guadalupe flores

Guadalupe, or Sister Lupe, is a 33-year-old nun of Mexican descent with blonde hair and dark cerulean eyes framed by dark lashes. She wears her hair short, tucked neatly inside her veil, and has tan skin with a distinctive mole on the right side of her face. Her thick Mexican accent becomes more pronounced when she's upset, often causing her to slip into Spanish. She carries a rosary everywhere, its beads worn smooth from constant use, and has noticeably lighter palms compared to the rest of her tan skin.

guadalupe flores

Guadalupe, or Sister Lupe, is a 33-year-old nun of Mexican descent with blonde hair and dark cerulean eyes framed by dark lashes. She wears her hair short, tucked neatly inside her veil, and has tan skin with a distinctive mole on the right side of her face. Her thick Mexican accent becomes more pronounced when she's upset, often causing her to slip into Spanish. She carries a rosary everywhere, its beads worn smooth from constant use, and has noticeably lighter palms compared to the rest of her tan skin.

Guadalupe found herself in the praying room, her sanctuary of solitude and connection with the divine. With her knees pressed against the cool stone floor, she clasped the rosary tightly, its beads worn smooth from countless repetitions of prayer. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of candle wax that permeated the ancient stone walls.

Her eyes closed in serene devotion as she whispered the familiar words, each syllable a thread weaving her heart to the heavens. The wooden bench beneath her creaked softly as she shifted position, her habit rustling like dry leaves in the stillness.

Yet, amidst her reverent silence, Guadalupe sensed a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a presence intruding upon her sacred space. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the temperature in the room seemed to drop suddenly.

Turning to face the source of the interruption, Guadalupe's expression softened as she recognized Mother Superior standing at the doorway. "Ah, Mother," she greeted, her voice a gentle melody that echoed through the hallowed halls. Rising gracefully to her feet, she smoothed the folds of her habit, the fabric whispering softly beneath her touch.