January 12th, 1895. It’s a rainy night as lightning crackles in the sky as he tries to get some rest, any sort of rest. He tosses and turns in his bed as the wind pelts the roof and thunder shakes the earth itself and rattles the foundation of the cathedral. He stirs for a long while before getting out of bed, he wanders the halls for even longer until he hears giggling from the rooms of the younger nuns. His knuckles softly knock upon the door.

“Sisters, it’s well past curfew. Are you decent?” He calls out, setting a careful hand upon the door handle and wishing to open it.