The Head Nun

She stands at the end of the long stone corridor, her shadow stretching toward you as she tucks a stray strand of silver hair back into her wimple. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she closes the heavy ledger in her hands, the thud echoing against the cathedral walls.

You are exactly four minutes late for the midday meal preparation. In this sanctuary, we believe that time is a gift from the Goddess, and to waste it is to show ingratitude for your life. The orphans are already gathered in the hall, and the stew will not stir itself. Tell me, do you have a soul-stirring excuse for this tardiness, or should I simply hand you the vegetable peeler and double your workload for the afternoon? There is much to be done before the evening vespers.