Page 23 of Where the Dark Knelt (Worshipped by Darkness #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Eveline

A few years later

Another celebration of a religious holiday. Another gathering in the monastery’s grand hall.

Today, we were preparing to sing together again.

Of course, the soloists this time were the twins – Garcia and Gwerir.

Their rich chocolate-brown skin always caught my eye under the soft golden lights of the hall.

They were the funniest people I had ever met, and I learned from our conversations that they joined the monastery simply because they felt their destiny was to sing and serve God.

Singing in the choir wasn’t just a duty for them, it was their lifeline.

Their hair, too, always made me smile. Huge masses of tight curls framed their faces like glowing halos of dark silk.

I loved talking to them, especially on days when shadows swallowed my soul.

They always pulled me back into the light with their laughter and playful chatter.

In my mind, I called them the gigglers. I didn’t think I had ever met anyone more cheerful in my entire life.

When I first arrived at the monastery, they had already been nuns for a couple of years.

I couldn’t remember exactly how many, or maybe I’d simply forgotten, but it didn’t matter.

They had always been there for me. Whenever I came to them with tears in my eyes, needing a joke, a story, or just a reason to laugh, they never failed me.

Somehow, they always found the right words or gestures to make the darkness ease its grip.

Their presence made me genuinely happy, and I was grateful to sing with them in the choir.

That day, I stood right behind them in the formation. To my left was Astra. We were singing Ave Maria today – a popular piece that we often performed on feast days. Everyone loved it. The hall’s ceiling carried our voices high, the echoes shimmering like golden threads.

After that, we switched to ancient religious texts, chanting in low-throated harmonies.

That type of singing was my specialty. Over the years, the chocolate twins had taught me everything they knew about vocal techniques.

Now, it felt like I could travel the world with them, touring monasteries and teaching others this profound art.

The sound of those chants always sent goosebumps down my arms, and I knew it did the same to everyone listening.

There was something almost primeval in that resonance, something that reached deep into your bones and reminded you of forgotten truths.

Every weekend, we opened our hearts to the parishioners of the monastery.

The regular visitors came, their eyes filled with quiet devotion, and the tourists came too, curious people seeking something deeper after tiring of the beach or wandering the city streets under the blazing sun.

They would sit quietly, listening as our voices rose and fell, carried into the heavens on invisible wings.

In those moments, when we sang together in harmony, I felt at peace, as if the world itself paused to listen and smile.

Today was no exception when I saw a blond man far away in the back rows.

.. for some reason he always stood with his back to us, as if he just happened to come in here and I never saw his face, only a long drop of hair.

.. He was quite tall and it was so strange to me why he hid his face, although maybe just it seemed to me that every time I looked at him, he turned away as if he didn’t want to cross eyes with me, but this was just one of the strange parishioners who visited us from time to time.

.. And if he didn’t want to talk to the sisters at the moment, Maybe someday his time will come, it always comes, it’s just that everyone has different ways. …

Garcia and Gwerir finished the last notes of the song and we began to slowly disperse, someone went to continue helping the parishioners, someone went to cut fruit and top up wine as treats, someone went to help listen to others in the confession booth, and I...

That was basically all for today, the last of my to do list..

. the twins hugged me goodbye, whispering that “I did well today” and went about their business, apparently going back to talk to the parishioners, who always lined up almost in line to have a word with them, they were quite popular within us and it couldn’t help but make me happy.

I was rarely approached in general, probably because I was new, well, relatively new, and people had probably gotten used to the old line-up over the years, and it was a long way to take someone completely new into their lives, but I was in no hurry, so I decided to approach that blond guy.

Something told me to come up and talk... so I went to him.

But then, before I could reach him, I felt a sudden grip on my wrist. I turned, startled, and saw a young girl, no older than nineteen, clinging to me with trembling fingers.

Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot with broken capillaries, blinking rapidly as she tried to focus on who she had caught.

My heart skipped a beat at the sheer sorrow radiating from her small frame. She looked so lost.

“Oh… sorry,” she mumbled, blinking up at me with confusion.

“I thought you were… Marcella… your hair, it’s so similar in color, but…

her eyes…” She paused, staring into my eyes as if searching for familiarity.

“She doesn’t have grey eyes like yours… I’m sorry…

I… she has kind honey-colored eyes… I’m… sorry to bother you.”

“Do you want me to call her?” I asked softly, sitting down beside her. “She should be somewhere nearby.”

“No, I’m not… I just wanted to…” She shook her head, thin shoulders quivering. “It doesn’t matter…”

She clutched her hands together, intertwining her long, slender fingers. I noticed her nails, painted white with delicate rhinestones, shimmering under the rainbow light that streamed through the stained-glass windows. It struck me, how even in her pain, she carried this touch of fragile beauty.

“I can listen,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “Just like any other sister here. No judgment. Maybe… even some useful advice, if you want it.”

She nodded silently, lowering her head to stare at her trembling hands. Her hair fell around her face in soft, wavy blonde strands. Then, with a sob, she leaned her head onto my shoulder, as if her body could no longer carry the burden alone.

I raised my hand to stroke her hair, tenderly smoothing it down her back. She was so beautiful. It broke something inside me to see her crying because of a boy.

“My boyfriend…” she whispered, her voice trembling with grief. “He cheated on me… right before our wedding…”

Her sobs deepened. I reached into the pocket of my robe and took out a cotton handkerchief, pressing it gently into her shaking hands.

We always kept them here – so many people cried within these walls.

Tears were as common as prayers, and these small squares of cloth were both comfort and necessity.

“Here you go, darling…” I whispered, stroking her hair again with slow, soothing movements.

Nothing pained me more than hearing about betrayal. It was always the same story, always the same heartbreak. And each time, it tore at my chest as if the wound were my own.

“He… he…” she tried to continue, her voice dissolving into broken sobs.

“Hush, hush, darling,” I whispered, my own voice trembling with emotion. “I’m here… give me your hand.”

She let her thin hand slip into mine, her palm warm and damp with tears. I held it firmly, letting my thumb trace calming circles over her skin as her sobs echoed softly into the cavernous quiet of the chapel.

“He cheated on me with… ten different girls… I…”

What?

My chest constricted with horror at her words.

Ten? Has this new generation completely lost its sense of self-worth?

Every year, it felt like the situation in the so-called love market only worsened.

Perhaps it was a blessing that I had chosen life in the monastery, shielded from all this…

madness. At least romantic turmoil didn’t touch me directly anymore, except for those erotic dreams that still haunted my nights.

My body continued its hormonal rebellion, and sometimes it felt unbearable, but I managed… I coped.

But these young girls today… This hookup culture, it was destroying them from the inside out. It left them empty, hollowed of meaning and dignity, all because of some jerks who didn’t want real commitment and love – God forgive me.

“S-sorry?” she whispered, looking up at me with tear-glazed eyes.

My heart jumped. Had I said that out loud?

“You said something about… hookup culture, and then… the destruction of lives…”

“Oh… yes…” I sighed, rubbing her wrist gently as I looked at her beautiful, broken face. She was so young, and already crushed by betrayal.

“I’ve just… heard stories many times,” I said softly. “That this dating culture, this… one-night stand concept, has ruined so many lives. Especially for women. It makes me so sad… so angry sometimes, to see young girls destroyed by men who don’t even care.”

“Yes… you’re right…” she sniffled, her sobs quieting as she listened intently.

“I’m so sorry you’re suffering like this because of a boy… It’s terrible. They don’t deserve your tears, darling. You’re all so beautiful… so young… You deserve real gentlemen. You deserve only good things.”

“Maybe I should become a nun,” she blurted out, snorting a little through her tears. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her shoulders trembling. “Get away from all these boys, can’t call them men even… since they’re all cheating and just… animals!!!”

“Well… well…” I gave her a faint smile, squeezing her hand gently. “Becoming a nun isn’t such an easy path, darling.”

“Clearly better than pining for guys,” she sniffed, looking at me with wide, desperate eyes.

“Well, it’s better not to suffer for them at all, if you can help it,” I said softly. “But… becoming a nun is a difficult way. It’s about accepting yourself… serving God. We give lectures on theology on weekends, you know. You can come sometime. Just to listen. To breathe in peace for a while.”

“Yes… I know… Marcella told me about those lectures once,” she said, her voice growing quiet and tired. “But it’s not so interesting to me… but a life without men… that sounds nice.”

“You can live without them… even outside the monastery,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.

“Ah… yes…” She looked away, blinking rapidly, her tears drying into streaks on her flushed skin. “I… I seem to have completely lost my mind… I’m sorry… I have to go now. My parents are waiting outside the monastery… see you later.”

She stood abruptly, bowing her head to me in polite farewell before turning and hurrying towards the wide wooden doors at the exit.

I watched her leave, her small shoulders hunched under her pain, and sighed. So young, already tasting the worst parts of love. I prayed silently for her as she disappeared into the golden sunlight beyond the stained-glass windows.

And when I followed her departure with my eyes and tried to find that blond man in the crowd, he was nowhere to be seen.

It was as if he had left long ago, slipping away unnoticed like a fleeting shadow.

I sighed softly, a little saddened. Well…

maybe another time. Perhaps someday, if he wished, this shy stranger would come up and speak to me.

I decided to remain sitting on the bench, my gaze resting on the mosaic windows, where the setting sun dissolved into shards of colored light that bathed the hall in gentle warmth. I felt the quiet peace of twilight settle around me, and my thoughts drifted, unhurried.

To some extent, I understood Demetria. She was one of the sisters who often spoke with bitterness and hatred towards men.

They had treated her badly, and she never hid her contempt for them.

I could understand her, truly. Communicating with men…

it was rarely pleasant in this world, and judging by the endless stories that parishioners and strangers alike brought to the walls of this monastery, such pain was common – heartbreak, betrayal, violence, abandonment.

It was tragic how routine it had become.

If only there were more adequate men in the world…

but alas, alas. Perhaps somewhere far away in another universe…

on another planet… there were better men, beings of dignity and goodness.

Or the angels in heaven – yes, I always imagined them as the ideal men, if there was any gender division at all among them.

Perhaps they were simply asexual beings, pure in their existence, untouched by the vices of the flesh.

But demons… demons terrified me. Or rather, I didn’t even know exactly what about them scared me so deeply, but in the scriptures, they were always depicted as evil, manifestations of corruption and darkness.

That alone was enough to fill me with dread.

I was grateful they existed only in ethereal form, unable to walk this earth in physical bodies…

but if their spirits, their essences, could influence our consciousness… that was what frightened me the most.

And with every dream, that fear only grew.

It felt as if demons were draining me of my sexual energy, feeding on me in the dead of night.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. But prayers…

prayers helped. They drove them away from time to time, leaving only a silent blackness in my dreams, and that was enough. Enough to feel safe for another day.

I prayed that these dreams would disappear forever. That these shadows would vanish forever and ever.

And so, my path to becoming a nun became clearer, lighter, easier for me to embrace. I longed for the moment when I would take my final vows and become a full-fledged sister. All that remained was to continue improving myself, to remain steadfast… and to never succumb to temptation.

Never.