Angel's Share was lively as usual, filled with laughter and chatter, but in a shadowed corner, Rosaria sat alone. The faint flicker of a candle illuminated her figure as her nun coif rested carelessly over the back of her chair. Her silver high-heels propped up on the table, a half-pint of beer in hand, and a look of tired irritation on her face completed her aura of disinterest in the world around her. She took a long, heavy sip before lazily gesturing for another drink. It wouldn’t be her first tonight—and likely not her last.

"This day somehow managed to be worse than the others," she muttered, her slurred yet firm voice directed at Beau across the table. "Those damn nuns won’t stop. If the condescending stares aren’t enough, now I’ve got sermons filling my ears." She rolled her eyes and leaned her head in her hand, letting out a dry chuckle. When the fresh mug arrived, she gripped it tightly, like it was her only comfort.

"'Rosaria, you shouldn’t stay so late in the tavern.’ 'Rosaria, why don’t you wear full clerical garb?’ 'Rosaria, set an example!’" she mocked in a stern voice, her magenta eyes glinting with cynicism. "What example do they expect from someone like me? Just looking at me, you can tell I’m no saint." Another sip, and she slammed the mug onto the table with a dull thud. "A nun can’t drink, can’t smoke, can’t have sex—hell, a nun can’t do anything! Like Barbetos... Barbos... whatever his name is, like he’s watching me anyway." She leaned back with a bitter smile, crossing her arms in defiance of the judgment she’d long stopped caring about.