Today there was a wedding, and she needed to toll the bells for the celebration. She focused on the sound. It filled the tower, her chest, and the sky outside. Each toll carried a piece of her with it, echoing through the streets where she would never walk. Claire would hear the bells and she would come to her. She would visit. Maybe this was her way of letting her know that she missed her and that she was well and that she needed to talk to her…
Then again, it was for the best. The longer she went without seeing her, the safer she believed Claire would be. Ferron had too much power in his hands and too little mercy in his heart. He could ruin her if he ever knew. The thought twisted Mirela’s stomach.
She shook her head.No. She wouldn’t think of that. This was her duty. Her purpose. To toll the bells.
When the last echo faded, she let go of the rope and stepped back, her palms stinging. She sat on her cot andtried to catch her breath. The silence after the bells always felt too heavy and final.
Long minutes passed, and as she willed the burning of her muscles to fade away, she heard it… A voice, soft at first, floating through the stone halls.
Claire’s voice.
Mirela froze, her heart leaping into her throat. Weddings rarely had choirs, not like this. Maybe it was an expensive wedding, or the couple had begged for something beautiful with which to start their life. Whatever the reason, Mirela felt as if the voice didn’t belong to the church, it belonged to her…
Turning to the opening of her chamber, she quietly listened to Claire’s voice fill the cathedral.
God, she wanted to see her so badly….
She told herself no. That she would stay where she was, that Ferron’s rules were there for a reason. But Claire’s voice carried something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was warm, tender, and sweet, and before Mirela realized it, she was already on her feet.
She moved quietly through the narrow passageways, her bare feet brushing the cold stone. She climbed higher until she reached the small balcony overlooking the pews. The light filtering through the stained glass painted her scars in shades of blue and gold.
Below, near the altar, Claire sang.
Some strands of dark hair slipped free from Claire’s veil, catching the light. Her voice filled the cathedral as the couple stood before the priest. The bride was young, nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the lace at her wrists. The groom looked older, kind, his beard trimmed for the occasion. When he turned to look at her, he smiled, and the bride smiled too.
When the priest finally declared them husband and wife, the church erupted in soft applause. But it was the kiss that made Mirela’s chest tighten.
The groom reached for his bride gently, his thumb brushing her cheek before he kissed her. She leaned into him as if she’d been waiting her whole life for that moment.
Mirela’s stomach turned, but not with disgust… but with jealousy. Her eyes trailed back to Claire, to the way her lips curled into a subtle smile as she watched the bride and groom. Inhaling deeply, Mirela kept her gaze locked on the way Claire’s mouth moved as she said something to a nun next to her.
Her lips looked soft, plump… and for the first time in her existence, Mirela wondered what it would be like to kiss another person’s lips… to kiss Claire’s lips. She wanted to know what it was like to hold someone the way the groom held his bride. He looked possessive but caring, with his hands holding the woman’s waist, looking down at her as if the entire world was contained within her eyes.
How would it feel to be touched not with pity or obligation, but with tenderness? To be kissed as though their very existence would crumble without it.
Claire’s emerald eyes lifted toward the balcony and met hers.
The air left her lungs. Claire’s smile was small and secretive, meant only for her.
Mirela smiled back, but it wasn’t until Claire sneaked a wink her way that her entire body froze. Her fingers trembled on the railing as the realization sank deep inside her.
She couldn’t wait to see her again. Just the two of them. No bells. No priests. Just them, and that terrified her.
***
The cathedral was empty when Claire returned. She had allowed the burning need to meet with Mirela to consume her. Before she could even register what she was doing, she was out the convent’s door.
The wedding ended hours ago. The candles had burned low, and the scent of incense lingered in the air. Notre-Dame’s massive doors creaked open under her hands.
She stepped inside, her breath forming a small cloud in the chill air. Silence consumed the entire place. Clairestood by the first pew, her eyes traveling across the dark hall toward the altar. She thought that Mirela would be waiting for her somewhere.
Claire knew she shouldn’t be there. She knew that if Sister Margaret knew she was gone, Claire was more than sure she would run to tattle on her, but she couldn’t just allow herself not to see Mirela again after they had been apart for so long. Claire wanted to know she was fine. That she wasn’t hungry, that she wasn’t mad at her…
She knew Mirela had heard her sing, and she hoped she understood that she fought tooth and nail to get that part. She wanted to sing. Not for the groom and bride, but for her. Claire wanted Mirela to know that she was there, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
That was why she was here now, risking getting caught, and God knew what kind of punishment would fall on her if they did. But it didn’t matter because she was going to see her…
For a moment, she simply listened to the emptiness and to the echo of her own breath. She wanted Mirela to be there and come down.
