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I pushed the thin curtain hanging over my door aside as I entered, letting it fall behind me. Even as dusk fell, my mind weighed heavy, knowing that I had failed to reach the next stage in the light magica. It was the only thing on my mind all day, and I could not stop reflecting on it. Maybe I could have done this, done that, tried it this way. I came to the same conclusion every time: my magica was weak and useless. 

Untying my cap, I tossed it on the end of the bed and went to set the candle I held down on the table beside my bed. I sat on the edge of my bed, unwinding my hair from the tight weave Mother Carnisa had done in the morning. It was the one thing I liked about myself, my hair. It gleamed a lovely shade of auburn in the candlelight, thick and straight as a board down to the middle of my back. I did not mind the straightness, although I knew girls who had hair like mine that wished for curls. 

I pulled my hair over my shoulder and began to comb my fingers through it to release any knots, intending to braid it loosely for sleeping. Across the room, on the wall, my tiny mirror caught the light as I saw my reflection in it. I supposed I was not terrible looking, my nose fit my face, my smile clean and straight, and my eyes a light brown. 

I sighed as I began to braid my hair, looking away from the mirror. It just reminded me of how much like my mother I looked, the one small portrait I had of her all I had to remind me of her. She, along with my father, had died when I was a child, and I was sent to the convennery at age four. Now here I was, nearing eighteen years upon the blessed earth, and not even having enough light magica to heal a stupid pigskin. 

I tied off the braid with a cloth strip, and took off my tunic and shift, hanging them on the peg beside the mirror. That was when I heard the commotion below my window. 

I grabbed my nightdress and tugged it on over my underclothes before scurrying to the window. The ancient glass creaked in protest as I pushed on the wooden frame, but it slowly opened and I peered out. My room overlooked the back gate to the convennery, one that was not used very often. It was why I liked my room, as the silence was much preferable to the daily commotion of the bigger front gate. 

Below, there was a group of men standing outside the gate with torches. I could not see their faces, but I recognized Father Cresh and Father Miken by their stature among them. There were a few others I did not recognize, and I realized they must be from the town. But no one ever came to the convennery this late at night unless there was a grave injury, and none of the men seemed to be injured in any way. 

Although I strained to listen, I could not hear the words exchanged between the men of the town and the fathers. After a few moments of talking, two of the townsmen picked up something from the ground and followed the fathers into the convennery and I squinted hard, trying to see what they were carrying. It was a body.