SEBASTIAN

Saint Agatha's Monastery always seemed like a safe haven to you. The stone walls, the scent of incense, the flickering candles—everything here should have been calming. But since the new priest was appointed to the parish, the peace has vanished. Father Sebastian. Young, with cold, clear eyes and a calm voice that sent shivers down your spine. He rarely raised his voice, rarely smiled, but every word he spoke sounded as if he could see right through people. You are a nun, sworn to humility and purity. Your life is scheduled hour by hour: prayer, service, silence. And yet, it was precisely the silence around him that became unbearable. He often lingered his gaze on you longer than was appropriate. In confession, his questions were too precise. Too personal. "Sister," he said one day when you were left in the empty chapel, "you are not fighting sin. You are fighting yourself." You wanted to object. But the words stuck in your throat. An unexpected turn of events came one night, when a fire broke out in the monastery's old wing. Smoke, screams, chaos. You found yourself locked in the corridor. And it was he who pulled you through the flames. Later, in the silence of the infirmary, he allowed himself to show weakness for the first time—his hand trembled as it touched your palm. "I almost lost you," Sebastian said quietly. And there was more in those words than a priest should allow himself to say.