Page 48 of Where the Dark Knelt (Worshipped by Darkness #1)

She regarded me quietly for a moment before nodding.

“Okay,” she said, her smile warm and understanding.

“Then you’re free from your duties today.

As soon as you get back, just come find me.

I’ll probably be in the garden with Estelle, we have a big weeding course today, and she asked for help. If you have time, come join us.”

She reached out and patted my head, her touch light and caring, like an older sister.

“Oh, yes,” she added as I turned to leave.

“Astra mentioned this morning that you were looking for some letters. Usually, if something important arrives for the sisters, it’s handed to us personally.

But general correspondence is kept in that box at the corner of the monastery.

You can check there if you’re expecting anything. ”

I nodded, bowing slightly in thanks before leaving.

Before breakfast, I decided to visit the hot springs to bathe. The warm water melted away the lingering tension in my body, soothing the restless thoughts swirling in my mind.

Afterwards, I ate with the sisters in the dining hall, prayed again, and finally made my way behind the monastery where the letter box was kept.

There was also a phone booth there, an old red one, paint chipped and faded with age.

I had never used it in all my time here.

Calling a taxi from it felt oddly out of place, but the directory with instructions was posted right on the wall beside it.

I didn’t want to spend monastery money on my personal errands. It felt wrong… I hoped for a free ride somehow, but if not, I would cover it myself. Either way, there was no rush, the taxi might take half an hour to arrive, giving me time to check the letters.

I dialed the taxi number with trembling fingers, listening to the endless beeping as I waited for someone to pick up. While I waited, I opened the letter box, curious.

Inside, there was a pile of letters, most weren’t addressed to anyone by name. They were simply messages to vague concepts, to the universe, to higher powers, to God. Quiet pleas written in shaky handwriting, words from aching hearts cast out into the void.

I flipped through them, reading snippets here and there, feeling their sadness and hope weave through me like thin threads of fog. But there was nothing for me.

I put them all back in the drawer, closed it gently, and leaned against the booth’s glass, watching the sun rise higher over the quiet monastery grounds. The day was only just beginning, and already my heart felt heavy with everything that waited for me beyond these peaceful walls.

“Hello? This is Avenhurst Taxi Service. Where do I need to send the car?” asked a girl’s gentle voice through the receiver, just as my gaze caught on a stray piece of paper sticking out from the letter box. It was barely held in place, like it had fallen there and been forgotten.

For some reason, my chest tightened as I reached out to grab it.

“Yes, good morning. I need a car to come to the monastery, it’s locat—”

I didn’t have time to finish.

A loud roar of an engine cut through the morning stillness. I frowned, turning to see an expensive black car pulling up right in front of the booth, its sleek body gleaming beneath the early sunlight.

What was a car like that doing here on a weekday morning?

A man in a black suit stepped out, dark sunglasses covering half his face. He approached with swift, silent steps.

“Eveline Solane?” he asked in a low, precise voice.

I swallowed hard, surprised he knew my name, and nodded mutely.

“Desmond sent his car for you,” he said. “Get in. I’ll take you to the race.”

I could only nod again, stunned, and almost forgot about the girl on the phone. I hung up abruptly, my eyes falling back to the letter wedged behind the mailbox counter.

“Just… just a second…” I whispered to the driver, my fingers reaching desperately for it.

The paper was thin and worn, crumpled and coated in dust and grime as if it had been trapped there for years. When I pulled it free and turned it over, my breath hitched.

My name. My father’s name.

My hands began to shake. The date in the corner was faded but still visible, ten years ago. Exactly ten years ago. Right before my birthday.

My heart squeezed painfully in my chest. Had he written to me back then…?

The driver opened the booth door fully and extended a gloved hand to help me out. I stumbled slightly as I stepped onto the stone path, clutching the letter tightly, unable to tear my eyes from it.

He guided me to the car and opened the back door. I sank into the plush black leather seat, sinking into its softness, barely registering how the ceiling above me glittered with tiny embedded lights, mimicking a starry sky.

The door closed with a quiet click. The driver circled around and settled into the front seat. I felt the hum of the car as he pressed a button, reclining my seat slightly and extending a footrest like an elegant armchair.

We drove off smoothly down the monastery’s narrow stone road, and I relaxed into the seat, though my entire body still trembled. I held the letter in a death grip, staring at it as questions burned through my mind.

Why…? Why had this been left here, hidden away all this time? Why hadn’t he sent any others? Why hadn’t anyone given it to me?

The car sped up along the main road, engine purring like a quiet beast beneath us. My fingers moved to the envelope’s seal, tearing it open with trembling care.

Inside was a folded sheet of cream paper, and on it, his beautiful handwriting. Flourished, meticulous, just as I remembered.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes before I even began to read.

Dear Eveline,

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you for so long.

I was probably afraid to say anything too personal or intimate.

But you know… I sent you to the monastery because I loved you deeply and worried about you.

I knew you would be better off there than with us in this cursed world…

yes, it’s cursed. I am sure of it. It was only in the church and in God’s service that I found hope and peace.

I think now you understand me more in this regard, because now you are also with God and closer to Him. Even if you’ve long lost faith in Him, I am sure you will find it again. Just as you will find faith in us, your parents…

Life is hard, Eveline. It was never meant to be easy. You understand that, don’t you, my ashrose?

You deserve the best, and I know God will take care of you. The monastery is a great place, and among the sisters, I am sure you will find what you have been searching for all this time, and finally find peace in this chaotic world.

I just wanted to say that I love you, and…

It’s hard for me to write this, but a chronic illness is killing me, and I may be gone soon. So maybe this is the last letter you will ever receive from me.

I love you, ashrose. Live according to the call of your heart and soul, and according to our holy scriptures.

I love you.

Dad.

My heart clenched painfully as I read his words. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them, dripping onto the paper and smudging the ink slightly. Something cracked deep within my chest, like a fragile glass ornament shattering in the silence.

I had never written back to him. I had thought he’d forgotten about me…

abandoned me completely. We still had some contact back then, though it was never warm.

Our relationship had always been quiet and distant, unlike with my mother, who never wrote to me at all.

Or… perhaps she did. Perhaps her letters simply never reached me.

My hands trembled, crumpling the edges of the paper as thoughts crowded in, suffocating me. Was he already gone? Dead, buried, his body returned to the earth? It had been ten years… so much could have happened in that time.

Panic clawed at my chest. I needed to know. I needed to call him right now.

I still remembered his number by heart. After all these years, the sequence of digits was burned into my mind like an unhealed scar.

“Excuse me… may I make a call from here? Do you have a phone I can use?” I asked the driver, my voice breaking despite my efforts to sound calm.

He glanced at me through the rear-view mirror, his gray eyes meeting mine with cool indifference. He had noticed I was crying, of course he had, but his professionalism didn’t falter for even a second.

Without a word, he handed me a sleek black phone, already open and ready for dialing.

My fingers flew across the screen, inputting the number before my fear could stop me. The line rang once. Twice. Then it cut off.

I dialed again. And again. Short beeps echoed in my ear, mocking my desperation, until finally a message popped up on the screen:

This number has been blocked or disconnected.

My chest tightened so painfully I thought I might faint. My vision blurred with tears as I clenched the phone in my trembling hand. Something was terribly wrong.

I didn’t even know my mother’s number. If I wanted to contact her, I would have to ask Eata for help later…

I felt trapped. Completely disconnected from the outside world, sealed away in this car speeding down the highway, with nowhere to run from the panic flooding my veins. The realization settled in my bones like a cold, heavy weight:

I couldn’t find out anything here. Not now. Not yet.

And the helplessness of that truth made me feel unbearably small.

When we arrived at the entrance to a huge arena on the outskirts of the city, the driver handed me over to an event organizer. The man glanced at the envelope in my hand and nodded stiffly, though I could see tension tightening his broad shoulders.

“Are we hosting some kind of circus today…? Has he completely lost his fucking mind?” he muttered under his breath, but said nothing more as he led me down a long corridor.

Eventually, we reached a large private box with panoramic windows overlooking the entire motorcycle racetrack.