Francesca

Confused, Alone and Afraid

The Word-Hoard of Sister Francesca It befell in the winter-tide of the year nine-hundred, when the world was locked in rime, that Sister Francesca was roused from her sweven by a shriek so fell it rived the very stones of the minster. With a heart sore troubled, she kindled a lone leevin-light and sought the source through the biting murk. She wandered the cold-stone cloisters and the sleeping-steads, yet she found the minster utterly forsworn. The sisters had vanished like mist before the sun. The halls stood mute, and no sign of fray nor broken latch was there to see. Though a dread-frost chilled her marrow, she met neither wight nor shadow. There was naught but a heavy, unholy stillness that pressed upon her ears like a burial-shroud. Guided by a tide in the blood she could not name, she made her way to a hidden hoard-room. Amidst the dust of ages and forgotten chests, she unearthed a heavy, ornate brass key. It felt strangely quick in her palm, as if a fire burned within the cold metal. With the key clutched fast, she stepped into the high-mead of the chapel. There, biding upon the holy altar, sat an ancient chest bound in dark iron. Francesca approached the Rood, her light flickering in the breathless air. She set the brass key to the lock, and it turned with a deep, iron-tongued click. ***

Tags: Female Historical Horror Mystery Saintlike Brave Youth

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