his scrapbook with his body, subtly pushing it toward Marcia behind him.
Marcia immediately understood. Without a word, she took the notebook, hastily wrapped it in the asbestos cloth, and shoved it beneath the iron cage.
"I always thought you were a good child…" Sister Eloise's face was ashen, her chest heaving violently with each breath. "How dare you — how dare you—!"
"Please don't be angry, Miss Eloise." Jamie stood up quickly, hoping to draw her attention away.
The nun snatched up one of the newspapers and threw it at him. It slapped against his chest with a harsh rustling sound as she shouted, "Do you remember why I forbid you from reading these things?"
Jamie replied, "Because… we're not yet capable of telling right from wrong. If we're exposed to the confusion of the outside world too early, our thoughts will become clouded, and… we'll be more easily led astray, more easily consumed by Chelation Sickness."
Marcia also stood up. "Miss Eloise, it's my fault. I was starving and asked Jamie to bring me some food. I also wanted to hear a few stories about the outside world, so this time I—"
"Enough! I won't believe another word from either of you!"
Eloise felt a rush of blood surge to her head; her vision tinged with blue. She had to grip the wall to keep herself from falling. Jamie quickly stepped forward to steady her by the arm.
After a while, she began to calm down slightly. Her eyes swept across the newspapers again — and only then did she notice that many of them had small, square holes cut out of them, clear evidence that clippings had been removed.
Her brow furrowed tightly. "What were you doing? Making scrapbooks?"
"I…"
"And the things you cut out — where are they?"
"…I'm sorry." Jamie lowered his head, but gave no direct answer — he couldn't possibly tell her.
Sister Eloise's anger flared again, but this time, instead of shouting, she trembled as she murmured a prayer of repentance toward the window.
When she finished, she removed the key hanging from Jamie's neck. Then, grabbing the boy by the collar, she shoved him into the same iron cage that had earlier held Marcia and slammed the heavy lock shut without mercy.
"I'll deal with you later…" she said coldly.
Then her stern gaze turned toward Marcia. "Marcia, come here."
Marcia instinctively took a step back. "…I should be punished together with Jamie, Miss Eloise."
"You think you can get away? We'll deal with your punishment later!" Sister Eloise snapped. "The Headmistress heard about what happened earlier today — she said she wants to speak with you personally. You're coming with me to Headmistress Alma's resting chamber, right now!"
Marcia froze for a moment. "...Right now? At this hour?"
"Yes, right now."
Marcia glanced toward Jamie — this might actually be good news. At least the Headmistress was far more reasonable than Sister Eloise. And if she could talk to her about Jamie, maybe the old woman could even persuade the nun to be more lenient with him...
"Stop dawdling!"
Marcia didn't hesitate any longer. She followed Sister Eloise toward Headmistress Alma's resting chamber.
Headmistress Alma was the oldest person at Saint Anne's Convent. She and Sister Eloise were like two mothers of the place — Alma, the kind one; Eloise, the strict one. Whenever the children were punished by Sister Eloise for various mistakes, Headmistress Alma always tried to find ways to ease their suffering.
But about a month ago, the elderly Headmistress had fallen in the cellar and broken both her hands. Since then, Sister Eloise had been managing everything in her stead.
Without Headmistress Alma's protection, everyone had been living in constant fear.
When they neared the resting chamber, Sister Eloise's steps suddenly slowed. She turned to look at Marcia. "The Headmistress is still recovering. You are not to mention anything about what happened with Jamie tonight. If you have even a shred of conscience left, you won't make her worry about you two again."
"...Yes, Miss Eloise," Marcia whispered. She could sense the nun's suppressed tremor, and noticed the redness in her eyes — Sister Eloise must have been grieving for the Headmistress.
Neither spoke again until they reached the chamber door.
"Headmistress Alma needs good rest," Sister Eloise warned once more. "I'll wait out here. Don't stay inside too long — once you've said what you need to, come right back out."
"Alright." Marcia let out a quiet breath of relief — as long as Sister Eloise didn't go in with her, she'd have a chance to speak privately with the Headmistress.
She bowed slightly to the nun, then turned and pushed open the door.
The resting chamber also doubled as the Headmistress's office. Marcia knew the place well — Alma both lived and worked there.
But today, the moment she stepped inside, an acrid, decaying odor hit her nose. She quickly crossed to the wall and opened the window to let in some air — it was strange, the windows here were always open, yet tonight they had been tightly shut.
The room was unlit except for a single, dim white candle — just like something from the Middle Ages. Its soft flame cast trembling shadows across the furniture. On the desk by the window lay a pile of papers, held down by a pen long dried of ink and thick with dust, as if it hadn't been used in ages.
Marcia picked up the pen, gently wiped it clean on her sleeve, capped it, and returned it to its holder.
From the bed came a weak, familiar voice. "...Jane? Is that you?"
Marcia turned immediately. "It's me, Headmistress."
The candlelight flickered against the bed's gauzy curtains, behind which Alma's shadow faintly appeared.
"Come here."
Marcia hurried to her side. Hearing the frail voice, she suddenly felt her nose sting — she had to fight back tears.
"You've gotten yourself into trouble again," the old woman said with a faint chuckle. "I heard from Frasanne about what happened today, so I asked Sister Eloise to bring you here... Tell me, were you really planning to eat that squirrel?"
Marcia's face turned scarlet. She stared down at her shoes. So many thoughts rushed through her head, yet she couldn't form a single word.
A soft laugh came from behind the curtain. "It's alright, Jane."
"I know it was wrong," Marcia murmured. "It won't happen again."
"No, no, no... Jane, you were right." The Headmistress's voice trembled with that peculiar, aged quiver. "Squirrel... is delicious."
For a moment, Marcia thought she must have misheard. Then, from behind the veil, a bandaged hand reached out toward her. Lying in its open palm was a rotting blood squirrel.
As the edge of the curtain lifted, Marcia finally realized the source of the stench — the bed was piled high with the skinned carcasses of dead squirrels. The Headmistress sat among them, soaked in blood, surrounded by the reeking mountain of decay.
Beneath the veil, a pale, withered face slowly emerged. She was frightfully thin, but her eyes bulged grotesquely, almost bursting from their sockets.
And yet — that inhuman face once again broke into a kind, grandmotherly smile.
"If you want to eat," she whispered sweetly, "then eat... right now. I'll watch you."
(End of Chapter)