90-DAYS WET
immaculate, suffocating, and smelling of beeswax and ancient paper.
Reverend Mother Colette sat behind her massive, polished mahogany desk, her posture as rigid as a pillar of stone. Her glasses were perched on the bridge of her sharp nose, and she was reviewing a stack of ledger papers with such intensity that she didn't look up when Claire stood before her.
For a long minute, the only sound was the scratching of the Reverend Mother’s pen. Claire stood with her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet, trying to make herself small, trying to be the shy, obedient girl she had been for years.
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