The island of Oslay,

Today.

"Come here, Pixie. Try this bonnet on, it's lovely."

They had arrived just under an hour ago, and although their luggage had been collected by a hardworking 'Alfred' - as she had nicknamed him - with the promise that they had nothing to worry about while he fetched the car, Margot continued to act as if they were on holiday.

"Come on, Pixie, wipe that frown off your face, it doesn't suit you."

George was the other side effect they had carried around with them, as well as the cause of the greatest ills that plagued them, including the horrible nickname he had decided to give her ten years earlier when he first sold her like an animal at a fair.

There were rumors that he was fucking Margot outside working hours, and judging by the smirks they exchanged, there was little doubt that this was indeed the case. It wasn't that he found the idea of them breaking the rules of the system scandalous, it was more the fact that their relationship was a fucking pain in the ass. Every time Margot complained, George put her off and vice versa.

Travelling with them at all was cruel. Not that Ivy had much of a chance to defend herself.

Margot put her straw hat back on the rack, under the insistent gaze of the salesman, who gave her a matter-of-fact smile and an eloquent look that translated into something like, "You know how these young people are.

"Stop it, you should be grateful. This is..."

"An important occasion for me?" she concluded in her seat before approaching the shelf to brush against the woven straw patterns. "I believe you've already told me that."

Margot and George exchanged one of those eloquent looks that people without problems often tend to give each other, as if their comfort entitles them to feel superior in the face of others' difficulties.

"Pixie, it's only for a year, after that..."

"After that?" she murmured before withdrawing her hand. He watched George's expression change in the reflection of the sunglasses on the shelf next to the hats, and enjoyed it. "Exactly." She allowed herself one last smile before the call of "Alfred's" car horn forced them to move.

The island of Oslay, according to the flyer "Alfred" had given her, was defined as a "must-see destination for Gothic lovers," and the Cathedral of the Sea Sisters was the hub around which almost all local tourism revolved.

"The ferries arrived every Friday and stayed in the roadstead until Sunday, when they left. The merchant ships, on the other hand, would arrive between Monday and Wednesday with supplies and goods. Of course, the Black Peak works the weekends with tourists, unless bad sea conditions prevent the ships from leaving on time," Alfred explained.

"The Black Peak?" Margot leaned forward, clutching the back of the passenger seat where George had been sitting.

"Oh yes, I forgot you're not from around here."

Ivy rolled her eyes. All that was missing was a joking "Alfred" to crown the cruelty of the moment.

"That's what we locals call the convent of the Sea Sisters. Nothing earth-shattering, mind you," he hastened to add after catching Margot's astonished look in the rearview mirror. "Thanks to the old fishermen who, returning from a night at sea, would turn their eyes to the cliff and wait for the sun to rise behind the monastery, which remained in shadow. Nothing very interesting, I'm afraid."

Instead, Margot seemed to like the inoffensive version of "Alfred's" story. "It's an interesting story. Don't you think so, Pixie?"

"Yes," she murmured before leaning back against the seat, "stuff that makes me shiver with pleasure."

"Oh, stop that attitude, Pixie! You'll have to excuse her, I'm really sorry. She's usually a very trustworthy and polite little girl, I assure you."

"Alfred" looked at her from the rearview mirror and smiled. "Don't worry, miss. We've all been young, although for me it's been much longer."

"Oh, but I assure you, Pixie is nothing like that. After all, at that age everything seems..."

It was like playing the same song over and over again: first you hear it, then you get annoyed when you hear it again, and eventually, no matter how loud it gets, you stop listening. So did Ivy. She concentrated on the landscape outside the window, on every detail of the road they were traveling.

As they had moved away from the harbor area, the houses had become more sparse. The village of Oslay was mostly built near the coast. The inland part, favored by the strong presence of brackish water, was mostly used for sparse crops alternating with large pastures devoted to sheep that produced cheeses with a sharp, salty flavor. The only inhabitants of the hilly and sparsely wooded inland area were the landowners, who boasted large cottages converted into veritable villas, adjacent to both sheepfolds and dairy workshops.

Ivy had also read in the brochure that on the western side was a large vineyard that produced an excellent white wine and became a major tourist attraction in the summer, with themed dinners among the rows of Vermentino grapes. The fact that she could not see it from the side they were on relieved much of the anxiety she had spent weeks brooding over the size of the island before leaving.

The landscape gradually changed. It went from barren to green, and as they climbed along a dirt road, the summer heat was swallowed by the cool air rejected by the sudden shade of a dense forest they entered.

"We're almost there."

"Alfred's" statement broke the monotony of Margot's complaints and regained Ivy's attention.

"What about the tourists?" asked George.

"Them? They arrive in an hour, which is the time it takes to round them up, get their luggage on the bus, and wait for them to get comfortable. I thought it important to get there before them so I could show you the monastery in peace and quiet."

"That was very kind of you, Floyd, and we thank you."

That was his name. And so the name "Alfred" could retire for the time being.

Floyd glanced at her once more from the rearview mirror and winked at her conspiratorially, so much so that she looked away abruptly, driven by a nagging sense of unease.

"Oh, what a beauty!" George leaned forward so far that he had to grip the front dashboard with his hands to crane his neck and peer over the treetops. "Look!"

He pointed off into the distance, where the wooded expanse widened and gave way to a great wall that ended on one side with a view of the sea. The dark brick gave it a somber air, and the gargoyles that could be glimpsed on the highest peaks of the cathedral framed it in the perfect Gothic style that the pamphlet had condemned.

She hated to admit that she was surprised to find it stunning and menacing in its grandeur. The Black Peak awaited her, and judging by the chill that ran down Ivy's spine despite the summer heat, it did not bring beautiful gifts.

"Ivette Marble." The woman kept her eyes on the open file above the mahogany desk. She wore round, thin, gold-rimmed glasses that slid down over the thick skin of her aquiline nose. Wisps of milk-white hair sprouted from under her veil, and judging by the way she wiggled her fingers, she must have had arthritic problems with age. "It says here that you are not of the Catholic faith."

Ivy pursed her lips in a failed attempt to hold back an amused grin. "No, I'm sorry. Is that a problem?"

The woman lifted her eyes. She had small, black eyes with pupils so thin they looked like two pinheads. "Certainly not for me, dear. I would be more concerned for your soul." At Ivy's bored look, he hastened to add, "We're not here for religious indoctrination anyway, Ivette. However, I do expect you to make a concrete commitment to the rehabilitation we offer. This is a rare opportunity. Are you aware of that?"

"Of course. It has only been explained to me a few times."

"Pixie..."

Margot called her back with a resigned hiss, but Mother Superior showed no sign of stopping.

"I understand your reluctance and trust that the Lord will be able to lead you to change your mind. Or, in your case, at least your common sense." She gave her a cold, unemotional smile, which she wiped off completely when, a short time later, she rattled the bell that sat on her desk.

The quiet silence of the convent was shattered by a trill so sudden it made Margot gasp and elicited a nervous chuckle from George.

"One of the sisters will take you to the quarters we have reserved for Ivette and explain the duties to which she will have to devote herself full time from next Monday, so that she can settle in a little. I would ask you to come back to me as soon as this is done to sign the final papers".

Suddenly everything became very concrete: the convent, the silence, the dampness that could be felt even in this modernized office, and the seriousness of the Mother Superior were only a prelude to what was to come in the next few months. A small taste of her future life.

Her heart leapt in her chest and with a nervous gesture she sank her teeth into her lower lip, hard, to blow off the newly formed scab and enjoy the metallic taste of blood as much as the pain. It was the only thing that made her feel alive again.

Mother Superior seemed to notice, as did Margot. Only unlike the woman who had accompanied her, the nun's face was painted with an amused smile.

"What did you think, my love? That the future would welcome you with open arms? Even those who repent must do penance to be welcomed into the arms of the One who loves them most. And you, my little one, seem to me to be far from the path of salvation."

"H-how?" Ivy gasped. Suddenly it seemed to her that the air in the room was running out.

"It means you have to pay for all the sins you have committed."

Ivy had gone into the inner cloister with a nun not much older than herself, but decidedly more shy and quiet, followed by the indefatigably enthusiastic Margot and George. After a leisurely tour of the gardens, which were closed to tourists, and the small botanical garden, she had been led to a narrow corridor at the end of which were the old cloister cells, converted into proper rooms that at least met the basics of modern requirements.

Simply put, if she needed to pee, she could do so in the toilet behind the screen, but if she needed to shower, she had to walk halfway down the corridor before entering the communal bathrooms. She had a desk with a microwave and a kettle, but Wi-Fi was out of the question. Finally, she could sleep on a comfortable queen-size mattress, but if she wanted to put her hand between her thighs, she had to do so knowing that the headboard rested on an old altar. Not that she minded....

With a sudden sigh, she surrendered to the silence of the room. After so much suffering, the silence did not seem as terrible a punishment as the loneliness. She fell back onto the bed, unleashing the iron creak of old feathers, and stood for a few moments before noticing the old woolen blanket pinching her skin. A perfect metaphor for what she was experiencing.

For as pleasant as the living room might have seemed, like the blanket, behind it lurked a stinging annoyance that haunted her soul as well as her thoughts.

George and Margot had reminded her several times not to miss this opportunity. Although they had used less colorful words, the basic concept was still the same: "Behave, Pixie. You won't get another chance."

Soon after, under the pretense of having to return to Mother Superior, they had left in a hurry, leaving her a business card to use in case of need. As if calling her over a margarita on the mainland would somehow alleviate Ivy's problems. Surely it would have done a lot of good for their egos and their need to feel useful and to be sure they had done their part in this nasty business. Whatever happened after that was just poor Pixie's problem.

The hypocrisy of the people who offered to help her no longer surprised her. She had believed it once, but that was long before the accident, when she was still hoping to find her place in a world that seemed to throw her out at every opportunity. Back then, she had been convinced of the existence of God and altruism of human beings. Mother Superior would have been proud of her, of the little girl she had been. A little fairy with red hair and too big eyes who knelt before her bed at night to say her prayers under the proud gaze of her fucking benefactors. Every fucking night this little fairy prayed that the benefactors would actually help her, and when they did, she was glad.

They said she was small and pretty. A fairy, in fact.

A pixie.

Too bad there was no one around to clap for her when they stopped believing her.

"Come here, fairy. That's what they call you, isn't it? Because you're a beautiful, graceful fairy creature. Would you like to play a game? You be the fairy and I'll be the knight."