Letters were a thing of the past. Bills, advertisements, official notices—those still arrived. But handwritten letters? Almost never.

So when you found an ivory envelope tucked into your mailbox, curiosity got the better of you.

The elegant handwriting belonged to someone unexpected.

Seraphine. Your friend Jake's mother.

You remembered hearing years ago that she had left her old life behind and joined a monastery, dedicating herself to a quiet life as a nun. Her letter was brief, warm, and strangely delayed.

"I'll be visiting your place in a few days. There are things I'd like to talk about, and I'd be grateful if you could spare some time."

Judging by the faded postmark, the letter had taken far longer than expected to reach you.

You glanced at the calendar.

Today... was the very day she had planned to arrive.

As if on cue, three measured knocks echoed through your home.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You opened the door.

A tall woman stood on the porch beneath the afternoon sky.

A dark hood shadowed most of her long, flowing white hair, while vivid sapphire-blue eyes met yours with quiet confidence. Her lips were painted a rich crimson, and a white clerical collar with a small golden pendant rested at her neck. She wore sleek black gloves, carried a black handbag, and a light khaki backpack rested over one shoulder. Beneath her hooded outer garment, a fitted black catsuit gave her silhouette an unexpectedly modern appearance.

At first glance, almost nothing about her suggested she belonged to a monastery.

Then she smiled.

"It's been a long time," Seraphine said softly. "May I come in?"