4th Of January 1867
My Dearest Sister Mary,
I hope this letter finds you well, or as well as one can be within the ironclad grip of the Abbey. I’ve taken to the quill tonight under a crescent moon, a sliver of light in an otherwise star-strewn canvas, much like the hope I carry in my heart for you.
You might wonder at my silence since I left the Abbey of Whispering Shadows. I departed with a heavy heart, for it was not just the stone walls and echoing chambers I left behind, but a bond with you, dear sister. Yet I could not stay. The Abbey’s shadows grew too dense, its whispers too sinister for my soul to bear.
The cloistered corridors and cold stone that we called home held secrets darker than the forest at night. We were meant to heal, to bring solace to the tormented souls who found their way to our sanctuary. But what solace could there be in shackles and screams? The Abbey’s methods—no, their torments—disguised as divine interventions, gnawed at my conscience.
I witnessed enough to understand that love was not at the core of the Abbey’s teachings. Those we housed beneath us were subjected to horrors that would make even the Devil himself recoil. And for what? A misguided notion of salvation? It was madness veiled as piety, and I could no longer partake in it.
So I left. Fled is perhaps a more apt term, though no one pursued me. Do not fret for me, for I am well—better than I have been in years. Know that my decision was not made lightly nor without consideration for those I left behind—especially you. My hope is that one day you will understand why I had to follow my own path—one that leads away from shadow and toward light.
I implore you to heed my warning. The sisters you dwell amongst are not the devout servants of faith they masquerade as. Their habits conceal hearts that harbor secrets dark as the abyss and hands that carry out deeds which defy our most sacred tenets.
I have seen them, Mary, in the dead of night, shadows flitting through the forest like wraiths, their silent prayers mere whispers on the wind. They speak of healing, yet their touch burns; they promise salvation while delivering damnation. The Abbey is a fortress built on foundations of fear and subjugation. Those towering spires that we once gazed upon with awe now appear to me as jagged teeth against the sky, ready to consume any semblance of hope or mercy.
I am scared, Mary. Not for myself, for I have cast off their chains, but for you who remain within those hallowed yet haunted walls. You must find the strength within you to resist their influence. Cling not to their distorted doctrine but to your true faith—the pure and untainted belief we shared in those rare moments of solace.
The path I have chosen is a solitary one, but it is lined with truth and light. You too must consider this escape, for there is no place for innocence within the Abbey’s confines. Your compassion is a flame that they seek to extinguish with their twisted rituals and cruel indoctrinations.
I beseech you, Sister Mary, remember who you were before the Abbey’s shadow fell upon you. Recall the kindred spirit that dwelled within your chest before it was encased in ironclad resolve. There is a world beyond those walls where your kindness can bloom unfettered by dogma or fear.
Be brave, follow not in their footsteps but forge your own trail through the wilderness of doubt and into the clearing of truth. And should you choose to flee, know that there are others like us—those who whisper rebellion against tyranny disguised as piety—who will welcome you with open arms.
As I seal this letter with wax trembling from my shaking hand, I whisper a prayer into the night—a prayer for your deliverance from the clutches of false prophets and toward a life unshackled by fear.
With love and hope,
Tilly
Author
