Page 2 of Taken By Sin

This quiet holds its own weight, pressing gently around me as I move.

"This,"—she gestures to her right—"is the dayroom."

I look inside, noting the complete absence of daylight in this so-called dayroom. Though there are a couple of windows, natural light seems to struggle for space against the charcoal walls. Three red velvet couches stand in the center.

This is exactly my type of décor.

"Where will my money be going?" I grow curious, wondering if this room will have more windows put in, possibly a few more chairs for reading.

The first real smile I've seen spreads over her face, wrinkles stretching her thin skin. "We're allocating it into three places."

We descend further down the hall, slipping through a winding curve to the kitchen.

"Proper equipment for feeding the children." She nods to the old stainless-steel stove. "This was donated decades ago, but it can't keep up." Boring. I would kick the children out and turn this place into something more... fun. So much potential lies within these ancient walls.

"And the second?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. It's slicked back now, dampened from the rain.

As she leads down the hall, her black robe sways behind her. My lips curl into a grin; she reminds me of a certain misunderstood professor, although I don’t think this woman is misunderstood at all. She seems to run this house efficiently, leaving minimal room for fun or play. I would be humbled by mychildhood, if it wasn’t stolen from me so viciously. We pass a few more rooms, an expansive dining area with a table that could easily seat fifty.

Paintings and photographs line a narrow corridor, the light warm and dim. "Sorry it's so dark! We're going to be renovating into LED lighting soon," she says.

She can't see, but I shake my head. "I wouldn't dare put that God-awful lighting in this place." It’s all about ambient lighting. Who wants to walk into their living room and be blasted with gaudy, artificial light like they’ve stepped into a grocery store or hospital?

She slows her steps, wanting to turn around and scold me, no doubt. But she thinks it over for a second, deciding on forgiveness instead of reprimanding me. Fitting.

My attention is drawn to an ink-black room, likely where the nuns handle their paperwork. It would serve as a fantastic office.

She quickens her pace, and we continue down another hallway. "The last portion will be going into our library, which is upstairs." She flicks her hand out toward the staircase before us. The steps are lined in rich crimson carpet, a color that evokes thoughts of desire, making me wonder why such a hue is permitted in a place they tread upon.

As her foot touches the first step, I politely shake my head. "I'd like to explore on my own."

She steps back, nodding. "Yes, sir. Of course," she replies quietly, clearly wanting anything but that. I watch until she disappears. The only reminder of her is the tap of leather soles pattering against the marble floor.

THREE

SIN

Istroll down the hallway with my hands clasped behind my back, glancing at what I presume are the orphans' rooms. The atmosphere here feels bleak. The attention given to the main floor hasn’t carried over to these spaces. Basic twin beds sit against light gray walls adorned with chipped paint. It resembles a prison more than anything else.

With no one around, I step into an empty room. I wouldn't even let my rottweiler sleep here. This kind of room breeds boredom. I cannot fathom the structural beauty of this building and the grounds around being so meticulously manicured when the rooms look like this.

Do the sisters sleep in extravagant chambers like the ones downstairs, or do they sleep up here? Is their greed measured by wealth like that of a Baptist pastor, or do they also stay in dreary spaces?

A light breeze flows in through the thin window. Wintermust be cold here. Thin panes bear no protection to a New York frost.

This is unacceptable. I should walk down there and demand that at least half of the donation go into the upstairs chambers. I don't normally take a soft spot to anything, but no one should be hanging out up here, much less dwelling.

A gentle melody drifts down the hallway, drawing me away from the dull surroundings. I pursue it.

As I follow the melody, I discover one of the nun's rooms. It's much larger, featuring a queen-sized bed draped with a thick comforter. This seems more acceptable. I gaze at the four-poster bed, pondering its size, considering that the sister’s downstairs have never had, and likely never will have, company in their beds.

They chose their religion over getting laid, and that I cannot begin to understand at all. Do they touch themselves, or is that against their archaic set of rules?

With a shake of my head, I leave the pure room. The most sinful thing that ever inhabited it has just departed.

A tall stone arch with no door catches my eye: the library. I doubt they have anything worthwhile to read—what is the teaching curriculum here, anyway? The melody sings again, and I soon discover its source.

A girl stands in the corner beside a rack of books, meticulously checking and arranging each one in its designated place. She handles them with care, her index finger resting on the tip of the spine as she gently nudges them back into position.

---