Novel & Cerita The Discipline Of Grace

Alaric hadn’t stepped in for my sake, not really. But I couldn’t blame him. Zoe and Ella were the most important things in both of our lives, and they’d never get over it if they saw Grace’s actions. Grace’s lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flaring angrily. “Don’t be ridiculous. These girls need discipline, just as you did. I disciplined you, and you turned out fine, didn’t you?”

The mention of my code name sent my heart racing, my breath catching in my throat. Grace's expression softened, almost maternal. "I am honored you chose to follow in my footsteps. But you must understand something. As much as we help others, as much as we punish those who deserve it, we also feed the darkness in ourselves. And if we do not have a source of light, a strong one, to keep us balanced…" She trailed off, her gaze distant, as though she were staring at her own ghosts. "We may lose ourselves. Excuse me," she said, brushing past me and leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Adam inquired. "She is the awardee of the Picarmore University scholarship for this year," the caller explained. "Crazy, so you mean the bursary fund that I give to that school is being spent on a nobody who does not know her place?" Adam exclaimed. "What are the criteria for the scholarship selection again? How did a brat like her manage to get the scholarship? Shouldn’t the offer be for those with great characters and intentions to contribute to their community alone?" "She is a bright student, sir. She got an all-round A in school, and she has always conducted herself in a great manner, despite being constantly bullied since her resumption. She has always managed to not let it get the bes

But her words bound me to my chair as surely as chains. And so Paula and I stayed. Grace approached slowly, her presence filling the room before she even spoke. Her voice, when it came, was warm, almost kind. “My dear sisters,” she said, “you have much to learn. Discipline, humility, obedience. These things are the foundation of a holy life.” It might have been ordinary, if not for her touch. She brushed Paula’s shoulder with her hand, a light tap, as though to emphasize her point. Paula smiled faintly, unbothered. But I felt my chest constrict. Then Grace’s fingers slipped to Paula’s arm, lingering too long, pressing lightly as she spoke of service.

"The route the cows would follow through the fields to get to the barn. They weren't necessarily the easiest or the smartest routes. Just the only ones the cows knew and so they always followed them." "You mean like Margie? Assuming the most unlikely thing just because it's the most dramatic?" I nod, running my hands over my rounded belly and the children I'm looking forward to having with Rob, but I also mean my grandparents. "Whatever roots are here, they’re still mine. Flawed or otherwise. Regardless of what Margie's uncle the priest used to say, I think maybe seeing things through together, even when it’s hard, and letting go of the past is the true work of Grace."

"I've never..." "I know. That's a soft limit. We'd work up to it gradually." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Everything starts gentle, Vivian. Always." "Describe it." His eyes darkened. "Discipline isn't about hurting you. It's about connection. Reset. When you break a rule and we address it physically, something releases. Tension you've been holding. Guilt you didn't know you carried." "Pain as catharsis." "Yes." He paused. "And intimacy. When someone trusts you enough to let you hurt them—and heal them—there's nothing else like it."

Tastes her sins and decides she’s his! His to discipline, to sanctify, to break beautifully at his altar. Bound by desire and unholy devotion, Grace descends into his world of punishment and worship, where her body becomes his temple and her pain, his prayer. Every Sunday, she kneels for penance. Every sin is another reason to be used. But salvation has a cost. And Father Lucien doesn’t preach mercy. He preaches ruin. Father Lucien Moreau’s P.O.V. ⸻ “If God was watching, He didn’t stop me.”

“Grace is our daughter.” “Exactly. Our normal, healthy, developing daughter.” Grace, fresh from her bath and dressed in pajamas, walks from her bedroom to our bedroom and back again, clearly proud of her new ability to move independently between rooms. “She's walking toward her future,” I say, watching Grace toddle between us with increasing confidence. “And we'll be there for every step.” “Every step, every fall, every recovery, every success.” “Every normal developmental milestone that you will interpret as exceptional achievement.”

“When the sky lit. That wasn’t normal.” No. It wasn’t. “She’s not stable yet,” Grace says. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. And Gaven…” Her voice tightens slightly. “…Gaven doesn’t give things space. He claims them.” My chest tightens. “You’re wrong,” I say, but it lacks force. Grace studies me carefully. “I don’t hate him,” she says. “He’s powerful. Charismatic. But he sees Fern as destiny. Not as a girl who’s barely begun to understand herself.”

She’s so young and has already experienced so much. “Grace, how were you able to avoid being influenced by the familiar’s spells?” I ask her and stroke her hair. Grace furrows her brows. “I don’t know, it was just kind of easy. I didn’t want to listen to them, so I didn’t.” Grace says and I laugh. Could it really be that easy? I wonder. I know Grace is fiercely strong-willed and independent, she is Bess’s granddaughter after all, but could this resistance really be the product of willpower alone?