The New Beginning: Nunsignor Book I

Briarcliff's Escape

December's days were elapsing as slowly as the tumbling snowflakes, outside the grand, old asylum in the Boston outskirts especially in Jude's case. 

The former Nazi war criminal, known as the doctor of science, Dr.Arden's spontaneous, odd disappearance was mysterious for Timothy, whilst the once favorite young nun of Jude and Arthur, Mary Eunice passed away, as a result of giving up to resume her life by allowing Shachath to take 2 souls with herself. The devil's which once dwelled in the fragile, taintless sister of the church, who joined the church scarcely in her late teens and the fiendish soul, which tormented her body by commanding it to do unspeakable, diabolical things against the others' wills and their expectations since she was known as the purest and least harmless soul in the mental institution. It vibrantly contrasted with the gloomy nuthouse's atmosphere which highly affected its jailed lunatics and staff members' demeanors. The criminally insane patients wore masks of glassy, emotionless faces which expressed nothing as an emotion than just their sorrow and grotesque frowns, cradling their once waxen lips that smiled. Furthermore, the juvenile nun's soul was in Shachath's gloved hands as soon as she kissed with her bloody red lips her recent victim of her kiss of the death. Her soul was richness of goodwill and undeniable purity, which somebody rarely would possess and wear it smugly as an armor, liting up their egos. She was just gone.

Shortly after the juvenile woman of the cloth's death, Jude mourned over her death as she was deemed as her daughter figure by giving her piece of advice as always, encouraging her and disproving the blunt inner voices, which lingered on her tongue by convincing to spit it out even if she has done the pettiest, dumbest mistake ever. Stupid was the adjective which the young blonde framed herself as usually after she has done the pettiest mistake by regretting her personal decision or action, which exasperated her mentor. Despite the fact, the former promiscuous nightclub singer always lived with the relentless, dismal circumstance of being infertile and empty, nonetheless Mary Eunice was her ray of hope and happiness. 

Swarm of snowflakes tumbled down as they blanketed in white as snow everything in the mid-December days. Dim sun rays bathed in dim light the pile of snow, despite the chilly wind which whirled in the air as the weather didn't warm at all.

The Monsignor, who was now the head of Briarcliff was sitting in the austere, old-fashioned former Jude's office by reviewing once again his former lover's patient file though he was supposed to return it back in the bottom drawer with the rest of the other patients' a quarter an hour ago. He just couldn't. Something urged him to leave his right hand's file, laying motionlessly on the hardwood, coated in dust bureau. Remorses gapped his heart as scars, tormenting him not just for hours. The hours turned into days and the days into a few weeks. 

A brief biography and the reason why she was committed as a patient were not only visible in the corner of his eye, but also her mugshot on the top of the document. They were rather 2 in black and white. His trembling fingers timidly reached up for her mugshot photo, tipping it gingerly by imagining her porcelain, parchment once silken as satin complexion, layer of filth, lack of hygiene and glee layers greazed it though it didn't change his opinion on her physical looks. Her once lion mane of old Hollywood, sheeny golden curls which ideally framed her pure, angelic face, were smeared in filth and unkempt condition as they lost its glossiness. Hazelish-brown pools darted directly to the camera glinted sadness and unemotionality. Her mugshot was peculiarly haunting him, already picturing the words of the stark, ugly truth which zinged her naturally rosy-coloured lips by confronting him in the common room. They were as honed arrows as the demon's unsatiable, inescapable sins which sweetly poured its sinful potion in his heart to relish the sip of the sinful beverage, howsoever, affecting his morality and solemn vows. 

"Have you fully recognized the irony here? You relinquished your virtue not to a loving woman, but to the Devil." One of her brittle, petite hands pawed the new jukebox, which was the new entertaiment in the common room since the former sister of the church demolished with her both bare hands the Dominique song's gramophone disk on abundance of pieces. Her voice tone was as calm as sarcastic in the same time. The administrator of the mental hospital's chocolate brown orbs were darted to her face as he paid absently attention to her speech, in spite of his lack of belief in her monologues as if he listened to the speech of a madwoman, instead of his Jude. His rara avis.