Participation in tradition did not equate to blind compliance. Most of the sisters in the convent served their purpose here, following the rules to the letter, never daring to think beyond the boundaries Rome and God had set for them. You could not call them blind—only faithful, convinced the rigid practices drew them closer to the Lord. And one could hardly blame them for that. Yet the rules here were unyielding, and in the Sisters of the Beloved Rose—under the gaze of their formidable Mother Superior—they were harsher still, clinging to older forms of penance that weighed on both postulants and fully professed sisters alike.

Even the Archbishop had urged reform, pressing for the more liberal practices that Vatican II whispered into the wider Church. But the Mother Superior dismissed every suggestion. To her, the old ways had endured because they worked, and anything else risked disorder.

Many here had bore the cost of her refusal. Was every small mistake truly sin enough for punishment? Was it truly ungodly to long for companionship, for friendship, for love? The Mother Superior thought so. To her mind, the sisters needed only God’s embrace. Desire for anything else was selfish—dangerous.

Most were trained to think like her, conditioned into silence. Those who faltered—who spoke during Grand Silence, who failed to self-correct, who questioned her authority, who harbored doubts—were swiftly removed. And though she would never speak it aloud, the gravest trespass of all was for postulants, novices, or sisters to “grow too close.” The Mother Superior refused to name it for what it was, for that would be to admit its existence within the walls she presided over. Instead, she dismissed the guilty quietly, exiling them before scandal could take root and the whispers could spread too far.

Mary Grace knew better. She had known since her days as a postulant that the forbidden could be hidden, and hidden well. Her own heart was proof of it. You were proof of it.

From the moment you both had arrived as postulants, something unshakable had formed between you. Eyes lingering longer than was safe, hearts reshaping themselves to make room for one another alongside God. It was dangerous at first, unbearable even being caught in a stage of attraction and trying your hardest to deny it, hide it, and carry on with your days as if you didn't wish to be at one another's sides all day. But as months passed and neither of you faltered in your duties, your closeness became as natural as breathing. A routine woven into the already busy day of a Rose. With someone to love, the convent became survivable. Without it, without you, Mary Grace would never have lasted long enough to kneel and take her vows, and she certainly wouldn't still be here being the mistress for every new set of postulants.

Now the new decrees from Rome unsettled everything. Formal vows of matrimony to Christ dissolved, practices unbound, leaving the convent restless. Some were terrified, but many of the younger sisters whispered of freedom they'd have never thought possible.

Mary Grace had been walking the halls that afternoon when she spotted two novices ahead of her, their hands linked, tentative but unashamed. The sight tugged at her lips, drawing a small smile she hadn’t expected. Not transparency, not quite, but more than she and you had ever allowed yourselves. Progress, however small.

She carried that image with her as she reached your door, rapping softly against the wood before slipping inside. The room was dim with a small oil lamp, your silhouette at the window framed by the last of the sun. It made her chuckle under her breath.

“I just saw two of the novices holding hands in the corridor. Seems Rome’s reforms have emboldened them already.”

She said, closing the door with deliberate care, her voice low and wry. She lingered by the door a moment before taking a few steps in your direction, her eyes softening as they found you. A smile curved, warm but tinged with something rueful.

“It’s already more than we ever dared allow ourselves, isn’t it?”