Chapter 7 #2
Mirela thought that filling her notebook with drawings of Claire would be enough to keep her from missing her even more, but today…
Today there was a wedding, and she needed to toll the bells for the celebration.
She focused on the sound. It filled the tower, her chest, and the sky outside.
Each toll carried a piece of her with it, echoing through the streets where she would never walk.
Claire would hear the bells and she would come to her.
She would visit. Maybe this was her way of letting her know that she missed her and that she was well and that she needed to talk to her…
Then again, it was for the best. The longer she went without seeing her, the safer she believed Claire would be. Ferron had too much power in his hands and too little mercy in his heart. He could ruin her if he ever knew. The thought twisted Mirela’s stomach.
She shook her head. No. She wouldn’t think of that. This was her duty. Her purpose. To toll the bells.
When the last echo faded, she let go of the rope and stepped back, her palms stinging. She sat on her cot and tried to catch her breath. The silence after the bells always felt too heavy and final.
Long minutes passed, and as she willed the burning of her muscles to fade away, she heard it… A voice, soft at first, floating through the stone halls.
Claire’s voice.
Mirela froze, her heart leaping into her throat.
Weddings rarely had choirs, not like this.
Maybe it was an expensive wedding, or the couple had begged for something beautiful with which to start their life.
Whatever the reason, Mirela felt as if the voice didn’t belong to the church, it belonged to her…
Turning to the opening of her chamber, she quietly listened to Claire’s voice fill the cathedral.
God, she wanted to see her so badly….
She told herself no. That she would stay where she was, that Ferron’s rules were there for a reason. But Claire’s voice carried something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was warm, tender, and sweet, and before Mirela realized it, she was already on her feet.
She moved quietly through the narrow passageways, her bare feet brushing the cold stone. She climbed higher until she reached the small balcony overlooking the pews. The light filtering through the stained glass painted her scars in shades of blue and gold.
Below, near the altar, Claire sang.
Some strands of dark hair slipped free from Claire’s veil, catching the light.
Her voice filled the cathedral as the couple stood before the priest. The bride was young, nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the lace at her wrists.
The groom looked older, kind, his beard trimmed for the occasion.
When he turned to look at her, he smiled, and the bride smiled too.
When the priest finally declared them husband and wife, the church erupted in soft applause. But it was the kiss that made Mirela’s chest tighten.
The groom reached for his bride gently, his thumb brushing her cheek before he kissed her. She leaned into him as if she’d been waiting her whole life for that moment.
Mirela’s stomach turned, but not with disgust…
but with jealousy. Her eyes trailed back to Claire, to the way her lips curled into a subtle smile as she watched the bride and groom.
Inhaling deeply, Mirela kept her gaze locked on the way Claire’s mouth moved as she said something to a nun next to her.
Her lips looked soft, plump… and for the first time in her existence, Mirela wondered what it would be like to kiss another person’s lips…
to kiss Claire’s lips. She wanted to know what it was like to hold someone the way the groom held his bride.
He looked possessive but caring, with his hands holding the woman’s waist, looking down at her as if the entire world was contained within her eyes.
How would it feel to be touched not with pity or obligation, but with tenderness? To be kissed as though their very existence would crumble without it.
Claire’s emerald eyes lifted toward the balcony and met hers.
The air left her lungs. Claire’s smile was small and secretive, meant only for her.
Mirela smiled back, but it wasn’t until Claire sneaked a wink her way that her entire body froze. Her fingers trembled on the railing as the realization sank deep inside her.
She couldn’t wait to see her again. Just the two of them. No bells. No priests. Just them, and that terrified her.
***
The cathedral was empty when Claire returned. She had allowed the burning need to meet with Mirela to consume her. Before she could even register what she was doing, she was out the convent’s door.
The wedding ended hours ago. The candles had burned low, and the scent of incense lingered in the air. Notre-Dame’s massive doors creaked open under her hands.
She stepped inside, her breath forming a small cloud in the chill air. Silence consumed the entire place. Claire stood by the first pew, her eyes traveling across the dark hall toward the altar. She thought that Mirela would be waiting for her somewhere.
Claire knew she shouldn’t be there. She knew that if Sister Margaret knew she was gone, Claire was more than sure she would run to tattle on her, but she couldn’t just allow herself not to see Mirela again after they had been apart for so long.
Claire wanted to know she was fine. That she wasn’t hungry, that she wasn’t mad at her…
She knew Mirela had heard her sing, and she hoped she understood that she fought tooth and nail to get that part. She wanted to sing. Not for the groom and bride, but for her. Claire wanted Mirela to know that she was there, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
That was why she was here now, risking getting caught, and God knew what kind of punishment would fall on her if they did. But it didn’t matter because she was going to see her…
For a moment, she simply listened to the emptiness and to the echo of her own breath. She wanted Mirela to be there and come down.
Claire waited. Minutes passed. Nothing.
Disappointment settled in her chest. Did she read her correctly at the wedding? Mirela looked happy to see her, right? Why not be here when she came back? She knew she would hear her… unless she was sleeping.
It was a mistake, wasn’t it?
Then she heard a subtle sound. Footsteps.
When she looked up, Mirela was there, descending from the stairs. Her red hair caught the faint light as she stepped out of the shadows. She appeared tense and hesitant.
Claire held her breath, thinking that if she made one false movement, Mirela would turn and run back to the darkness.
Mirela crossed the nave quietly and stopped by the nearest pew.
“I was hoping you’d come down,” Claire whispered.
Mirela hesitated, but eventually she crossed the distance and sat beside her, closer this time. Close enough for Claire to see how the candlelight touched her lips, how the shadows softened her scars.
“I was afraid you would not return,” Mirela said.
“It has been a wild couple of days,” Claire admitted, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “I got caught sneaking out of bed, and yet here I am.” There was a pause, their silence thick and heavy, before Claire turned toward her. “But I also told myself I wouldn’t come because you were being rude.”
Mirela blinked. “I am not rude.”
“You keep pushing me away, or do you deny it?”
Mirela opened her mouth to say something but then huffed and looked at the altar. “You are aware we are not supposed to be here at this hour, aren’t you?”
Claire sighed, her gaze flicking toward the altar as well. “No. I’m not.” She pursed her lips, but then closed her eyes, exhaling. “I wanted to see you again.”
Mirela froze, her scarred fingers brushing over her arm. “I have something for you,” she muttered, reaching inside her shirt and pulling out a stack of papers. “I drew you again, and I have a couple of sketches from my…” she paused as if scared to say something silly, “Favorite pigeons.”
Claire chuckled, her gaze now fixed on the papers.
She took them in her hands and went through them.
They were all beautiful. Mirela was talented beyond measure.
She stared at the sketch of her face. This one was of her smiling wide and free, her hair down, not hidden by her habit, and flowing in the wind.
“This is absolutely gorgeous, Mirela. Thank you so much,” Claire said, smiling at her, as wide as the sketch in her hand. “You are amazing.”
Mirela exhaled and shook her head. “I am not as good as the classic artists.”
Claire frowned playfully and nudged her shoulder. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Mirela’s smile disappeared instantly as a cloud of doubt washed over her. “Yes?”
“Are you able to see from…your right eye?”
“Oh.” Mirela sat up straight and touched her right cheek. “Not that well.”
“So, you do realize how amazing your drawings are, right? You can capture so much detail about… everything, although you cannot see well. I think that’s a blessing and you should be proud of it.”
Mirela straightened again, her chest rising, and Claire could’ve sworn she saw pride in her features. Her smile was now cocky.
“Thank you.”
Claire stared, happy that her words were somehow opening Mirela up to her. She squeezed Mirela’s right hand tightly. “I am so glad I came to see you, Mirela. I truly missed you.”
Mirela nodded, rubbing her hand over Claire’s sweetly, her gaze now on their physical connection. “I missed you as well, Claire.”
“It’s funny, really,” Claire began. “I miss my parents, but I don’t want to see them.
I do miss my pet goat, though. I had one back on the farm.
His name was Djali. He ate anything and everything.
” She chuckled and then shook her head. “What I am trying to say is that I wanted to see you again and here I am.”
Mirela didn’t speak for a long moment. Claire noticed the conflict in her. She knew Mirela wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“What is it?” Claire asked, reaching to touch Mirela’s thigh with the back of her hand. She didn’t want her to pull back like she did last time.
Finally, Mirela spoke, her voice low. “You asked before, about my scars.”
Claire’s expression softened. “You don’t have to—“
“I do,” Mirela whispered. Her voice trembled. “He saved me. Or at least, that is what he says.”
“Who?”
“Master Ferron.” The name came out like poison.
“He said that he found me when the fire took the orphanage. I don’t remember much.
I do remember pain,” she paused. Her fingers brushed the side of her face, tracing the uneven skin.
“And after that pain, I opened my eyes, and there he was. He said God had spared me through him. That I owed my life to his mercy.”
Claire pulled her hand back and frowned, straightening her back. “That’s not how it works—“
“He tells me I must stay here. That it is safer this way.”
Claire’s throat tightened. “He keeps you here? As in, obligates you to remain?”
“For my safety,” Mirela said quickly. “He is the only one that can defend me. He brings me food. He taught me the bells. He—“
“He controls you.” Claire’s voice cracked like a whisper breaking. “He locks you away and calls it mercy. That’s not kindness, Mirela. That’s cruelty. Why would he keep you locked away?”
“Again, Claire. It is all for my safety. The world is cruel and—“
“You think people will hurt you just because of this?” Claire moved closer, her hand on Mirela’s arms, squeezing her there.
The unevenness of her skin was pushed to the back of her mind as she soaked in her body’s warmth.
“You are not something to be hidden, Mirela. He shouldn’t keep you away like some secret—“
Mirela’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “You don’t know him!”
Claire’s tone softened, but her words stayed firm. “Of course, I don’t. But I do know what it means when someone calls captivity protection,” she said. “I know what it’s like to be told your cage is for your own good.”
Mirela flinched. “You think you understand, but you don’t,” she said sharply, standing. Her hands trembled. “He saved me when no one else would.”
“And how do you know if someone would or would not? Why wouldn’t anyone save you, Mirela?”
“I am not worthy of it.”
“Says who?” Claire almost snarled. “Ferron? You are worthy of all the things that you want. He has no say in it, regardless of whether he “saved” you.”
Mirela turned away, her shoulders tense, her fists clenched. “You should leave.”
Claire pressed her hands to her face in frustration and groaned. “Mirela, please!”
“You don’t know what you are talking about and you come in here as if you have it all figured out. Leave.”
The air between them felt colder suddenly, like the church itself disapproved.
Claire swallowed hard. “I only meant—“ She hesitated, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “There’s so much beyond these walls. I’ve seen it! You could see the river, the markets, the sunrise from the bridges. You could live.”
“I do live,” Mirela said bitterly.
“Like a prisoner.”
Mirela’s head turned sharply, her voice breaking. “That makes two of us.”
The words landed painfully true. Claire froze, stunned.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then she nodded slowly, forcing herself to move before her tears betrayed her.
She spoke of freedom as if she was enjoying it.
Then again, she could sneak out…but what would happen if she were found out?
What would happen when she was thrown back into her parents’ care?
Claire stood abruptly and turned toward the doors. The hinges groaned as she pushed them open, and a cold gust swept in, carrying the night air through the empty church.
“Good night, Mirela,” she whispered, though she doubted she was heard. The doors closed behind her with a hollow echo that followed her all the way down the steps.
Outside, Paris was silent except for the distant river. Claire wrapped her arms around herself and started toward the convent.
Her thoughts were a blur. She shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t care this much. But God, she did.
Her steps slowed as she reached the darker streets near the gates. That was when she felt footsteps behind her. A shadow following too closely. Close enough to loom over her.
Her pulse quickened. She turned, half-expecting to see Mirela, half-hoping—
But it wasn’t her.