“Do you guys think that they could easily get rid of that horrid smell?” Little Fatma asked with her little shy grin.     Even though they did her bad, she still concernedly asked if they could wash off the smell. Maybe because it was really awful, for its stink was deliberately hurting my nose, or maybe she was really good in nature, and she did not find pleasure in doing revenges.

I had visited the chapter house too many times that I could remember, and it made me commit its interior to my memory. The faces of angels, that I named with silly epithet, on the multicolored glass mosaic, the little scribbles I drew on the matured oaken door, the empty space on the shelf for the pictured book that I stole and mislaid, and the ever-tilted frame of Saint Agatha’s visage.      But what I wholly memorized was the face of Mother Renata whenever I entered the room. It was similar to summer.

“Are you sure you can do it?”      “Yes. I can.” She said with vigor.      The infirmary was still when Abigail and I entered it. The convent’s only doctor was away, the medicine and tools were aside, and all of the beds were empty, but not until she settled herself on the last one beside the uns

We failed for Michael was fine.      My habit and wimple were making it worst. I still felt hot and sticky as I went to the infirmary to perform my task as Sister Teresa’s new subordinate. But I was mainly a mole of our plan so I had to undermine her treatments to Michael any sooner now.      “Great, you are here.”

The Father knew about the thanksgiving even though he was not invited.      The night sky was undecorated and the moon was alone, but it was enough to guide me of my path for I was in haste to go to where my sisters were. Every step was sounding on the concrete pave of the corridor and it was loud due to the cricket free night.      As I turned to the next corner, there were three knights standing on the edge of the colonnades. For a quic