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Prologue

Childhood memories

What purpose do they serve?

To oblige a comfort for the weak of mind? Perhaps a reminder of better times? To assist as hope on dark days?

Memories are subjective and one-sided

They are a double-entendre

My childhood memories are not like others

I don’t remember my motheror my father, for that matter

My first solid memory comes from when I was five years old

It is frequent

It is repetitive

It is a lesson One I have not forgotten

This memory serves me well

I’rowl sounds fro

I can’t remember the dream

I hear her voice—ry Furious My growl turns guttural; e

They taunt me—the dreams

I hold my balled fists by my temple I don’t need anyone to tell htly; they’re numb

She’s in there; I know she is

Why can’t I remember her?

The nuns tell me it’s not possible for ht tricks

Sister Francis opens the door to my bedroom It’s always her She is the only one with the patience to deal with iven up

I like Sister Francis

Continuously growling until aze She coos atstops her fro the comfort I so desperately need

My growling stops Instead, I listen

Father Robert holds Sister Francis back They argue quietly I’, but Sister Francisher face cru as she begs He shakes his head, his expression firm

She dips her chin, covers her ed For a second, he looks aletic As heandin vain to hold him back

My heart stutters even now, in the present

His face

The anger

Oh, the rage

When he pushes her back harshly, she stumbles

My body turns cold Pressure builds in my ears

I don’t like that I want to scratch his eyes out

I don’t even realise I sit here, statue-like, watching

Without checking on her, Father Robert enters my room, and Sister Francis calls out over and over, “I’m sorry, little one I’m sorry”

For the first tiry

Fear courses through hheart

He locks the door behind him

“It is tiht, Catarina” He pauses mid-step and stands in the ift from God himself You will aid us in our cause”