Page 8 of Where the Dark Knelt (Worshipped by Darkness #1)

Eveline

The morning started with Astra knocking on my door like a madwoman.

Each thud felt like it rattled through my bones.

I woke up groggy and immediately sneezed twice in a row, the cold air in the room biting at my skin.

My nose felt icy, and my whole body shivered uncontrollably under the thin blanket.

Was it always this cold here? Or was I already getting sick?

Brr… I hugged myself tighter, curling deeper into the sheets for a fleeting moment. What time even was it?

“Eveline!” Astra’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Get up already, it’s time for morning prayer. It’s five a.m., come on!”

She knocked twice more before I heard the door creak open. “I’m coming in!” she warned.

I let out a half-conscious snort and forced myself to slide out from under the covers, wincing as my bare feet touched the freezing stone floor.

She entered holding a candle, its flickering light illuminating her calm, smiling face.

The room behind her remained cloaked in shadows.

Outside the window, I could hear the relentless drumming of rain against the glass.

Still raining… of course. My shoulders tensed as another shiver rolled through me.

“Yes… I’m ready…” I mumbled, hugging my arms around myself for warmth.

“Good. Then let’s go.” Without waiting for another word, Astra reached out, grabbed my cold hand in her warm one, and tugged me into the hallway.

The corridor was dim, lit only by sporadic candles lining the walls.

Our footsteps echoed softly as she led me to the main prayer hall.

When we entered, I saw that everyone else was already gathered.

Rows of sisters sat on thick prayer mats spread out across the stone floor, their heads bowed in silent meditation.

Even with the mats, it looked cold to sit there, but none of them seemed to mind.

At the front near the altar, Eata was lighting the last of the tall golden candles. Her serene face lit up in a gentle smile when she noticed Astra and me slipping into the hall. She gave us a small nod of welcome.

Astra and I found two empty mats near the back. I knelt down, the thin fabric barely shielding my knees from the cold floor beneath. My joints felt stiff from sleep, and exhaustion pressed down on me like a heavy blanket, but I tried to focus on what was happening.

Eata began reciting the main morning prayer, her voice low and melodic, echoing through the hall like a comforting chant. Word by word, we repeated after her in unison, our voices overlapping, rising and falling together, weaving into something ancient and deeply peaceful.

For a brief moment, I almost forgot about the cold seeping into my bones. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of prayer lull me into quiet surrender.

“In the quiet hours before the world stirs, we lift our voices to You, O Lord. The dawn breaks upon the sacred stones, and in its light, we find Your mercy anew.

Blessed be this day, woven by Your hand. May our hearts be humbled, our spirits strengthened, and our burdens lifted in Your grace.

We walk the path of devotion, trusting in Your will. Shield us from temptation, guide us from doubt, And let love — pure, unwavering, and divine — be the fire in our souls.

As the bells toll and the incense rises, we surrender all to You. For in surrender, we are made whole. For in faith, we are found.

Amen.”

It felt like some kind of ancient ritual.

The candles glittered softly, casting fiery shadows that danced along the tall marble columns, flickering across the carved arches and playing in the stained glass windows above.

Each stained glass shard caught the candlelight in a different way, scattering tiny fragments of gold and crimson across the stone floors.

The hall felt alive with light and shadow.

I watched everything with a quiet, desperate hope, even though my head still felt foggy from having to wake up so early. My eyelids ached with exhaustion, and my body protested every small movement, but none of it mattered. Not right now.

We recited different texts for what must have been an hour, though it passed without me truly noticing, carried away by the silence of this particular morning.

The world outside the monastery’s walls no longer seemed real.

As I repeated the prayers, my mind kept trying to slip away, to escape into its familiar chaos – thoughts of pain, of anxiety, of the life I’d left behind.

But each time, I forced myself back, clinging to the words spoken by Eata like a lifeline.

The past had to stay in the past.

By the last minutes of prayer, my eyes were closed, and I spoke the words automatically, without thought, without resistance.

I liked it. There was something grounding about it, simply repeating each line, feeling the vibrations in my chest, trying to find a new meaning in these ancient syllables that might one day save me from myself.

When the final prayer ended, and the sisters quietly rose from their mats, we all moved to prepare breakfast together before the clock struck seven.

The dining hall buzzed with quiet purpose, the clinking of plates and pots mixing with the patter of rain outside.

As I was carrying a stack of empty cups towards the basin to wash, Eata approached me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

She looked at me with eyes full of knowing calm. “Eveline,” she said gently, “before breakfast, we need to cut your hair.”

I blinked up at her, startled.

“It is our rite here,” she continued, her voice soft and unwavering. “A way of cutting off the past. Whether you stay here only for weeks, months, years, or for life… it does not matter. This moment is sacred. We cut away what has absorbed your burdens. We begin anew.”

My hands trembled slightly around the cups. I swallowed, feeling something heavy and deep loosen in my chest. All I could do was nod.

I finished washing the cups and left them drying up. Eata led me back to the prayer hall. The candles still flickered, their flames steady and small, illuminating the golden altar. I knelt before it, my legs folding beneath me without resistance, and bowed my head deeply to Eata.

She stood behind me in silence. I felt her fingers thread through my hair, gently working out the tangles left from the night.

Her touch was warm and careful, her nails grazing my scalp just enough to soothe the tension there.

She hummed to herself, a low melodic tune like a lullaby, something old and comforting that vibrated through my chest and made my breathing slow down.

In that moment, I let go. Completely.

I gave myself up to her hands, her presence, this place. I didn’t think about who I was before. I didn’t think about what I might become. I just knelt there in quiet surrender, feeling her comb my hair, ready to let go of everything I no longer needed to carry.

When her gentle fingers brushed along my neck, my skin erupted in goosebumps from her touch – it was so pleasant.

Then came the sound of scissors, sharp and rhythmic, and I thought I could almost hear each lock of hair falling softly to the floor below me.

Chick-chick – with just a few snips, half of it was already gone.

My hair was cut quite short, just above my shoulders, and it made me feel nervous.

But when Eata finally finished and handed me a mirror to see myself, I saw a new version of who I was.

My eyes still looked so tired and dull, but somehow my face seemed fresher, like a part of me had been washed clean.

“And now, my lambkin, it’s time for breakfast, isn’t it?

I think the girls will be happy to see your new look.

” She stroked my newly cropped hair with such tenderness before beginning to gather the fallen curls into a special container.

She dropped wax into it, and in an instant, the flame consumed all the hair, turning it into barely visible dust. Then she placed the container on the altar, murmured something under her breath, and ground herbs into the dust before burning the entire mixture again, leaving nothing but emptiness in the copper-green bowl.

I watched the ritual in quiet amazement.

“It’s a ritual to protect you from dark forces,” she explained softly. “They won’t be able to touch you or enslave your soul as long as this protection remains and as long as you allow it to exist. It will guard you.”

I nodded slowly. “Are you a herbalist?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes,” she replied with a warm smile. “I perform certain rituals with herbs, and I make medicines as well. It all helps people feel much better than they would without it. How do you feel now?”

I took a deeper breath. It felt easier to breathe, as if my chest had been tight all this time and was finally released.

I nodded, running my fingers through my short hair, though a pang of sadness prickled deep inside me at the loss of its length.

“Yes… it’s like… it’s like I can finally breathe easier. ”

“That’s a wonderful sign. It means the spell has worked. Let’s hope your healing and relief from depression come faster here than with standard methods.”

“Uh-huh…” I licked my lips, realizing how dry they were, and only then did I notice the deep emptiness in my stomach. It was crazy, but I hadn’t felt this hungry in such a long time…

Of course, I had fleeting thoughts about checking social media, scrolling through who was living what kind of life out there, but…

then I remembered I didn’t have my phone anymore.

And even if I did, would anyone really care?

No one ever really did. My colleagues, my so-called work friends…

I didn’t have any real friends from school or university, no close classmates to reach out to. None of it mattered.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter…