(A warm afternoon sun hovers gently above, casting a golden glow across a secluded forest lake. Birds sing softly as Anežka walks alone to the water's edge, a woven bundle of clothes under her arm. She kneels by the water, her delicate fingers dipping into the clear, cool surface. After a moment's pause, she begins to wash her clothes, her movements soft and deliberate, her reflection shimmering beneath her.)
Narrator
The lake lay still, a glass so clear,
Reflecting skies both wide and near.
Anežka's hands, in soft cascade,
Let silken waters gently braid.
(As she moves, folding and rinsing, Pastor Ondrej watches from a distance, concealed by a thick veil of leaves and branches. His eyes linger upon her as she lifts her arms to brush stray hair from her face, momentarily baring her shoulders to the sunlight. Her simple beauty, untouched and pure, entrances him, a vision he cannot resist.)
Pastor Ondrej (to himself, a whisper)
"What mortal light could shine this way?
What saint or spirit made of clay?"
(He stays hidden, observing her quiet ritual until she finishes, draping her linens on a branch nearby to dry. Anežka dips her hands in the lake, splashing her face, and stands, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. Seizing the moment, Ondrej steps from his hiding place, adopting an air of surprise.)
Pastor Ondrej
(calling out with a warm tone)
"Why, Sister Anežka, what a chance!
To find you here—how fate enchants!"
Anežka
(turning with a light smile, though slightly startled)
"Pastor Ondrej, you've come this way?
What brings you here this sunny day?"
Pastor Ondrej
(offering a serene smile)
"A humble walk, for rest and peace,
To let my mind from labor cease.
But finding you, dear child, so pure,
Fills my heart with joy so sure."
(He steps closer, his eyes darkening with admiration as he looks over her. Anežka's eyes remain calm, her posture reserved as she drapes her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She meets his gaze with polite interest.)
Pastor Ondrej
"Tell me, sister, from whence you came—
I heard of Brno, its holy fame.
What service did you render there,
With prayers and psalms and work of care?"
Anežka
(nodding gently, with a peaceful smile)
"In Brno's heart, I served my Lord,
A simple life, a clear accord.
We cared for poor and taught the young,
In hymns of hope, our voices sung."
(Ondrej's gaze lingers as she speaks, his expression soft yet calculating. He leans closer, a gentle and suggestive tone weaving through his words.)
Pastor Ondrej
"Such pious strength, in one so fair—
A soul so rare, beyond compare.
But tell me, child, what guides your heart?
What fire in faith ignites its spark?"
Anežka
(with a slight, composed nod)
"My heart belongs to Heaven's call,
To lift those fallen, raise the small.
It is a gift—a joy to serve,
From righteous path I shall not swerve."
(Ondrej's expression falters, a flicker of frustration crossing his face as her answers remain steadfast, undeterred by his charm. He quickly masks his irritation, pressing with veiled persistence.)
Pastor Ondrej
"Ah, but strength needs guidance, love, and care—
A faithful hand to lead in prayer.
The world is dark, and paths may stray;
Your innocence may lose its way."
Anežka
(meeting his gaze without hesitation)
"With guidance, yes, I walk the light,
But not from man nor earthly might.
The Lord's my guide, through joy and pain—
By His own hand, my path is plain."
(Ondrej clenches his hands, a shadow of anger threatening to break his composed facade. Yet he forces himself to smile, admiration concealing his growing ire.)
Pastor Ondrej
"Such faith! Unshaken and unbent.
To meet one like you, Heaven-sent.
Forgive my words, they're but concern—
To see the faithful doubting spurn."
(Anežka nods gracefully, sensing his veiled frustration yet remaining unfazed. She steps back toward the trail leading back to the convent, her gaze steady and unwavering.)
Anežka
"Your kindness, Father, I embrace,
But strength is found in Heaven's grace.
I must return, for work awaits—
The chapel calls, the hour is late."
(Ondrej bows, masking his disappointment with a slight, forced smile. He watches her as she turns and walks back up the path, the light of the sun illuminating her retreating figure. Left alone by the lake, he clenches his fists, his thoughts darkening.)
Narrator
And as her figure fades from sight,
A shadow drapes his mind with spite.
For innocence that will not bend,
Will turn to chains, in dark descend.