Mathilda
She fixed her dress as she noticed a few wrinkles, as if that would make her less old, scary and annoying, and then she strutted away.
My stomach started rumbling again because of the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchen. But eating was less of my worry now. I started walking to the exit, and before I could reach the lone door, I noticed a lady sitted in front of the fire. She was on the floor. Eating.
“Martha? Is that you?” I asked her as I walked closer to confirm.
“Mathilda, you scared me my child.” It was Martha. The head cook of the convent.