that she brought all these beatings upon herself because she did not come into Cathedral Reims with the natural attitude of a nun. She was not born with perfect posture, a soft voice, a pleasant smile, and a mind meant to be molded for convent life. She had to be broken because she never wanted to be here. Unfortunately, she had nowhere else to go--or so she thought, before an asylum wrapped her in its sterile clutches.
“What are you thinking about, Amelia?” Oliver tilts my face up at him, making me realize I’ve been staring at some point on Nathaniel for minutes. “This isn’t your fault, so you better not be blaming yourself.”
I shake my head. “I’m so selfish, Olly,” I say, trying to push back the tears that pound against my eyes. “Nathaniel told me he didn’t want to be here. If I make him stay, I’d hate to think what will happen to him.”
Oliver touches my hair, a pleasant shiver spreading along my skull. “Amelia…” He toys with the braid draped over my shoulder. “He doesn’t have to stay.” He undoes the braid and drags his fingers through my hair, heat pulsing up my neck. “You don’t have to stay.”
I look at Nathaniel, then dart my eyes over to Colette’s curtain-shrouded bed. The tears can’t stay dammed forever. They come, and I throw myself at Oliver, shirking all decorum and all that other nonsense Cathedral Reims expects from sisters. I am human, as is my brother. We crave affection, we crave affirmation that what we’re doing is right, and we crave all that Cathedral Reims forbids.
“Maybe this isn’t meant to be,” I say, burying my face in Oliver’s soft shoulder, surrounding myself in his wintry scent that pushes out the medicinal smells of the infirmary. “You’re right, Oliver.”
He strokes my hair with his soft fingertips, threading one strand of hair at a time as he does. “I never said Cathedral Reims wasn’t meant to be for you, Amelia. It’s what you want. All I said is that perhaps you need a break. But that light in your eyes, that beautiful determination, it tells me you want this for yourself, and how can I deny you that? In spite of how much I may disagree with what goes on around here, I can’t tell you that what you want is wrong or stupid. That would be foolish of me.”
I look up, latching on to his gray eyes that reflect the wintry sky outside. “It’s what I want. But it’s me who wants this, not Nathaniel. I can’t send him home…alone.”
“And why can’t you?”
I look at Nathaniel, my cheeks burning with shame. “I have to protect him.”
“Amelia--”
Nathaniel moans, clipping off whatever Oliver wanted to tell me. His eyebrows tremble, his eyelids steadily lifting to reveal tired blue eyes. He looks from me to Oliver, then back to me again, confusion beginning to settle in his eyes. He sits up, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. “Amelia, what happened?” he asks, his voice soft.
I pull away from Oliver, my face heating up. The opposite sex isn’t allowed to hug at Cathedral Reims. Our interactions can only ever be formal, and Oliver has convinced the Professed Order that that is all our relationship is. It’s lucky he is a trusted member. Any other boy would not be able to get away with convincing the Professed Order of anything without some level of established trust. It is only younger children allowed to mingle—with supervision--as they are not of age yet.
“You don’t remember?” I ask, brushing bangs out of his weary eyes.
He shakes his head, his hand entwining with mine.
“You were looking at something before you fainted,” I say.
Nathaniel’s eyes widen. He lets go of my hand and pulls the blanket up to his neck.
I touch his back with the tips of my fingers. “What were you looking at?”
“I wasn’t looking at anything!”
“Nat, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to know.”
He shakes his head.
Oliver puts a firm hand on Nathaniel’s back, our fingertips touching.
“What are you thinking about, Amelia?” Oliver tilts my face up at him, making me realize I’ve been staring at some point on Nathaniel for minutes. “This isn’t your fault, so you better not be blaming yourself.”
I shake my head. “I’m so selfish, Olly,” I say, trying to push back the tears that pound against my eyes. “Nathaniel told me he didn’t want to be here. If I make him stay, I’d hate to think what will happen to him.”
Oliver touches my hair, a pleasant shiver spreading along my skull. “Amelia…” He toys with the braid draped over my shoulder. “He doesn’t have to stay.” He undoes the braid and drags his fingers through my hair, heat pulsing up my neck. “You don’t have to stay.”
I look at Nathaniel, then dart my eyes over to Colette’s curtain-shrouded bed. The tears can’t stay dammed forever. They come, and I throw myself at Oliver, shirking all decorum and all that other nonsense Cathedral Reims expects from sisters. I am human, as is my brother. We crave affection, we crave affirmation that what we’re doing is right, and we crave all that Cathedral Reims forbids.
“Maybe this isn’t meant to be,” I say, burying my face in Oliver’s soft shoulder, surrounding myself in his wintry scent that pushes out the medicinal smells of the infirmary. “You’re right, Oliver.”
He strokes my hair with his soft fingertips, threading one strand of hair at a time as he does. “I never said Cathedral Reims wasn’t meant to be for you, Amelia. It’s what you want. All I said is that perhaps you need a break. But that light in your eyes, that beautiful determination, it tells me you want this for yourself, and how can I deny you that? In spite of how much I may disagree with what goes on around here, I can’t tell you that what you want is wrong or stupid. That would be foolish of me.”
I look up, latching on to his gray eyes that reflect the wintry sky outside. “It’s what I want. But it’s me who wants this, not Nathaniel. I can’t send him home…alone.”
“And why can’t you?”
I look at Nathaniel, my cheeks burning with shame. “I have to protect him.”
“Amelia--”
Nathaniel moans, clipping off whatever Oliver wanted to tell me. His eyebrows tremble, his eyelids steadily lifting to reveal tired blue eyes. He looks from me to Oliver, then back to me again, confusion beginning to settle in his eyes. He sits up, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. “Amelia, what happened?” he asks, his voice soft.
I pull away from Oliver, my face heating up. The opposite sex isn’t allowed to hug at Cathedral Reims. Our interactions can only ever be formal, and Oliver has convinced the Professed Order that that is all our relationship is. It’s lucky he is a trusted member. Any other boy would not be able to get away with convincing the Professed Order of anything without some level of established trust. It is only younger children allowed to mingle—with supervision--as they are not of age yet.
“You don’t remember?” I ask, brushing bangs out of his weary eyes.
He shakes his head, his hand entwining with mine.
“You were looking at something before you fainted,” I say.
Nathaniel’s eyes widen. He lets go of my hand and pulls the blanket up to his neck.
I touch his back with the tips of my fingers. “What were you looking at?”
“I wasn’t looking at anything!”
“Nat, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to know.”
He shakes his head.
Oliver puts a firm hand on Nathaniel’s back, our fingertips touching.
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