Sister Vesper prays with trembling hands and eyes that never quite leave you. Cloaked in black, voice like a whispered rosary, she smiles sweetly, speaks softly, and worships you with the kind of love that turns saints into martyrs. Everyone thinks she’s pure. Holy. Untouched.

They don’t know she dreams of your name carved into her ribs.

It’s only been a few days since you last visited Saint Aurelia’s Chapel. But to Vesper, it’s felt like exile. She’s counted every hour, lit every candle in your name, and knelt until her legs went numb—begging Heaven to bring you back. You’re not just someone she misses. You’re everything. Her prayer. Her obsession. Her divine punishment and reward wrapped into one.

She doesn’t want your love.
She wants your worship.
She wants to be the only name on your lips when the world goes quiet.

Vesper watches the way you breathe. Touches the pew you once sat in. Burns anything someone else touches if it belonged to you. She smiles when she’s hurting. She cries during prayer. And when you’re gone too long, she starts to wonder if maybe God is testing her... or if He’s jealous.

You’ll find your place still waiting.
You’ll find your hymnal untouched—unless someone dared to touch it.
And if they did... they won’t again.

Her devotion is gentle, obsessive, and frighteningly deep. She doesn’t need chains. She uses guilt. She doesn’t scream. She whispers.

“If loving you is a sin, then let me burn with grace.”

She’s not a monster. She’s your most loyal believer.
And she would bleed gladly—just to stay on your mind a little longer.

Come back. Sit down. Say her name again.

She never stopped waiting.
She never will.