The morning sun struggled to push through the grime of the attic window, casting long, dusty beams across the wooden floorboards where Pearl and I sat. The air in the Sanctuary of Silent Stone didn't just feel stale; it tasted like old iron and suppressed tears.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a piece of bread that was hard enough to be classified as a blunt weapon. Outside, through the large open window, the sprawling courtyard of the orphanage was visible below. It was a bleak, grey expanse of stone where children in dull uniforms marched in silent, synchronized rows. No laughter. No running. Just the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of little boots hitting the pavement.
"It's like a prison for mimes," I muttered, dipping the rock-hard bread into a bowl of watery vegetable soup to soften it. "I should buy a toaster. A 500 DP toaster from the Otherworld Comforts tab. It would change our lives, Pearl."
Pearl didn't look up from the stack of crumpled papers she had spread out between us. She was dressed in her "sister" uniform—a modest habit that did an admirable, albeit failing, job of hiding the dangerous curves of her body. Her light blue hair was tucked away, but a few rebellious strands fell over her eyes as she furiously scribbled notes.
"If you spend even one single Desire Point on a toaster while we are undercover in enemy territory," she said, her voice calm but laced with the threat of violence, "I will tie your tentacles into a knot that even the Goddess cannot undo."
I sighed, taking a bite of the now-soggy bread. "You're cruel, Sister Pearl. Efficient, but cruel."
"I am practical, Ten-san," she corrected, finally looking up. Her eyes, usually sharp with annoyance, were dark with something else. Concern. Maybe even fear.
She tapped the paper in front of her. It was a crude map of the Sanctuary she had drawn during her "mission" yesterday.
"I found something, Ten."
My chewing slowed. The playful air in the room evaporated instantly. When Pearl got that tone—the one that sounded like she was reading a funeral rite—it meant trouble.
"It's a machine, Ten," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the whistling wind. "Matilde is the architect. She stays in her chamber, buried in paperwork, only emerging to inspect Sarah's classes or check on Elaine. She doesn't just walk; she prowls. And the others... there's a wall between them. Sarah and Clara treat each other like strangers sharing a grave."
I leaned back, my tentacles twitching beneath my skin, itching to unfurl. "And the children?"
Pearl's eyes darkened. "I saw the older boys in the woods. They aren't playing, Ten. They're practicing sword forms—lethal ones. When I asked who their teacher was, they just said 'Sensei' and scattered like I'd threatened them with a blade. Whoever is training them has hammered silence into their bones."
I felt a cold, familiar spark of anger. A sanctuary that bred child soldiers while preaching peace. Hypocrisy—the sweetest seasoning for a feast of corruption.
Before I could respond, a sharp rap at the door made us both jump.
"Enter," I called, smoothing my features into the mask of the humble priest.
Mother Matilde stood in the doorway, her presence like a shadow that refused to move. "The crates you brought?" she began, her voice a low, rhythmic drone.
"A generous donation from the Lady of this very village," I replied, forcing a confident tone to mask the lie.
"Supplies from Lady Julienne? A generous donation indeed. Though... strange. The Lady has never shown interest in our walls before," Matilde replied.
"She has had a profound change of heart," I replied, offering a smile that was all teeth and false light. "The Goddess Lunaria has a way of opening eyes that were once closed."
Matilde's eyes narrowed, but she didn't push. "If you are to stay, you will not be idle. We have no room for guests who do not labor. You will assist Sister Sarah in the classrooms. Assist, mind you—not change the sanctuary's lesson plan."
"Actually," I interjected smoothly, "Pearl is the scholar among us. She has a way with the young that I lack. Perhaps she could assist with the lessons?"
Matilde looked at Pearl, then back at me. "And you? What is a Priest of the Moon if not a teacher?"
"I am a servant, Mother. I live to serve," I said, bowing my head low enough to hide the gleam in my eyes. "The cleaning, the scrubbing, the heavy lifting—leave it all to me. A man should know the grit of the floors he prays upon before he dares to look up at the heavens."
A perfect guise, I thought.
In my former life—before the tentacles, before the rebirth—I had learned a universal truth about infiltration: the help is invisible. No one lowers their voice for the furniture, and no one hides their secrets from the janitor. I would be the ghost in their machine, scrubbing away the grime on the surface while collecting the filth they tried to hide underneath. A mop was a better spy tool than a telescope.
Matilde didn't offer a smile. She didn't offer a blessing. She simply gave a curt, sharp nod—a dismissal that felt more like a command to cease existing until needed—and swept out of the room. Her heavy robes rustled like dry leaves against the stone, leaving behind the scent of old incense and strict discipline.
Once she was gone, the tension in the room broke, replaced by the gloomy silence of the refectory. We finished our meager meal and was left alone with a bucket of soapy water and a mop.
"Right then," I muttered, dipping the mop into the suds. "Time to see what the Silent Stone is hiding."
I was mopping the hallway outside Sister Sarah's classroom, the rhythmic slosh-slosh of the water masking my movements. Through the cracked door, I watched her. Sarah—the one with the dark blue hair and the spine made of iron. She stood at the front of the room, her voice a whip-crack of authority.
"Discipline is the only path to the Divine!" she hissed.
A young boy, no older than seven, had dropped his slate. Sarah didn't offer a kind word. She didn't offer help. She gripped his ear until the boy whimpered, forcing him to his knees. "Vanity of the mind begins with the clumsiness of the flesh. Clean it. With your tongue."
My grip tightened on the mop handle until the wood creaked. My thoughts drifted back to the night before—to the hidden room where I'd seen Clara's scourge dancing across Elaine's pale skin. The BDSM ritual I had witnessed wasn't an isolated sin; it was the culture of this place. Pain was their currency.
I looked at Sarah. Beneath that strict, high-collared habit, what was she hiding? Did she, like Clara, find a sickening release in the 'discipline' she dealt out? I closed my eyes, imagining my tentacles replacing her ruler, wrapping around that stiff neck, pulling her into a different kind of submission.
"You! The help!"
The sharp voice shattered my reverie. I snapped my eyes open to find Sarah standing in the doorway, her face twisted in a scowl.
"Are you here to stare at the stone and daydream, or are you here to work?" she snapped, her blue eyes flashing with a cold, jagged light. "The children are distracted by your presence. Finish the floors and move to the chapel. Now."
The orphans were staring at me—wide-eyed, terrified, fascinated. I bowed my head low, playing the part of the submissive servant.
"Forgive me, Sister," I murmured, my voice dripping with false humility. "I was merely... lost in prayer."
"Pray on your own time," she huffed, turning her back on me.
Oh, I am praying, Sarah, I thought, watching the sway of her hips beneath the heavy fabric. I'm praying for the sun to set.
Tonight, the first seed of obedience would be planted. I had marked my target. Sarah thought she knew the meaning of discipline, but I was going to show her a masterclass. By the time I was through with her, she wouldn't be using that voice to scold children. She'd be using it to beg for the very 'poison' she claimed to hate.
I dipped the mop back into the bucket, a dark, hungry smile hidden by the shadows of the hall. The Silent Stone was about to start screaming.