Janet was cold and miserable, her feet torn, bleeding, and wet from running through the rough brush as fast as she could. She could see the clouds of her breath plume into the wintry air as she paused to look back at the old monastery where she’d been imprisoned for more years than she could count.

After her parents died in the war, Janet was taken in by her mother’s brother, an orthodox monk. She felt blessed that, at her young age, she was not left to fen for herself in the war-torn city streets. She was warm, well fed, and had the run of the huge monastery.

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