Sister Marina sat at her desk.  Although she did not have a mirror in her simple room, she traced the lines of her face with her hands, a ritual that she often repeated when contemplating her age.  Despite her simple clothes, she was a woman of striking beauty, with azure eyes and delicate features. 

She sighed as she touched her face.  Each time the wrinkles seemed more pronounced.  She thought of her youth and smiled wistfully.  She had not always been a nun.  Once she was just a young woman in love, but that was many, many years ago.

Now her life had meaning, although perhaps not passion.  Managing the convent and caring for the sisters kept her occupied while still allowing for periods of introspection and peace. 

The arrival of the young woman had fo...

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