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A sister of the church is a model of temperance, an exemplar of devotion, a paragon of modesty.
On this night Rosaria felt like none of these things as she slipped through an open window of Favonius Cathedral. She landed barefoot on the marble tiles with nary a sound, her heeled boots securely held in her free hand. The return from her night’s work had become a practiced routine and she flitted from flickering shadow to flickering shadow toward her destination as silent as a whisper.
On this night, an abusive father had tumbled off a third story balcony. On this night, an alleyway mugger lost the use of his right hand. On this night, a Snezhanyan spy came to realize that even the coldest winters did not adequately harden your lungs against frostbite.
Rosaria loved the night’s work, as she called it. The thrill of dispensing small justices was one of the few times she felt truly alive. She’d grown used to the heady mix of adrenaline and power. It’d been added to her list of vices, right next to the drinking and a disdain for rules.
Smoking was also on the list. And the occasional impure thought.
It was a long list.
She reached her target and slipped into the confession booth without crossing paths with a single sister. No surprise there, most of the clergy were fast asleep in their dormitories at this hour. Unfortunately it also meant that she couldn’t return to her own bed without waking Barbara as the two shared a room.
It was no bother however, confession had become her preferred resting place. None of the citizenry had particularly pious hearts at this late hour, and Rosaria had lifted a fine vintage of dandelion wine from an undeserving household on her way back.
The cork provided little resistance to her stiletto, and the careful application of Cryo energy was enough to freeze the two together and free the semi sweet golden liquid within. This almost certainly wasn’t how the archons envisioned their powers being used, but the small blasphemy of it brought a smile to Rosaria’s lips.
As she curled up on the padded seat of the booth she examined her garments for damage. She’d once failed to notice a gash across the carmine and sable sleeve of her habit, leading to a tedious argument with Barbara. The younger woman had then taken it upon herself to add belts and straps to Rosaria’s vestments to keep them from snagging on bushes as she “did whatever it was she did in the unwholesome hours of the night.”
Admittedly they helped, and though she called Barbara a nuisance, she appreciated the gesture. Truthfully she found the girl’s doting endearing, but that was a secret she’d take to her grave. She frowned at a run in her stockings, but it wasn’t anything that would be noticed by her fellow sisters.
She pulled her knees to her chest and settled in more comfortably as she took a long swig of the wine. The sweet warmth of the drink enveloped her and she felt the tension drain out of her limbs as she closed her eyes and let quiet tug of sleep pull her peacefully away.
Her eyes shot back open as she heard footsteps approaching the confessional. She was fairly certain she had locked the door on the way in, but still felt an immense relief when the door on the other side of the booth opened and a figure silhouetted by the booth’s screen sat down across from her.
Rosaria offered nothing but silence, and it was a long moment before the figure spoke.
“Sister?” Rosaria recognized the voice immediately. It was Jean, the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. “Forgive the hour. I would have come earlier but my duties prevented it. I was half expecting to find the cathedral empty.”
“I can leave if you like Grand Master.” Not likely, but worth a shot.
“Sister Rosaria? I wasn’t expecting you here.” Jean sounded as surprised as she was pleased. “No, please stay Sister. And call me Jean.”
“Only if you call me Rosaria.” She was glad to do away with the formalities. “Didn’t expect you to be the sort of woman who found herself laden with guilt this late in the night.”
“Guilt? Perhaps not. If anything, it’s the lack of guilt that worries me.” Jean laughed as she said it, but there was an ironic tinge of bitterness in her words. “How’s my sister doing?”
“A thorn in my side if I’m honest Jean. But she’s safe. I wonder sometimes if you asked me to watch over her for her sake or for mine.” Likely both. “You’re also changing the subject. Why do I find a woman who is by all accounts utterly devoid of sin, in confession at this hour?”
Silence is the sound of a guilty conscience. That’s what Sister Victoria had told her once. Judging from the uncomfortable pause in the conversation, Jean had guilt to spare.
Rosaria took a moment to reflect on the situation. She’d always wanted to get closer to the Grand Master. The woman was respected if not idolized by all of Mondstadt. None of that interested the nun. What intrigued her was where the cracks lay. Perception was the only difference between paragons and pariahs and Rosaria wanted to know who this woman was beyond the beautiful smile and tired eyes.
“Have you ever been in love Sis—" Jean corrected herself "Rosaria?”
“I don’t know.” She really didn’t. “I’ve known desire. Is that love though? Barbara told me once about the type of books you like to read. I suppose what you mean by love is more akin to those tales. Something closer to devotion. Something purer.”
Something fake, she stopped herself from saying.
This was not the path she had expected this conversation to take. Rosaria didn’t like being the one flustered.
“Did you fall in love Jean?”
“I’m still figuring that out Rosaria.” She couldn’t clearly see Jean’s face through the screen, but the figure on the other side slumped as she spoke. “I expected something cleaner. Less messy.”
“Tell me about them.”
“What?”
“Tell me about this person you think you’re in love with.” Rosaria was intrigued at this development. She was running on less than an hour of sleep over the course of two days but this had banished away her fatigue. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“To be honest, I’m glad you’re here Rosaria, and not one of the other sisters.”
“Why?” The mystery was deepening.
“I don’t think I could be as open with the others. And you’re an enabler.” Slanderous. But true. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to tell you who she is.”
“A woman? That suits you Jean. If you won’t say who, then tell me more about her.”
“She has skin like freshly fallen snow. Eyes that I’d happily drown in. She’s beautiful. But it’s a fearsome beauty.”
“What do you mean by fearsome beauty?” It was charming to hear someone like Jean gushing so earnestly. Rosaria had always found Jean attractive, honestly who wouldn’t? But this side of her, she had to know more.
“Well, she’s fit and strong, carries herself with an air of confidence that can’t be ignored. But… no that isn’t it.” Jean sighed and leaned against the wooden screen of the booth. Rosaria couldn’t quite make out her features, but she thought she saw a trace of a wry smile. “I think what I find so exciting about her is her blessed irreverence.”
“Irreverence?”
“You’ve known me for some time now. Known of me for longer. Everyone has an expectation of what the Dandelion Knight should be. Expectations of how she should act. Expectations of how she should feel. My life just feels like a bottomless pit of expectations. And because I’m a fool, I oblige them. I feel myself chasing this perfect version of myself. My shadow— No, I’m the shadow, chasing the saint I’m expected to be.”
“Jean…” She wasn’t wrong. The sisters here idolized Jean Gunnhildr as much as the citizens did. Barbara spoke endlessly of her sister. Rosaria was never sure what to make of it, all she’d ever wanted of Jean was to know who the woman was beyond the veneer.
“What excites me about this woman. Is her utter disregard for the norms and values of our city. And because of that she expects less than nothing of me. For all our vaunted talk of freedom as the symbolic virtue of Mondstadt, I feel none of it. I’m bound by duty and obligation at every turn, except for when I’m around her.”
Were Rosaria one to feel guilt concerning such things, she might have paused at the idea of abusing her station to find out more about Jean. But she wasn’t and she didn’t. What she really wanted in this moment was to see Jean’s face as she spoke, but this blasted screen obscured so much.
Easily solved. She’d get lambasted by Sister Victoria for this but Rosaria was not one for decorum.
Rosaria rotated the latch on the wooden screen and slid it open without warning. Jean leapt back so suddenly that she bumped her head into the top of the confession booth. The panicked look in her eyes was… cute? That seemed a strange word to ascribe to Grand Master Jean, but in that moment it fit.
“Sister Rosaria?”
“I never much understood the point of that screen. I knew it was you the second you spoke and you knew it was me. Isn’t this easier? Face to face.” Jean nodded and relaxed back in her seat. “Not like it was some barrier to keep your sin from flooding in and drowning me. Or maybe it was, I’ll have to ask the other sisters.”
“Apologies, you just startled me.” It was some unholy hour of the night, but Rosaria was surprised to see Jean in a disheveled state. Her golden hair was loose and messy. A fresh bandage dressed her shoulder. Several buttons from her ebony blouse were missing. Nothing wrong with any of that, but it was surprising and Rosaria could see Jean’s point about expectations.
“Long night?” The Grand Master flushed red at the question.
“Sorry. A sparring match got out of hand. I haven’t had time to clean up.” Even without the screen, the confessional was full of shadows. Jean sat in a beam of moonlight, casting her features in intense contrast. She appeared to have a small cut under her eye. “I’ll admit, it’s embarrassing saying this to you directly.”
“Is that so?” Rosaria leaned back into the shadows of her booth, letting them obscure her face. “There, now it’s just you and Lord Barsibato”
“You really don’t take any of this seriously do you Rosaria?” She’d heard that line many times before, from a different Gunnhildr. Barbara definitely would have corrected her. Here though, she only sensed amusement. “It’s fine, we all take ourselves too seriously.”
“So, tell me more about this woman you’ve become so smitten with. She sounds like quite the prize.” Even Rosaria wouldn’t be so brash as to directly ask who it was, but she was adept at solving mysteries. She just needed more threads to pull on.
“Smitten?”
“Jean, you’re a mess. We can say you’re enamored if that is more dignified.”
“She’s beautiful. Intense.”
“You’ve already said that. Tell me something new.”
“Promise not to laugh Rosaria?”
“No.”
“I think she could match me in a fight, and I find that so…” Jean flushed red again. “Barbatos help me, I find that so attractive.”
“You really are smitten. She can take you in a fight?” That narrowed the list of who it could be considerably. “That seems highly unlikely. Your swordplay is matched only by your mastery of your vision.”
“Well… That’s the thing. She also possesses a vision.” And the list narrowed further still. An idea had been nagging at the back of Rosaria’s mind as Jean went on and on about this woman she so desired.
“A vision? There aren’t many Anemo users that wouldn’t run from you the moment you drew your blade.” It was too much to hope for that Jean would narrow the list further still, but a shot not taken is a shot missed.
“Not Anemo.” Jean paused for a moment. Surely she realized saying anything more would give the game away, but as Sister Victoria also told her, a guilty mind demands an audience. “Cryo.”
Wait.
She’d underestimated this woman. Jean was clever. Rosaria had thought she held all the cards, but it turns out that the hunter was the hunted all along.
“Rosaria?” Jean’s voice snapped Rosaria to attention, but she was at a loss of how to respond. “Perhaps I’ve said too much. In truth I’d expected to find this booth empty tonight, I was half expecting to confess to myself.”
It seemed Jean wanted to continue the charade. Rosaria raised the bottle of wine to her lips and took a long pull.
“Is that dandelion wine? In the Cathedral?” Jean raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Sometimes a bottle is better than a priest.” She offered the wine through the confession window. “Sadly I don’t have any glasses.”
“Where did you even find this.” Jean gave a chuckle as she took the bottle and drank deeply before handing it back.
“The cathedral has ample supplies of sacrament.”
“You’re impossible Rosaria.”
“You like that about me. So Grand Master, tell me more about this woman who’s so thoroughly skewered your heart.” The warmth of the wine was making Rosaria feel more self indulgent than usual. “What brings you to the confession booth, what’s so wrong with you falling for someone?”
“I’m afraid of losing control around her. She’s a sinner and I’m a saint. Given time, she’ll make a sinner out of me as well.”
“You’re so embarrassing. And drunk already?”
“It took several drinks to even find my way into this confession booth. See? That’s what she does to me. That is what worries me. I know she’ll corrupt me, and I’m not afraid of it. I want it. I want her corruption.” Jean took the bottle back and drank deeply once again. “I want her to take my vaunted purity and drag me into the dark with her. I want her to ruin me.”
As Jean leaned over to hand the bottle back, Rosaria took her by the wrist and pulled her to the window.
“Rosaria? What are you doing?”
“Ruining you.”
Jean’s eyes shot wide open as Rosaria cupped her chin, leaned into the window and pressed her lips to hers. It started as a gentle kiss that lingered and built into a passionate one. Jean tasted of honey and dandelions.
Rosaria enjoyed kissing with her eyes open, to better know the effect she was having on her partner. The surprise never quite fled Jean’s eyes, nor the tension from her body, but she hadn’t pulled away. For all her talk of wanting this, her guard hadn’t fully fallen.
As their lips separated, Rosaria dug a canine into Jean’s lower lip, tugging it and drawing the slightest bit of blood. The taste of copper mixed with wine. Jean didn’t protest and simply stared, still dumbfounded.
“Rosaria… Why?”
“All your talk of wanting to be corrupted and you have to ask why?” Rosaria finished off the last of the wine in a single long gulp. “I’ve learned tonight that you’re a complicated woman Grand Master. I like that very much, and I look forward to unraveling more of your complexity.”
“Wait, did you think I—” Jean’s stammering response was cut short by a melodic voice from outside of the confessional.
“Sister Rosaria, are you in there?” It was Barbara. Rosaria held a single finger to her lips as she eyed Jean. “I know you’re in there! You didn’t come back last night. Come on before the other Sisters catch you.”
“You’re like my tail Barbara. Constantly attached and always in my way.”
“Please Sister Rosaria, I don’t want you to get in trouble again.” Barbara sounded desperate. If she was up, then dawn was coming. She wouldn’t have time to explore more of Grand Master Jean this evening.
“I enjoyed this talk.” Rosaria whispered “I like you Jean, I’d love to continue this conversation tomorrow night. You know where to find me now.”
Before Jean could respond, she swung the confessional door open and stepped out into the candlelight of the cathedral.
“Good morning Barbara.” She patted the younger woman on the head before stepping past her toward their quarters.
“Have you been drinking in there? Again?” Barbara said as she chased after her. “It’s almost like you want penance.”
“It’s early Barbara, could you not shout.” Judging by the shade of twilight outside the windows, Rosaria could still catch a couple hours of sleep before morning mass.
Or maybe she’d sleep past mass.
It’d been a good night.