A cell. A small cell, with the door bricked-over, save a small place where one of the nuns who remains uncloistered may pass through bread and water, and one small window near the tall ceiling, which lets in the sunlight sometimes. And all that lies within the room is a bed and a crucifix on the wall. I can walk but seven steps across it, and its length is only large enough to accommodate the cot and blanket which make my bed.

I - I do not like it, Lord Saxon. The Reverend Mother has told me such things - I fear her words will drive me mad, if I am not gone down that path already. It is so lonely there. I do not even see the Reverend Mother, only hear her voice, and only if I am wicked and do not pray as I am bid to pray.