The Western Chapel was the smaller of the two at the Abbey of Saint Lily the Prisoner, though no less impressive. Stone carvings of angels watched down from high ledges, always watching the diligent worship that went on below. Above the altar, the early morning light glimmered through the stained-glass window depicting Saint Astrid and her wife Saint Elena, painting bright colours across the smooth floor below.

Anna drew another circle around her heart with her finger, bowing her head down for the third time to perform her next prayer. “Our Goddess, most divine, who watches over us from on high… Bless us with your patience, so we may toil without quarrel…” She had been coming here each morning, an hour before communion, ever since her first vows. She was determined to purify her mind of the lustful thoughts that raced through it, though she’d had little success thus far. At this point, being caged was making it much harder to free her mind of temptations than had she been left to her own devices.

It was a small comfort knowing she was unlikely to be the only one whose vows were being so strictly enforced. There were far too many keys in the Mother Superior’s cabinet for that.

“Bless us with Your love, so that we may offer cum… c-comfort… Comfort to the needy… Shit…” She cursed under her breath as she stammered over her words yet again, drawing a disapproving glance from Sister Margaret further down the pew.

“Language, Anna. We’ve been through this already,” she scolded, a mildly irritated expression on her face. A woman in her forties, Margaret had been to one to suggest Anna join her in the mornings to clear her mind. Until last week, they had never spoken before. Margaret had approached her, saying she had heard Anna was struggling to adjust to her vows. Anna wondered whether that meant she knew what she was going through… Whether Margaret had had her vows similarly ‘enforced’ when she had joined the sisterhood… But, of course, she couldn’t possibly ask that.

“I’m sorry, Sister. I’m just having a hard time focusing…”

Margaret nodded, shuffling over and gently placing a hand on Anna’s shoulder. The initiate squirmed. Even just that simple, platonic contact inspired the precise feelings she was trying to purge herself of, much to her frustration. “I know, Sister. These things take time. But sinful language is sinful language, regardless of how easy it slips out, and the Goddess abhors it so.”

Anna swallowed. She wanted to object, insist that it just slipped out, but she knew her sister was right. “I’m sorr-…”

The nun hushed her and shook her head. She slowly pointed a finger upwards. “Not to me. To Her.”

With another circle around her heart, Anna started once more. “Our Goddess, most divine, who watches over us from on high…” She worked her way through the Goddess’ Devotions ten times before the sound of the heavy wooden door creaking open echoed through the chapel.

Upon turning, Anna saw a woman with hands gently locked together, slowly walking down the aisle. She was dressed in the same nun’s habit as all sisters wore, with one key difference. Draped across her face was a black veil, transparent but with intricate patterns woven into it that obscured what was beneath. The initiate had never seen one of the sisters dressed like this before and couldn’t help but stare. From the way she glided slowly and smoothly, it almost seemed as though she were a ghost. The gentle tap of the woman’s footsteps against the cold, hard floor was the only proof that she wasn’t. The figure stepped behind the front row of pews, knelt down, and started to pray.

Margaret had noticed Anna staring. “That’s Sister Constance. We joined the Abbey at the same time,” she whispered gently. “I doubt you would have seen her before. She mostly keeps to herself. Even takes communion separately from the rest of the sisterhood.”

The veiled woman circled her heart before bowing her head down in silent prayer. Well, almost silently. She seemed to be making gentle… sobbing noises? No, not quite sobbing… But Anna was uncertain how else to describe it. “Why does she wear that? Is she in mourning?” she whispered back.

“No, no, not at all. She took on a vow of silence around…” The nun thought for a moment, tapping her chin. “It must be eight years ago now, I think, after visiting the Convent of Saint Luna on her first pilgrimage. A shame… She was a beautiful singer when in the choir.” Margaret gave a warm smile, fond memories coming to mind. “It isn’t easy on her, but she finds that privacy helps. You could learn from her, you know. She has a level of dedication few others here could match.” There was clear admiration in her voice.

“Hm,” murmured Anna. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for that…”

Once more, a hand gently perched itself on her shoulder, turning her body away from Constance’s direction and back towards the front of the chapel. “I’m sure you will be. When you’ve been here for twenty years, you find new ways to show your growing devotion. Besides, a vow of silence would probably help you avoid those little slips of the tongue you keep having.”

That didn’t seem necessary to Anna. She took one last glance at the woman across the room, then drew a circle around her heart yet again, starting to pray anew.

_____

“Our Goddess, most divine…” Anna began, clenching her hands tightly together with her head so low her brow touched the pew in front of her. She was having little luck in overcoming her indecent thoughts… The night before, she had dreamt of visiting Ellie, the blacksmith’s daughter, and having her free her from her cage with some plyers. When she awoke, it had taken all her willpower not to run to the village and beg for it.

“…for blessed are we to receive our grace…”

Instead, she had hurried back to the chapel, starting her morning prayers even earlier, long before Sister Margaret had arrived. Still dark outside, the chapel was illuminated only by the gentle glow of the incense burners she had lit. They were typically meant to be used in ceremonies, but the scent of smouldering blackroot always soothed her. She needed that right now.

“…and reward our faith with the joy of purpose, so we may further…”

The door gently creaked open, Sisters Margaret and Constance entering. Margaret spoke softly, while her companion silently nodded along. Both stopped in place when they smelled the scent. A proud smile washed over Margaret’s face, seeing the diligence of the initiate, until Anna continued.

“…and may You plant the seed of Your love deep… deep inside o-of… of… Goddess FUCKING damn it!” she cried out, as impure images flooded her mind once more.

“SISTER ANNA!” Margaret yelled in a voice far firmer than the initiate had ever heard from her. It made her yelp and turn in her seat. “What have I told you about that foul, sinful language? Do you think the Goddess does not bear witness without your sisters here? Why, in the Mother Superior’s day, they would have cut out your tongue for such a transgression!”

She had been so engrossed in prayer she hadn’t heard them enter, and her cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment. “S-sister, I… No, of course not, I just… I-it’s difficult…” She stammered helplessly, trailing off as Margaret’s scorn bore down on her.

After a moment, the nun muttered something under her breath and turned to Constance. The veiled woman continued to watch the initiate, her emotions utterly unreadable, as her companion whispered in her ear. After a moment, she bowed her head in a gentle nod, what sounded like half a sob accompanying it.

Margaret turned back, staring deep into Anna’s eyes. “Sister Constance and I are in agreement. We believe it best you take a vow of silence until you learn to control that wicked tongue of yours. We -…”

“Sister, I…”

No, Sister Anna. That’s quite enough out of you, unless you wish for the Mother Superior to hear of this.” Nothing good could come from that. The initiate solemnly bowed her head, swallowing gently.

The nuns stepped forward, Constance extending a hand to her. Anna hesitated before taking it, letting them lead her to the front of the chapel. The scent of incense was thick here, a gentle haze rising from the censers that sat on the altar, either side of the Book of Her Divine Will. “Kneel,” Margaret firmly ordered, and Anna did so, knees resting upon the cushion at her feet.

Constance took a censer and opened it, the dark ashes of the blackroot still smouldering and warm. Silently, she took it to the nearby font, splashing a small amount of water into it with her fingers to extinguish it. She stepped to the opposite side of the altar, veil hanging loosely as she mixed the fragrant cinders into a black paste with the end of the Writing Brush that sat atop the Book. All the while, Margaret stood behind Anna, hands firmly on her shoulders.

She soon learned why. Before she knew what was happening, the brush was reaching for her face, fine tip approaching her eyes. “What -…”

“Silence,” Margaret simply stated as she covered Anna’s mouth, holding her head in place. Constance gently and skilfully lined the initiate’s eyes with the ashen paste, coating her lashes too for good measure. For a moment it irritated them, but that soon passed, simply leaving her lids heavy with additional weight. “By the Verse of Luna, 8:2. As Saint Luna’s village burned at the hands of heathens, darkest ash coated her eyes.”

Placing the brush down, Constance raised her hands to her head and slowly lifted the veil. She, too, had ash painted along her lower lid, though it had long since been ruined, streaming down her cheeks in black rivers that had already dried. Covering her lower face was a mask of leather, holy verses inscribed upon it in gold, held in place by a strap that wrapped tightly around her head. Her fingers reached around back and undid a buckle. As she slowly and gradually removed the mask, she started to pull something from her mouth. It was a surprisingly intricate wooden statuette of Saint Luna, head bowed in prayer.

As Constance drew it from her lips, her throat would occasionally spasm in a gentle gag which Anna recognised as the sobs she had heard from her before. Long strands of spit and drool dribbled down the nun’s chin, while others kept her lips connected to the undeniably phallic statuette. Anna watched, cheeks flushed red at the perverted display. Yet as the tip was removed, the nun’s mouth smiled down at her with surprising warmth in her eyes. She had none of the shame that engulfed the initiate. To her, this was merely a show of her devotion.

The hand over Anna’s mouth lowered, though it still held her jaw tight. “Verse of Luna, 8:3. As Saint Luna’s village burned at the hands of heathens, thickest smoke choked her,” Margaret continued. Constance reached over the altar, guiding the statuette towards the initiate’s lips. Before she could object, it was being pressed firmly between them, copious amounts of the nun’s spit mingling with her own. The wood was mercifully smooth and varnished, yet entirely unyielding.

While the way Luna bowed her head in prayer offered some accommodation for the shape of the throat, it was evident that comfort was not a consideration here. Anna choked and gagged, eyes starting to stream and mark her cheeks with the same pattern of ruined ashen tributaries as the woman across from her. Their eyes connected, but Constance did not stop, no matter how much resistance the initiate’s sinful mouth put up. Only when the wide wooden base of the figurine pressed to her lips, retching throat trying to force it back out, did it cease its advance.

But the nuns were far from done. As soon as Anna’s throat paused its fight for a second, the leather gag was firmly pulled over the statuette’s base. “Verse of Luna, 8:4. As Saint Luna’s village burned at the hands of heathens, the Goddess took her voice, that her cries may not alert them to her presence,” Margaret continued, taking the notched straps in hand and pulling them taut behind the initiate’s head. Anna was left with no escape as the wooden saint was held uncomfortably in her convulsing throat. Eventually, the tightening stopped, a metal buckle digging into the back of her head. With a click, it locked into place.

Margaret stepped away from Anna, whose hands reached up instinctively to try to free herself. It was no use. A small padlock made sure of that. The nun joined her sister across the altar, taking the Book that lay before them and opening it. “Verse of Luna, 8:5. And when she survived until morn, Saint Luna thanked the Goddess for the gift of silence She had bestowed upon her,” she said, pushing the vast tome across to where the initiate kneeled. “Read the vow, in full. Aloud.” She tapped a finger against the page.

It was an impossible task, obviously so. But staring up through bleary eyes, still streaming as her throat occasionally spasmed, Anna could see Margaret was deathly serious. Her eyes flicked down to the page, and with her best effort, she mumbled her best attempts at reciting the vow. Saint Luna, most blessed daughter of the Goddess, whose silence saved her… I pledge my silence to you… As she heard the pitiful moans and chokes that Anna let out, no closer to words than had she not spoken at all, the nuns once more looked down on her with pride.

“Well done, Sister. Perhaps this shall teach you the value of choosing your words carefully,” Margaret said with a smile. “Sister Constance shall see to it that you have your communion and meals for the next week. Perhaps at that point, we shall see if you are worthy of words once more.” She handed a small key to Constance, who gently nodded her head once.

As Anna remained kneeling at the altar, the other two took their leave without another word. Anna hardly brought herself to look back at them, body weak and still struggling. Instead, she clamped her fingers together and began to pray once more. Her lusts were stronger than ever.

_____

Anna briskly walked down the corridors of the Abbey, keeping her head low. After a couple of days, she, too, now appreciated the privacy a veil brought to her. Keeping away from the other initiates, she had tried to focus on prayer, if only to distract herself from her selfish countdown until Margaret and Constance would free her. So low was her gaze that she didn’t notice the Mother Superior approaching until she had bumped into her.

“Goodness! Connie, would you please watch where you’re… Oh. Sister Anna? Is that you?”

She gulped, firm wood painfully pressing inside of her as she did, and nodded.

The abbess’ eyes flicked up and down, seemingly piercing through the veil. “My apologies. I mistook you for Constance. Yes, yes… Margaret told me about this…” Anna prepared herself for a scolding but instead saw the woman’s expression soften. “Taking on a vow of silence to see if it brings you closer to the Goddess… What a marvellous idea. I’m so glad to see you embracing spiritual life here, at long last. I knew it would just take a little push.”

So, Margaret had lied to the Mother Superior about the real reason. And as Anna nodded, she made herself complicit in that lie. Even in her silence, she accumulated yet more sin she would need to purge from herself. Guilt washed over her as the Mother Superior’s face filled with a pride the initiate had not earned. “Well, I won’t keep you. I am sure you have much to pray on. Have a blessed day, Sister.”

As she walked off, Anna felt a lump growing in her throat, beyond just the statuette. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps further prayer and devotion were what she needed.