Mother Superior was ancient. Or at least that was the impression she had given off for the twenty three years she had been in charge of the convent. As far as anyone knew, she had always been ancient, born with wrinkled skin, greying hair and knowing eyes. Only now did the years seem to weigh heavy on her shoulders, pressing down on her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. It had been two days since she had taken to bed - even agreeing to accept the luxury of a feather pillow - and the convent had been awash with whispered rumours. Mother Superior was about to meet her maker.
For those two days, Sister Maria had not left her side. She had barely slept at all, and eaten only some mouthfuls of soup. No, her own physical form was unimportant, all that mattered was tending to her teacher, and making sure she was comfortable and at peace.
Mother Superior had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last day or so, with her moments of lucidity getting ever shorter and more spaced out. Sister Maria sat and prayed from her small book of psalms and hymns, hoping that the words were easing the old woman’s spirit, if not her body.
“Maria…” Mother Superior croaked hoarsely, as she rose back from oblivion. “Maria…”
“Easy Mother Superior,” soothed Maria, reaching for a cup of water and helping her teacher to sip. “Do not push yourself on my account, you have a long and wonderful journey ahead of you.”
“Maria, there are things you must know… must tell you… before it’s too late.” She closed her eyes once more and seemed to sleep.


