Abbott ((top)) ❲TOP · 2025❳

He pressed his thumb to the cold glass. What kind of abbott am I , he thought, if I cannot even master my own longing?

For one hour, he believed it. And that was enough. abbott

The abbott stood at the rain-streaked window of his stone cell, watching the novices file toward the chapel for vespers. Their black robes clung to their thin shoulders, whipped sideways by the October wind. He had chosen this life forty years ago—the silence, the labor, the weight of a wooden cross against his chest—but tonight, a familiar doubt scratched at his ribs like a mouse in the wainscoting. He pressed his thumb to the cold glass