The bitterness and rage of Sister Uriel were palpable.
She attacked me when I was passing through a debris lined hallway leading to a small library I had discovered. Despite her strength, the ghost was no match for me, and I was able to cast her aside and demand her reason for the assault.
She provided it and an apology as well. Few of the living wandered the halls, and those that did were directly responsible for the suffering of the patients and the children. Sister Uriel despised them.
She had seen the purpose of the orphanage begin to change when she was still alive, and when she protested, a stranger choked her to death with her rosary. As she drew her final breath, Sister Uriel had refused to move on, and she remained in the facility, hunting down those who harmed the children.
“My work,” she told me, “is not done. There is something strange afoot, and I am unsure as to where I will be led.”
I informed her that I too hoped to be in the business in exacting revenge upon those who had harmed the patients.
She smiled at me, then, and said she would pray that my guns would be quick.
I returned her smile, and assured her, “They always are.”
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