The Seventh Deadly Sin

Part Ten: Evening Feast

"ALL THIS TIME I DRANK YOU LIKE THE CURE; WHEN MAYBE YOU WERE THE POISON."

-ANONYMOUS

A BROODING lass sits upright in the plush chair, wearing a soft cream gown flowing perfectly against her skin. Her hair was tied up neatly in a beige bow, and she stared at the keys as she played the notes imperfectly.

It was vivid, and the soft rays of orange and sweltering sunlight crept against the window pane. There are a few cuts and bruises from the little girl's porcelain-like fingers. But still, she pursued to play the piece.

There's passion and discomfiture from her frame, and beside the girl, there's a gentle and beautiful nun with her head covered with a black and white cloth atop her hair, prancing her hands within the rhythm.

The little girl's eyes were peering as she hastily pressed the bleached keys. The melody was not fitting, but she tried to fasten the pace. Her fingers were unconsciously trembling from discomfort.

"You can do it," The nun encouraged the lass. Her voice was beatific, ng everyone believed and forgetpain.

The melody began to take its place. The flaxen child has placed a warm and genuine smile, pleased by the sudden turn of her piece—the room was engulfed by the beautiful tone that the child was playing, and the cuts and bruises on her fingers that the practices had caused were long forgotten. Only the young pianist's music and passion evaded the room's atmosphere.

"That's it, you're managing." The nun spoke proudly in her voice, which resembles the epitome of a parent to her child who learned her competencies.

The young girl glanced at her guide, and she smiled. She finished the piece magnificently, earning warm applause from the nun. She takes slow and chary strides towards the child and softly embraces her petite frame while caressing the lass' back.

"You've done well today, I'm proud of you." She spoke softly and broke the embrace, running her fingers through the child's hair. "Now, let's clean up that bruises. You can't write the lectures tomorrow with those cuts." She tried to lighten up the mood. The nun gently took the small hands of the lass—and wrapped it up with a delicate cloth.

The little girl stared astonished at the nun, with her bright blue orbs seeming to be chained by her enchantment from the gentlewoman. "Sister Diana, did you think Daddy will return to look after me?"

Diana was silent. She seemed to be lost in thoughts. It was a stance that she would always do, when a child would ask her the same question, "He will come back. Both of your parents loved you,"

The woman brought down the child's hand and did her last bind before the lass replied, "But if father loved me, why did he bring me here? Did I do something wrong?"

"You haven't done anything wrong. It was your parent's choice; you're their greater loss. If you were my child, I wouldn't leave you because you're inimitable and far different from the others—when you finally grow up, you should be careful of the people you trust. They have to prove their worth to earn you."

I COME ROUND from the juddering carriage. There's a soft hand that was pressed softly on my arms. "Mary Jane, are you feeling well now?" She asked quietly. I could feel that my head was put carefully on her bosom while the carriage kept pulling.

"Mother, what happened? Why are we here?" My voice croaked, and my head pulsated.

It was dim, and the windows were covered with thick red cloaks. My mother caresses my hair, "You fainted during the dinner earlier. Lord Vernon was kind enough to assist you through our carriage."