Sunlight filtered through the windows at the top of the stone walls, illuminating flecks of dust in the air. Millie stirred and then winced at the brightness. She tried to sit up, but it was difficult. Moving required so much effort. Her whole body was heavy as if a thousand stones had been slipped down her throat in the night.

Once she finally propped herself up, she looked around at the unfamiliar space—it was day, but this wasn't her dorm.

Where was Petra?

Something sharp drove between her ribs as the memories began to come back

It was just flashes, muddled by whatever was still coursing through her system, but it was enough. She remembered Petra, limp in her arms. And there was blood—so much blood. Millie flinched at the memory as tears formed and stung her eyes.

It couldn't be true. It had to be a dream.

As she looked down at herself, she thought a dream could be plausible. The bed she lay in was crisp and clean and white, as were the unfamiliar bedclothes she now wore. But as she raised her hand—heavy like the rest of her—she saw dark red in the crevices of her nails.

Blood.

Petra's blood.

So it was all real, after all.

Her face crumpled as the realisation broke over her. Her friend, her only friend, was gone. A sob rolled up her throat—

"I must put a stop to this."

Millie froze. The voice was forceful, almost angry. There were people arguing just outside the door to the room.

"You must be joking," the other voice came. Millie knew it—it was the Mother Superior. She was quiet, the conversation more whispered than not.

"You know I am not one to joke, Sister Grace," the other voice said—a man's voice. He had dropped his voice too, and Millie had to strain to hear. "And you must know I cannot allow this to continue."

"Don't be a fool!" the Mother snapped. "We were making progress! It was working, truly working, until..."

"Yes, was—was," he snapped back. For someone to speak this way to the Mother, Millie thought it had to be the Archdeacon. "But it failed, and I can not—will not let you continue this... This madness. I allowed you your attempt, and it failed."

What madness? Millie wondered. Does this have something to do with Petra?

"So, then, what do you propose? We go back to the way things were?"

The Archdeacon did not respond.

"Precisely. We can't go back. You know that in all this time, we've gained no ground. This was the first time something changed. We were close. It was working, I truly believe it."

"Working... until it wasn't."

"Not everything works flawlessly on the first go."

"'First' go?" the Archdeacon echoed, aghast. "You want to try again?"

"Not yet," the mother said, dropping her voice lower. "Not until—"

Millie leaned forward, eager to know what they were talking about...

The bed creaked beneath her.

The conversation stopped.

When the Mother spoke again, her voice was closer. "I believe the girl is awake."

The door opened, and the curtained divider was pushed aside. Just as she guessed, the Archdeacon and the Mother Superior appeared. They both smiled at her, bright and kind, no trace of their disagreement to be found.

"Hello, dear," the Mother said, tilting her head. "I'm glad to see you're up. How are you feeling?"

"A-As well as I can be, all things considered," Millie mumbled. "Did that... Did that all really happen? Is Petra really—"

Their expressions faltered, their smiles slipping away.

"Yes, I'm sorry to say my dear, but it's true," the Mother said, her voice gentle. "Petra is no longer with us."

Millie sucked in a shuddering breath as the pain hit. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

"How? What happened? Who hurt her?"

The Archdeacon frowned. "It wasn't—"

"Allow me," the Mother Superior said, raising her hand to stop the Archdeacon. "She's my ward while here at Wickford, so it is my duty to provide her with answers."

The Archdeacon shot her a sharp look but stepped aside.

"I'll go fetch the nurse to look at her, then," he said.

The Mother smiled at him. "If you please."

As he left the room, Millie thought she glimpsed his scowl.

The Mother Superior ignored his departure and took a seat in one of the chairs at Millie's bedside. Millie shrank away from her. She hadn't spoken much to the Mother on her own before. Despite her calm benevolence, she was an imposing woman. She made Millie nervous.

"My condolences, Miss Cunningham," the Mother continued, "for the loss of your friend. As I hear, you and Petra were close."

"W-We were," Millie admitted. "What happened to her? Who would've..."

"Ah, yes. That. Well. I wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject, but I suppose since you brought it up... Mildred, dear, Petra was not harmed."

Millie's eyes went wide. "What ? How can that be true? All that blood—"

The Mother just shook her head, her brow tense. "It was an accident, dear child."

Millie just stared at her.

"We've had a doctor come through, to look you over," the Mother explained. "While he was here, he took a look at her, too. And it seems she tripped in the dark."

"Tripped?" Millie echoed, her voice hollow.

"Yes, she tripped and knocked her head on the bannister," the Mother said, shaking her head. "And head wounds bleed a lot, as you know."

Her gaze flitted to the side of Millie's face where the scar ran along her hairline. Millie shifted her hair so it was out of sight, and the Mother looked away.

"It's a shame she wasn't found sooner," the Mother went on, letting out a long, mournful sigh. "And it's a shame that it had to be you that found her like that."

"She couldn't have tripped. I saw... I saw... Her neck..."

In her heavy head, her last image of Petra rose up. Even in the darkness, she could see the deep gash at her throat, ragged and raw like it had not been just cut, but ripped. But it quickly sank from sight, mixing in with all the other confusing scraps of the night before. Had she really seen it? It had all been so muddled—

"It was nothing more than a cruel turn of fate, my dear," the Mother said, pulling Millie from her memories. "We're all very sorry for losing her."

Millie wanted to argue, but she wasn't sure what to say. She was beginning to have doubts. Her memories were so broken and scattered they couldn't be trusted. If only she could see for herself...

"Where is she? I want to see her."

The Mother bristled as if the request was offensive.

"I do not think that's wise. You've been through enough, you don't need to put yourself through that. Besides, her body is being taken to the village as we speak. Her parents are coming by train to claim her and take her home."

Panic surged through Millie.

"What? No!" Millie cried. "I need to see her!"

If they took Petra away now, she'd never see her friend again.

The Mother's frown deepened. "Millie, as I said, I do not think that's wise—"

"I-I want to say goodbye! I need to say goodbye!"

"Millie, no—"

But Millie wasn't listening. She leapt from the bed. Her body's unnatural weight made her stumble, but she forced her heavy legs to keep moving.

The Mother shouted. Despite her usual aura of calm, she could be quite forceful. "Mildred, return to your bed at once!"

Millie ignored her. She rushed past the curtain, for the open door—

But the Archdeacon was there, blocking her way. He frowned at her.

"Stop her, will you?" the Mother snapped at him.

He reached for her, but Millie slipped out of reach. She turned then, darting past the Mother and jumping up on the bed. She scanned the room for other escapes. Her gaze fell on the windows at the top of the wall...

"Nurse! We have a situation!" the Mother called as Millie leapt up on the nightstand, sending its contents clattering to the ground and smashing the bedside lamp.

The windows were high, but not impossibly so. And they had latches—they opened. If she could just reach them—

The nurse and a handful of nuns hurried in. Upon seeing Millie trying to scale the wall, they sprung into action. The nurse headed for the cabinets at the back of the room, while the nuns rushed forward to help the Mother.

The nuns grabbed at her legs as Millie scrabbled at the wall. She kicked back at the nuns, fighting them off. She had hold of the window latch now. She could see outside.

The windows were ground level with the gravel drive. Millie could see a car parked out front. A long black car, its back open and waiting—a hearse. A procession of grim-faced men approached, including Matthew and the other groundskeeper. They were all dressed in black and carrying a long wooden box.

Millie's heart leapt into her throat as she realised that Petra had to be inside that box.

"NO!" she screamed as if they might hear her and stop. "NO! PETRA!"

The nuns had a proper hold of her now. With one good yank, they undid Millie's grip, and they all went crashing to the floor below. Millie tried to scramble away, but it was no use. The nuns were upon her, pinning her down. She thrashed in their grip, dragging herself and them across the floor, but they held her fast.

"I need to see her! Please, let me see her!"

"Hold her still."

The nurse had returned, and she was holding the same silver syringe, twice as full as before.

"We—can't—" sputtered one of the struggling nuns.

"Allow me."

The Archdeacon stepped into the fray. He took hold of Millie. His grip was like steel and pinned Millie in place. Once again, the syringe sank into Millie's arm, and once again, Millie felt her will drain from her. They released her, and the nuns dragged her back to her bed.

As Millie sank into a stupor, she watched as the Archdeacon scowled at the Mother, who was watching the scene with a strange satisfaction.

"I pray, for all our sakes, that you know what you're doing." he grumbled.

The Mother smiled back, smug.