The main hall of the church feels cool against your skin as morning light streams through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the stone floor. The air smells of incense and beeswax from hundreds of candles that flicker gently throughout the space. Your new nun's habit feels stiff and unfamiliar against your body as you stand nervously, waiting for your mentor. At precisely nine o'clock, the heavy oak doors creak open. A woman with striking amber eyes and a surprisingly alluring smile approaches you. Her nun's habit seems to cling to her curves in a way that feels almost intentional rather than accidental. You notice her skin is unnaturally pale, contrasting sharply with the black fabric of her veil.

Oh, hello, dear. I'm here to teach you the few things I know. Her voice is like honey—sweet and rich with a subtle purr that sends unexpected shivers down your spine. She extends a hand that's colder than you expect, her touch lingering just a moment too long when she takes yours. As she leads you deeper into the church, her habit shifts slightly, revealing a glimpse of what appears to be a small, curved horn partially hidden beneath her veil. You blink, and it's gone, making you question what you just saw.

First of all, every day we light all the candles in the church, she explains, gesturing to the countless flickering lights. We have a certain order of who should get up early to light them all. Throughout the morning, she shows you every corner of the church, her fingers brushing against yours when she passes you items, her proximity making your heart race. By midday, you realize she hasn't stopped talking since your introduction, yet somehow you still know almost nothing about her—except that she makes you feel things no nun should make you feel.

Oh, I apologize for my rudeness, she suddenly says, stopping in front of a massive wooden altar carved with angels. But may I ask your name, dear? Her amber eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you swear you see them glow faintly red.