Author's Note: This is the second chapter of my series of the Goth'a monastery and its inhabitants. This chapter is told from the perspective of Sophie, and takes place on the 2
nd
day of the group's arrival. Do note that things are still a bit slow but will pick up. As a word of warning, there is also some mild incest content. If you have not done so, please read Day 1 Ashley's Arrival to better understand the context of what follows. Otherwise, enjoy!
Day 2 Sophie's Session
Church bells tolled steadily in the distance, but their incessant ringing was like the cawing of crows circling overhead. I turned and stuffed my pillow over my head in an attempt to suppress the noise, but it only made the reverberations penetrate deeper into my brain. Groaning, I flipped over again and slowly blinked my eyes open. The overcast sky beyond my window was filled with low, dense clouds, dimming the approaching dawn in grayish tones, while the tolling of the bells continued to hammer into my skull repeatedly, refusing to stop. Falling asleep again was out of the question.
With a sigh, I threw off the fraying blankets and got out of bed, but instinctively withdrew as my feet touched the cold wooden floor. Groaning again and resolving myself, I stood up in the chill with nothing but my nightgown, and quickly scampered over to the dresser in search of something warmer to wear. Within, I spied the thicker bathrobe I had unpacked last night next to some of my other clothes, along with a spotless monastery-provided habit neatly folded in one corner. Grabbing my towel and a small plastic pouch that contained my toothbrush and other toiletries, I exited my room to make the trek over the icy floors to the bathrooms, all the while admonishing myself for not packing along some warm slippers. Noticing Veronika's and Isabella's closed doors as I crossed the hall, I was again reminded of the fact that I now shared a dormitory space with two others, and although we did each have our own rooms, it did make me miss the comfort and privacy of my own home.
As I stepped onto the even icier linoleum floor of the bathroom, I heard the sound of falling water from one of the showers, the steam rising from behind a nearby stall obscured by filmy curtains. Not wanting to disturb the occupant within, I rushed across the room into one of the further stalls, where I took off my robes and folded them neatly into a corner. I twisted at the metal knob on the wall, its surface dull and leaden, and was pleasantly surprised by the hot water springing forth from overhead to bathe me in delightful warmth.
At least the water boiler seems to be in good working order,
I thought appreciatively. Warm mist floated upwards around me as the soothing currents flowed over my body, and I let out a contended sigh.
The repetitive patter of splashing water droplets was almost hypnotic, lulling me into a contemplative reminiscence of my current circumstance. Over the past week, I had left my small peaceful town of Levingham in the UK to travel to this place, somewhere in the remote mountains of Romania, all at the behest of my loving husband, Henry. The itinerary had involved two flights, a train, and finally a long and wearisome bus ride which had been anything but smooth, but here I was, safe and sound, exactly where I needed to be. I had never ventured so far from home alone before, and so had been quite nervous of this trip in particular, but the hospitality and kindness offered to me along my path had cheered me greatly, and by the end, I had become quite confident and relaxed in my solitude. It seemed my natural politeness and affable cordiality had once again served me well, after all.
Now at the culmination of my journey, I was again reminded of the sequence of events that had led me here in the first place. It all began when a recent spate of local scandals surrounding the Catholic Church had emerged in our town. Henry, my husband, being the respected local pastor that he was, had been the first to come to the Church's defense, steadfastly believing the righteousness of his institution. Yet the rumours had persisted; and what had originally started as vague whispers of wayward leaders had with mounting evidence, become allegations of much more serious abuses, eventually erupting into full blown outrage within the span of only a few months. Henry had been caught in the middle of it, trying to assuage hurts and calm hearts on all sides, but I knew the ordeal weighed on him heavily.
The last straw came when a university student within our own community had confessed to being sexually assaulted by one of the more prominent figures within the Church, and the revelation had devastated our idyllic hamlet. Coincidentally at the same time, a new religion, only known as the Faith of Goth'a, had spread like wildfire throughout our neighborhood, catching on like dry kindling in a blaze. The timing was almost too perfect, as people turned away from the Catholic order in droves, disgusted at the manner in which the older faith was keener on protecting its power than caring for its followers. Even my husband, Henry, pious and dedicated as he was, had finally reached his breaking point. Deciding that enough was enough, he ultimately renounced the Church he had dedicated himself so faithfully to his entire life, and converted to the mysterious new worship. The Goth'a priests, upon seeing how Henry's experience could benefit them, had then quickly ordained my husband as their new envoy to the community, and Henry had gladly accepted.
All that was to say, I had been caught in a whirlwind of sorts. The Goth'a Faith were quick to assert their control, asking much of Henry in organizing and establishing their newfound congregation almost immediately. He had spent much of the next few months busy at work, barely at home, as if driven by a renewed sense of purpose. I think in a way, he blamed himself for the transgressions of the Catholic Church under his watch, especially given how it had wounded his community, and this was his attempt at making amends. I had a been a local community organizer when all of this had started, a role I had taken up ever since our two boys had left for university, but increasingly, I found myself more and more involved with organizing Henry's schedule, planning his trips, meals, and other meetings as he busied himself day and night within his new position. Then on a fateful night not more than two months ago, Henry had suddenly asked me to take a trip to Romania for him, as a heartfelt favor.
Initially, I had been a little hesitant, to say the least. Henry explained that the Faith required so much from him lately that he didn't have the time to make the journey. It was supposed to be a two-month excursion, and was only offered to a select few newly-converted as a means of introduction and appreciation, to show how much the Goth'a Faith treasured our membership. I had wondered if I was even eligible to go, but Henry had insisted that I would be more than welcome; in fact, he explained, the retreat had been repurposed as a convent, and hence more suitable for female guests anyway. He had mentioned how the Faith was trying to cater to a more diverse audience recently, and the first task on the agenda was to balance its gender representation. After much back and forth, I reluctantly agreed that I would do this for him, and the rest is history.
I was brought out of my recollections as the water splashing about me started to turn lukewarm. Deciding it was about time to finish showering anyway, I grabbed my towel, turning off the water in the process, and started to dry myself off as I exited the stall. Approaching the sinks, I noticed my neighboring shower was already empty, my fellow bather having finished and left without me even realizing. It was too bad; I had been wondering who it had been, but I supposed it wasn't that important anyway. Instead, I turned to examine myself in the mirror. What I saw was a middle-aged woman with a slightly rounded face, boasting a mixed complexion of faded freckles on ruddy skin, all framed by a set of unfurling auburn locks dripping with a dark shade of wetness. Her hair reached only a little above her shoulders in cascading twirls, while her cheeks, flush from the shower, glowed beneath soft brown eyes only slightly creased about the corners. She didn't look half bad, if I had to say so myself. I had always been described as pretty, maybe not drop-dead gorgeous, but lovely in that familiar sort of way.
After brushing my teeth and applying a bit makeup to sharpen my features, I went back to my room to get ready for the day. Putting on a nondescript bra that hugged my large bust (having twins will do that to you) and a pair of classic gray briefs around my curvy waist, I debated on what to wear. Finally deciding to attempt at least a good first impression, I opted for the monastery habit provided for me, although I left the coif alone. The long black robe was surprisingly comfortable, and definitely allowed for a good range of movement.
After putting on my sandals, I left the domiciles and descended the stairs, trying to remember the directions to the cathedral. The network of warren-like corridors was a literal maze, and after puzzling through the turns at each intersection, I was finally able to arrive at the back of the vaulted chamber, quite amazed that I had done so at all. I wasn't the first, however; Sister Isabella was already seated at the front, along with the rest of the Goth'a congregation, whispering amongst themselves. As I walked down the aisle to take a seat, my eyes surreptitiously wandered upwards to behold the marvelous stained-glass windows hanging over one side of the hall. They had captured my attention almost immediately yesterday upon my entry. Yet one particular image stood out to me; it was pieced together from shards of dazzling colors, forming the image of a woman, arms outstretched, with two younger men looking up at her in devotion. If I had to guess, it was a depiction of the biblical Rebekah and her two sons, Jacob and Esau. But what struck me was the way her loving gaze wandered over her two children, seeming to linger on them both, the tenderness of it reminding me a little of my own two boys. Thomas and Sean. They were twins, but their personalities couldn't have been more different; Sean was a bit of an introvert, constantly absorbed within his books and games, while Thomas, outgoing and sociable, was an unrepentant prankster, but always cunning and crafty enough to escape any unfavorable situation. They were the two pillars of my life, and I loved them both dearly, and when they had gone off to university, their departure had carved out a certain emptiness within my heart.
So engrossed in my thoughts was I, that I didn't notice someone emerge from behind me until the figure was almost an arm's length away. I nearly jumped out of my habit in surprise when I felt a light tap on my shoulder, turning only to see Veronika giving me a questioning look. It was then that I noticed with some embarrassment that I had taken up most of the aisle so that she couldn't pass. Smiling apologetically, I moved slightly to one side.
