There was a nun who could not speak whom visits the sick and elderly. She was known as the Reaper, as those she visited died the day after. In fear, the town accused her of witchcraft and arrested her. Bound to a stake, they pressed a torch at her feet, when a sickly old man raced out to save her.
Why have you reached out to save her, the town ask. She brings death to our frail.
The man looked on the verge of death, the veins on his neck syphon as he struggles to catch his breath.
Because she brings voice, the old man said. In our last hour, when we’ve been ignored, she allows us to speak. When we were forsaken, she wonders our last wish. We were once honorable in our lives, and as we see visit the face of death, there is comfort in knowing we are honorable once again.
In her silence, she delivers our prayers. We do not pass, we are released.
