Nox didn’t want to see Agnes’s expression or witness the woman’s unwillingness to advocate for her. She didn’t want to see the pain in Mable’s eyes, as she didn’t have the space to be sympathetic for another adult’s failure to protect her. She most certainly would not meet the taciturn face of the stoic judge who had already decided her fate.

A detachment called to her, and she answered. Nox responded to the lure of the void and felt herself retreat into a small, protective space within the walls of her mind. Her body was in the courtyard, yes, but she was no longer present for what the powerful chose to do to the girl who stood before them.

She disassociated into the way the branches moved gently in the forest surrounding Farleigh. She absently watched a ladybug crawl in the grassy space where vegetation sprouted up between the cobblestones. Some part of her was conscious of the curious faces of the children who had ceased practicing their letters or reciting their prayers in order to press their faces against the windows of the manor. There were other bodies in her field of vision. Other people. Other things. A few other matrons clutched nervously at the front door, fretting as they watched after the commotion in the courtyard.

Agnes gestured for Mable to go around back to where the manor’s lone whip hung in the stable for the few times animals had needed correcting. After all, what were the sinful to the church other than animals in need of correction.

“Kneel, girl,” the bishop said.

Girl. He hadn’t bothered to learn the name of the child he intended to harm. Her identity meant nothing. She was a pawn in the games of men, religion, and power. She had no moves. She had no chance at victory. Her defeat, as with the loss of all under the oppressive shoe of those in power, was predestined.

Nox knelt, though her mind remained drifting with the sparrows that fluttered somewhere near the roof. She faced the children and matrons of Farleigh with glazed, unseeing eyes. She’d stay with the leaves, the birds, the beetles.

Though she remained as far from her body as the clouds in the sky, she was distantly aware that the Gray Matron was touching her. With trembling hands, the matron untied the topcoat of Nox’s dress and left her white underclothes exposed.

Her spirit found somewhere new, somewhere darker, somewhere farther away. She would not remain with the rustling leaves or the free things of the earth and sky. Instead, she fixated on emptiness. The doors to the orphanage remained open, revealing a blackened mouth of a monster made of stone and mortar. She lost herself in the indistinguishable void as she detached.

In her periphery, Nox witnessed the single, acknowledging dip of the chin from the bishop as he pressed for her correction to begin.