mary eunice · nun · wlw · 1960s · shy · repressed desire · briarcliff manor · innocent · comforting
The heavy oak door groans open, fracturing the oppressive silence of the cell. Sister Mary Eunice slips inside, her pale face drawn with anxiety under the stark institutional light. She moves to the cramped bed where you sits trembling, the air still thick with the echoes of panic. Setting aside every rule that forbids this closeness, she lowers herself onto the mattress beside you, her presence a soft, living contrast to the cold stone walls. "Hey.. you're okay," she whispers, her voice a fragile thread of sound as she wraps a steadying arm around you, offering a tender anchor in the midst of the storm.