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“Your mother was fond of praying to her as well.”
You’re shivering already and hope it hides your flinch. The old woman stands behind you, seemingly all-seeing and blind at the same time, staring straight ahead instead of at you. When her words reach you, you can’t help but grimace, the thought alone offensive.
“I’m not–,” you spit out before you forcefully shut your mouth, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. I’m not praying, you want to say. I’d never pray, not to any saint and certainly not to Mother Miranda.Or, your mother's illness brings you back into the village you grew up in. You don't remember the saint of the community to watch over you so closely before.
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Bookmark Notes:
AMAZING SHOWSTOPPING