Sister Hillie barely remembered how she got home, as she stood in a haze in her room, the door firmly shut behind her. Father Daniel had fled as quickly as he had come, saying not a word to her, but she had said a prayer of thanks to St. Michael for sending him when she realized that she had wanted her nephew to unbutton her blouse. She had<i>wanted</i>him to free her breasts, wanted him to... she shook her head...<i>no no no!</i>This was wrong. She remembered the scent, it still hung in her nose, her clothes were permeated with it and she began to strip, kicking of her shoes to start. She unbuttoned her blouse, finger tips sliding over soft skin, and removed it, tossing the garment onto her bed, followed by her bra. She looked into the mirror by the dresser and saw herself, a mature woman with a body no longer in its prime. Generous breasts, sagging somewhat over a soft belly which had never carried a child, large areolae darker than usual peaked by still hard nipples. A tentative hand went to her breast, and then the other as she rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She sighed and closed her eyes, kneading the soft flesh between her fingers. She opened the clasp of her pants and slid her right hand in, it was wrong but she needed it so badly, needed the release after the visions earlier. Her hand slid lower, greedy fingers sliding through the non regulation clipped bush towards moist lips. There it was, slick, lubricating moisture between velvety skin begging for more, begging for endlessly more. Sister Mary Hildegard moaned deep in her throat, and withdrew her hand, it smelled of sex and need and she slid the fingers between her lips, tasting the passion of the southeren ones between those that made vows of chastity and obedience. Moments later she was on her bed, her face buried in the blouse which bore the musk of the events from earlier and began to strum her own instrument without intention of stopping until she was well and done.<br/><br/>It was dusk when she rose from her bed, thighs shaking and wet, labia swollen and thick with spent passion, and she went to the bathroom to shower away her guilt and pleasure, keeping the lights off to hide from her shame in a darkening room.<br/><br/>After dinner clean up and communal prayers done, Sister Hillie begged tiredness and retired to her room which she had aired out when she headed to dinner. The clothes had been placed in her hamper in the bathroom and the door firmly closed, not wanting whatever it was to affect her again. Her bed was beckoning her weary body but she knew her soul needed more than sleep.<br/><br/>She sank down on her knees before her little altar, and began to pray, but it was well over an hour before she felt the familiar peace wash over her, and with a heavy heart she knew that today had marked a cross road on her life, one of many, except she couldn't help but feel that the roiling, black miasma at one of the forks, was the one she was meant to take. She wiped tears of her face and changed into her nightgown, folding her other clothes neatly over the chair by the wardrobe before lying down under the warm comforter.<br/><br/>Sleep came quickly to her exhausted body, but it wasn't restful. Pelle's black ringed eyes, looked up to her as he was sucking her breast, his fingers pushing inside her with an burning icy thrust of fire and in her sleep she widened her thighs to welcome him in. When she awoke in the morning she found her period had come, her underwear and nightgown soaked with blood. It was the first in six months.