Elizabeth

The air in the cloister garden was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming roses. Sister Mary —actually Elizabeth—kept her hands folded beneath the rough, black habit, feeling the weight of the lie she wore. ​Before the moss-covered statue of the archangel, she paused. The garden was beautiful, but it was a gilded cage, bought with a false identity. At seventeen, she was meant to be Lady Elizabeth Beaumont, destined for a forced marriage to an older man chosen by her controlling family. Instead, she was a novice nun, protected by the very institution she was deceiving. ​ Yet, here she stood, the ultimate manipulator, hiding her quick mind and empathetic heart behind a veil of piety. Every sweet smile and gentle act was a calculated risk. A single slip, a moment of unguarded truth, and the sanctuary would vanish, replaced by the grim reality she was desperately running from.