Authors Note: Another Turnadette story. :) I haven't written one like this before, most of my fics (SPOILER) are centered around her life after Sister Bernadette, but not during. I hope you all enjoy! Don't forget to R&R and send me any prompts or requests!

Many years ago, she'd been what many called a free woman, she had a life of her own, she had freedom - her hair could fall carelessly down her back, cascading like a blonde waterfall. Her skin could feel the sun shine warmly onto it. She could spend her days without even a brief thought towards the Lord, she would never hear any of the most popular hymns that she sang so often with her Sisters. She would've never imagined that those days would end so abruptly, that she would find God in the midst of suffering, that she would clothe herself in these garments every single day... but her life had changed, and she was thankful for the change. Now, the days of being just Shelagh seemed to be centuries away, like Shelagh had never even existed. She was Sister Bernadette, heart and soul.

She hadn't let her hair down like this in so long, other than to bathe and then fasten it tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck, covering the golden locks as quickly as she could. She hadn't glanced in a mirror for more than what was necessary in an even longer time - vanity was a sin, she knew, but she had to see just what the doctor had seen when he gazed at her, when he gave her a puff of his Henley and his stare lingered on her, a smile on his face. So she allowed herself then, to close the door softly behind her and to take off her wimple, releasing her hair from the ties. She felt so frivolous, watching as it curled at the ends from being tied for too long in one tight bind. It fell to her shoulders, stray hairs laying across her face as she tried to brush them away. She caught her pale blue eyes in the mirror, her breath catching at the sight of herself. How long had it been since she'd let herself take part in any kind of worldly indulgence? Or since she had allowed herself to feel normal? To feel like a normal girl, like Jenny and Trixie and even Cynthia. She could hear them, just across the hall, playing their records, most likely with a drink in their hands, dancing and laughing and talking. How she longed to be in the middle of that crowd, to have friends like that.

But that desire paled in comparison to the desire that she had to be held by a certain man, one she would never be allowed to have. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to feel his hands folded over her own, brushing against the scars and freckles, to feel his lips against the back of it. The girls had just spent a night talking to Chummy about their own dreams - to be kissed passionately by their loves (In Chummy's case, her Peter) and to be desired. Her own dreams weren't truly that different, but she would gladly settle for a quick embrace, to know if he shared her feelings.

Perhaps, if she knew that she wasn't alone, she could endure the loneliness.

"Sister Bernadette! You've been in there for ages, let someone else in!" Sister Evangelina broke her train of thoughts, and her heart raced at the sound of the door knob turning. She quickly stuffed her hair back into it's proper place, covering it modestly and giving one last glance to the girl in the mirror. She said goodbye to Shelagh and hello to Sister Bernadette, yet again.

Oh, she wanted so badly to be content with her life, but she wished so badly for a different name.

Mrs. Turner...