Chapter 2: The Silent Sisters

The corridors of the Convent of Saint Rosalia stretched endlessly before Eliza, their high stone walls lined with faded tapestries that seemed to absorb the light. The thick, oppressive silence was only broken by the faint echo of her footsteps. It was as if the air itself refused to move, as though the convent had been suspended in time for centuries. Eliza had arrived only a few hours earlier, but already, she felt the weight of this place settling on her chest. The nun who had greeted her led her through the labyrinthine halls with a purposeful stride, not once pausing to speak. Her face, obscured by the heavy veil, remained unreadable, her movements mechanical. Eliza struggled to keep up, her own footsteps faltering as the silence pressed in on her. She had expected peace, but not this—this unsettling stillness that seemed to consume the convent from within.

Finally, they reached a small room at the end of the hall. The door creaked as the nun opened it, revealing a modest, austere space. A single bed, a wooden chair, a small desk—everything was bare, as if the room had been stripped of its soul. There was nothing inviting here, only a cold, sterile emptiness.

"This will be your room," the nun said in a voice that barely rose above a whisper. "Rest. You will meet the others at dinner." Eliza nodded, unsure of what to say. She had expected more warmth, more kindness, but instead, there was only the strange weight of their silence. The nun turned without another word and exited the room, leaving Eliza alone.

She set her few belongings down on the bed and sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the mist-covered mountains beyond the convent’s walls. The view was beautiful in a desolate way, but Eliza couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The air felt too still, the silence too heavy, as if the world outside had forgotten to turn.

After a long while, she heard the faintest sound—the soft, rhythmic shuffle of feet approaching from down the hall. Eliza stood up, her heart quickening as the sound grew louder. The door opened, and another nun stepped inside. Like the first, her face was hidden beneath a veil, and she carried with her an aura of quiet calm that unsettled Eliza.

“Dinner is served,” the nun said softly, her voice blending with the silence of the room.

Eliza nodded and followed the woman down the long corridor. As they walked, she could hear the occasional whisper, faint but distinct, like distant voices speaking in a language she didn’t understand. But when she turned to look, there was no one else in the hall.

The dining room was a long, narrow chamber, dimly lit by candles that flickered like dying embers. The table was set with simple wooden plates, silverware, and cups, but the atmosphere was anything but ordinary. The nuns sat in silence, each one cloaked in their dark habit, their heads bowed as if in deep contemplation. They moved in perfect unison, lifting their utensils in synchronized gestures, chewing with methodical precision. There was no conversation, no exchange of pleasantries. Just the sound of metal against ceramic and the low hum of the unseen whispers. Eliza hesitated at the door, unsure if she should enter. Her presence had gone unnoticed, and the silence in the room seemed even more oppressive now that she had stepped inside. She took a tentative step forward, and one of the nuns, her back straight as a rod, gestured to an empty seat at the far end of the table. Eliza nodded and walked toward the chair, her movements awkward in the heavy silence. She sat down, feeling the weight of the eyes that seemed to follow her every motion. As she began to eat, she noticed something strange. The food—simple, plain fare—was tasteless. It was as though the act of eating had lost its joy, reduced to an automatic ritual. The nuns around her ate with the same mechanical precision, never glancing up, never acknowledging her presence. And yet, despite the lack of interaction, Eliza felt as though they were all deeply connected by something unspoken. She could sense their attention, their collective focus on her, even though no one was looking directly at her. A soft creak sounded from the far end of the room, and Eliza’s gaze instinctively shifted. One of the nuns had risen, her chair scraping against the stone floor as she moved to the door. But it wasn’t her departure that caught Eliza’s attention—it was the way the nun moved. Her steps were unnaturally slow, as if she were walking through water, her body stiff, rigid, as though controlled by something other than her own will. The door closed behind the nun, and Eliza found herself alone in the room with the others. The whispers continued, now louder, more insistent. They seemed to come from everywhere, swirling around her, but when she turned to look, no one was speaking. Eliza felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the growing sense of unease that gnawed at her insides. Something was wrong—deeply wrong—but she couldn’t figure out what. The dinner continued in eerie silence, but Eliza couldn’t bring herself to eat much. Her stomach churned with an unknown discomfort, and the food tasted like ash in her mouth. She had been hungry, but now, all she wanted was to escape. She looked up at the other nuns, their faces hidden beneath their veils, but one of them met her gaze for the briefest moment. The eyes that stared back at her were not the eyes of a person—they were dark, hollow, and void of any warmth.

A shiver ran through Eliza, and she looked down at her plate, suddenly too afraid to meet anyone’s gaze again. She couldn’t stay here. Not tonight.

The meal came to a silent end, the nuns rising in unison and filing out of the room without a word. Eliza watched them leave, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The room was empty once more, the candlelight flickering softly in the silence. She remained seated for a long time, her mind racing, trying to make sense of the strange behavior she had witnessed. When the last of the nuns had left, Eliza stood slowly and made her way back to her room. The hallway seemed longer now, the shadows deeper, and the silence more profound. She could feel eyes upon her, but when she glanced over her shoulder, there was no one there. She entered her room and locked the door behind her, leaning against it with a trembling sigh. The silence here felt different from the quiet she had known before—it was as though the very walls of the convent were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

As Eliza lay down in her bed, she closed her eyes, hoping for rest, but the whispers filled her mind, distant and haunting. She could hear them now, clear as day—soft murmurs, like voices from the other side, echoing through the stone walls. A chill ran through her, and she pulled the covers tightly around her, hoping that sleep would come. But sleep didn’t come. Instead, she lay awake, wondering if she would ever feel truly alone in this place. Or if, perhaps, the convent was not as empty as it seemed. The silence had a voice, and it was calling her.

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