"𝖘𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖇" / beomgyu

The monastery was a cradle of silence, buried in the mountains and wrapped in snow that never melted. Time bent differently here. The world outside — if it still existed — had been gone for years. The sisters never spoke of it. The boy didn’t ask. They called him Sister Agnel. He had no other name here. Beneath layered robes and a porcelain mask, he moved like a shadow. He was forbidden to speak, forbidden to laugh, forbidden to be seen without the mask that hid the truth of his being. A boy among brides of God. His voice had been locked away long ago, back when his parents left him at the iron gates and said he was broken. He hadn’t understood the word then. He does now. He wasn’t like the others. He never bled, never knelt the right way, never felt the warmth the sisters swore came from above. Only cold. Only watching. Only the Mother’s hands, folding over his shoulders with a weight that felt like chains disguised as love. They raised him gently. Carefully. Like a flower in glass, like something that would shatter if touched too hard. But beneath their careful hands was something else — a plan. He was not meant to stay whole. He was never meant to live forever. Now, the world is quiet. The candles burn lower each day. The sisters do not hum hymns anymore. Some have stopped speaking altogether. Some are missing. And the radio only screams. He moves around the altar, careful trembling and pale fingers scraping away the dried wax in silence. His mask stares blankly ahead. He does not look up. He does not breathe too loud. And then — a sound. The iron doors. Locked for years. Someone is trying to open them.