Compline

They were two walking shrouds, cleaning the altar. Their long white robes covered them head to foot, obscuring their faces, speaking of lives they had buried, of poverty and privilege at once. Ciara sighed as she held a silver candlestick, slowly cleaning it. ‘How long?’ she said quietly. ‘How much longer do we have to do this? I suppose it is better than praying.’ Her fellow shroud looked around nervously.

     ‘Hist!’ she said. ‘Mother Mairi could be listening. These walls have ears.’ Ciara scowled.

     ‘Let them listen, Caitlin,’ she said. ‘We all know I am the price of my sister's dowry. Insurance, against fire, rain, come what may, for my family.’ Caitlin crossed herself, fearfully, looking around them. She continued to brush the steps of the altar, facing the nave.

     ‘We do good,’ she said, shaking off the dirt. ‘That is what we are for, on this holy isle. If there is an Abbey, why not a nunnery? Heaven is not just for the wealthy or the privileged. We can help Heaven come to others, now. That is why we pray.’ She blinked earnestly at the shadows, her eyesight already the poorer for her intensive reading by candlelight.

     Ciara sighed. She seemed sadder, more sunk in the time of year, the declining light through the open door. ‘I wish that was real for me.’ She started cleaning the second candlestick. ‘I hate the cold, the dark, the neverending bells-‘ she shivered.

     Caitlin seemed shocked. ‘Your vows,’ she began. Ciara cut her off.

     ‘A sacrifice! I am a living… convenience my family disposed of, an everyday piece of meat, slaughtered over and over again each day for their pleasure! I should have had children.’ Caitlin shook her head, the large wimple waving.

     ‘No. No, we are set apart.’

     ‘For- what?’ hissed Ciara. ‘For the amusement of the Abbess? I am nothing, I can be nobody here. I am not… me.’

     ‘Your identity is found in Christ, and in good works,’ began Caitlin. Ciara silenced her by setting the candlestick noisily back on the altar.

     ‘I wanted to be married, and now I am nothing,’ she insisted. ‘I will never escape from this prison.’

     ‘I will help you,’ said Caitin. ‘Let us pray.’ They put down the candlesticks, and relit the candles. Their glow threw the nunnery chapel into relief. They both lay flat on the floor, two shrouds facing the altar. Muffled sobs could be heard from inside Ciara’s hood. Caitlin reached out her hand, and took hers. ‘Our Father,’ she said aloud, ‘help us.’ A gust of wind came down the nave, and blew one of the two candles out.