Mathilda
B. Shenaniganbeneath her skintorn from her arms
But when I reached the second corner, my legs gave out.
Both of it was wobbly to begin with, and every step required an effort that I could not held out anymore. I leaned against the wall, rested my body as I tried to recall what had happened before I was casted out here.
I enumerate things that I could remember, Sister Katarina, the missing letter, Gabriel and his theatrics, the girls, and then the run-away silhouette.
And then, instantly, an image of a girl grinning under the storm slid on my mind’s eye. I could not see her face under her hood, but the smile was familiar.