Diane Stanley was at that time inside her narrow and cramped room in the convent.
Everything around her was cold and dull and desperately monotonous.
Starting from her bed, up to every single piece of furniture that was in her room.
She was a woman of faith, and so it was not uncommon for her room to suffer many deprivations.
Inside her paternal home, in her room she had many precious furniture: a large bed, a chest of drawers, a cherry wood mirror and many other clothes and beauty tools.
She was the last of four older siblings and was the only girl, having grown up like the princess of the house.
But not her father made her feel that way, but Gilbert.
Her brother was six years older than her, but from her early childhood he had raised her, Gilbert had taught her how to behave in her life.
She adored him, like an idol, like a real father figure for her.
But she was there, locked in that cramped dark room, with poor furniture surrounding her.
She had been living there for three years now, and that environment was slowly destroying in her every slightest hope and little enthusiasm.
Diane had in fact just turned sixteen, but her innate sadness seemed to make the young woman look twice her age.
Her mulatto skin had taken on a strange pallor, her eyes, blue as the sea, were of a duller colour, she showed apparent dark circles and her black curls were also limp.
At that time she had harboured so much stress within her that it caused her to be in poorer health.
She founded herself lying on her bed, holding in her hands that letter that she had received a long before.
She reread the words in black ink written by her brother, Diane reread them as if they were the last words she would ever read in her life.
She was forbidden to wear any clothes other than the dark and dull official dress of the monastery.
She was thus lying on her bed, on its light blankets, uncomfortably in her long black tunic, as her long curls were neatly and uncomfortably enclosed by the long veil of the same dark colour.
She hated that uncomfortable way of dressing so much: she felt she had lost her personality. Besides, the tunic she was forced to wear she wore an acid and old smell that she couldn't stand.
In fact, she had been told that the tunic she was now wearing had once belonged to a nun like her who died of tuberculosis and for this reason having the same size, that dress fit her perfectly.
-Sister Diane- an elderly and shrill voice called the girl from her door.
She was thus able to perceive with her own eyes the unexpected figure of the mother superior.
The lady could well see the pale face of hers, already in the fullness of her old age, covered with deep wrinkles.
She observed her tall, majestic body and her dark eyes looking sternly at her.
- Your father does not send his contribution to the monastery every year so that you can read useless letters - the elderly woman reproached her with harsh words.
Diane massaged her mulatto skin to take a healthier shape, she placed the old letter under the pillow of her bed and thus took a composed position in front of the mother superior.
-You are right, mother superior...- commented the girl, looking away from her stern face.
The woman thus took her long and wrinkled hands in each other and lowered her gaze.
- If you continue to have such unacceptable behavior, we will be forced to warn your father-.
At those words the girl felt a burning anger rise within her.
She didn't want her father to get involved in this.
-I won't do it again, mother- the girl admitted taking a passive attitude.
-Do not talk anymore now, then join your sisters inside the cathedral, the time of the Holy Mass will arrive shortly- the old woman spoke as a last warning - I trust you Diane, I believe in your common sense...-.
The lady lowered her gaze again, she was tired of that life, bored by now, all her hopes of leaving that monotonous place were lost.