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Maris couldn’t die. Or, rather, she couldn’t stay dead. She didn’t know why, but she knew it had to be some kind of divine punishment. What else could it be?
Ravella was the only person who knew. She had seen her die, and Maris had gasped a breath in again and found herself cradled in Ravella’s arms as she wept. Ravella had promised to keep her secret, and had offered to research, trying to discover why this could be happening to her.
Neither of them had turned up anything, though. There seemed to be no recorded precedent for what was happening to Maris. It was bearable, with Ravella. But if Maris truly was unable to die, someday she would be alone. Somebody would likely notice before then, too, and then what would she do? She couldn’t bear the idea of leaving the motherhouse, but she might have to. She was scared. Everything about this was terrifying.