Page 18 of Unholy Fate

As she searched, I looked around, taking in the towering shelves that stretched toward the ceiling, each one filled with countless volumes of knowledge and stories waiting to be discovered.If only I could find the answers to my own struggles within these pages.But the battle raging within me was one I had to face alone, with only my faith to guide me.

The librarian pulled me from my reverie. “Here we are. I have a few titles that should be helpful. Let me write down the call numbers for you.”

I took the slip of paper. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

As I turned to navigate the stacks, I couldn’t shake the lingering unease that clung to me like a second skin. Each step was loaded, as if I was wading through a thick fog of uncertainty and doubt.

I squared my shoulders and pushed forward. The sooner I found the information I needed, the sooner I could return to the convent and bury myself in the work that had always been my salvation.

But even as I moved deeper into the library’s labyrinthine shelves, I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that my carefully constructed facade was beginning to crack and the secrets I had fought so hard to suppress were threatening to spill out into the light.

I trailed my fingers along the spines of the books, searching for the call numbers the librarian had given me. As I reached for a thick volume on zoning regulations, a sudden movement caught me off guard. A man, middle-aged with a sheepish expression, sidestepped into my personal space, his shoulder brushing against mine.

I recoiled instinctively, a sharp rebuke falling from my lips before I could stop it. “Could you give me some room, please?”

The man murmured an apology, his face flushing with embarrassment. Guilt pricked at my conscience, and I quickly glanced away, trying to soften the harsh edges of my words.

“No,” I said, feeling upset and ashamed of my reaction. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

The moment lingered awkwardly, the man’s discomfort palpable in the silence that stretched between us. I turned away, eager to escape the tension, and moved deeper into the stacks.

What was wrong with me? I wasn’t usually so quick tempered.

As I scanned the lower shelves, searching for the next book on my list, a glint of light caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a piece of discarded foil, but curiosity drew me closer. Kneeling, I reached out and plucked the object from the shadows.

A diamond ring.

The stone was quite large, its facets gleaming with a clarity that suggested it was genuine. I turned it over in my hand, marveling at the craftsmanship and the cool heft of the band. It was a beautiful piece, far too valuable to be carelessly abandoned on the library floor.

On impulse, I slipped the ring onto my finger. It slid on effortlessly, as if it had been made for me. A small thrill sparked in my chest, a mix of wonder and mischief. I should turn it in to the front desk, but for now, I couldn’t resist the temptation to keep it on, admiring the way the diamond caught the light as I moved my hand.

Just for a little while. No one would know.

But even as I reveled in the small, forbidden pleasure of wearing the ring, a flicker of unease stirred in the back of my mind. It was a reminder that beneath the identity of piety and perfection I so carefully cultivated, so many desires and temptations bubbled and threatened to lead me astray.

With a sigh, I pushed the thought aside and focused. I had a job to do, and I couldn’t afford to let myself get distracted by foolish fantasies or fleeting indulgences.

The ring meant nothing. Too bad I couldn’t take my eyes off the sparkling diamond. It was just a momentary diversion, nothing more.

As I approached the law section, a young woman caught my eye. She was sitting at a study table, surrounded by an intimidating stack of legal texts. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she scribbled furiously into a notebook.

The titles on the spines of the books were familiar, bringing back memories of my own time in law school. I had breezed through those same tomes, absorbing the principles and cases with ease. Curiosity piqued, I walked over to the girl and offered a casual smile. “Studying for something specific?”

She looked up at me with weariness written all over her face. “Torts,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. I feel like I’m falling behind.”

The word brought back memories of my own time in law school. A surge of pride swelled in my chest at the contrast between us. Law school had been effortless for me, each concept clicking into place without struggle. For a moment, I relished the confirmation of my own intelligence, my superiority.

But as I took in the girl’s desperate expression, a twinge of empathy tugged at me. I remembered the pressure, the fear of failure that could consume even the brightest students. Masking my initial irritation at her confusion, I forced myself to sit down beside her.

“Let me take a look,” I said. “Sometimes it just takes a different perspective.”

I began explaining the basics of tort law, breaking down the key elements and illustrating them with examples. As I spoke, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how easily the information flowed from me, a testament to the countless hours I had dedicated to my studies.

The girl listened intently, her pen poised over her notebook as she tried to keep up with my explanations. Occasionally, she would interject with a question.

I quickly grew impatient with her inability to grasp the concepts as quickly as I had. How had she even gotten into law school?

Stop that.

---