A breeze caresses the leaves and branches. Thorns write the faintest of messages on my bare wrists. Everything I own is in my suitcase, strapped and bound and held in one hand. Except for my books. The carriage carrying those had no chance of making it though the forest, the tightly-woven tree tunnels shunning it, and I had to walk the rest of the way on foot. Apparently someone will carry my boxes to the church. It's beautiful here, but my enjoyment is tainted with the fact that my books might very well be dropped into the depths of the waterfall I'm currently walking past.

The trees and moss paint a delicate labyrinth, spattered with clearings and flowers, paths leading from one place to the next. As though it's used to seeing visitors, the path ahead opens out into a sheltered glade, with the church of Maria Vetsera set in the centre.

My residence for… well, who knows how long? I take in the sight. But if I really had to disappear… this is where I would want to do it.

The church stands strong and sturdy, built of wood and stone that still shine with relative newness. It's been about ten years since Viktor and I decided on our course, and between studying for my teaching license so I could take the post and Viktor having to acquire the support to get the church built, it would only have been finished in the last couple of years. And as far as I know, I'm the first teacher to come here. Most are happy with their expensive schools and wealthy students, in Wienner, and any others would probably have steered clear of the novelty of a classroom of orphans.

I intend to change that.

As though to offset my internal dialogue, the doors of the church swing open with a ka-chak, and someone emerges. From what I've gathered, this must be Sister Mary: the nun in charge of the children here. She's dressed in a simple black habit, accented with a silver cross on a chain. If her hair was uncovered, I imagine it would be a gentle grey, to match her crinkled eyes and soft smile.

'Herr Wittgenstein, I believe?'

She walks forward, and I do too, to meet her half-way. 'Yes. A pleasure. I take it you are Sister Mary?'

'Indeed I am.' She nods at my bow, and smiles. 'I'm pleased you made it here without incident. We've been attempting find someone to teach the children, but then we were told that we were going to get a teacher. I couldn't believe my ears. I'm thrilled to bits.'

A smile teases the corner of my mouth. 'I'm pleased to be here also.'

Sister Mary takes my suitcase, startling me, and heads for the church. She's not a waif but she's still stronger than she looks. 'As it's late, the children are off playing so we won't see them for a while. You'll have a chance to settle in, then I'm afraid you'll likely be interrogated by one and sundry over dinner.'

I follow her through the doors. 'Please let me take — '

'Nonsense. You've dragged this thing all the way through the woods, it's the least I can do.'

The inside of the church is stunning. Richly coloured wooden beams support the stonework. The building is laid out as a traditional church, and yet it will serve well as a school room too. Sister Mary sets my suitcase down where we stand, in the narthex — the entrance. Stained glass images of saints watch over us, and a crucifix presides over the room. My eyes follow a staircase up to the ceiling. I had a hand in designing the church, yet it feels fresh and new to see it in real life.

'It's beautiful. So the children live at the church?' I ask, as though I wasn't the one who drew the floor plans. Did Viktor ever tell me off for not using a ruler…

Sister Mary folds her hands and nods up at the ceiling. 'Yes. It's not conventional, but the church was built to house the orphans as well as hold regular church services. Yet we can only take in so many.'

'Perhaps the crown will invest further in this idea and build an orphanage nearby, in the future.'

'Are you a teacher or a civil planner, Herr Wittgenstein?'

I cough, and glance away with a smile. 'Just a foolish dreamer, I guess.'

'Well, if it's foolish to want to come and teach these children, then I wish all teachers were fools.'

'Amen.' I flinch: the word left my lips in a far more cynical tone than I intended, but thankfully she doesn't notice.

She turns back to me, 'I imagine you're dead on your feet, Herr — or should I say — Professor Wittgenstein?'

The words yank me from admiring my surroundings and back to the present. Professor… It's my right to be called that now, but the title still feels too new, like a pair of shoes I haven't worn in. 'Actually, I'm not expecting the children to manage my difficult surname.' I smooth back my hair, windblown from the walk. 'So you can all call me what you wish.'

She smiles. 'Well, I'll try to keep up formalities for a few hours, at best. Now.' Sister Mary takes me by the shoulders, and steers me into the nave, the main hall of the church. What? 'Even though you were recommended to this post, it's in the interest of the law and myself as the guardians of these children that I interview you for suitability all the same.'

She forcibly sits me down in a pew, and dusts off my shoulders. 'If you're all right with that, of course.'

It wouldn't matter less whether I was all right with it or not. As I myself am a textbook example of not judging others based on appearance, I still occasionally misjudge people. As such, I didn't expect sweet, docile Sister Mary to sit down a male teacher to formally interrogate him.

I think we'll get along splendidly.

I adjust my glasses. 'As you wish, Sister.'

Sister Mary sits in the pew in front, facing me, and takes up a sheaf of paper which seems to have been placed there prior for this specific purpose.

'Lovely. Now, I have here: "Professor Heine Wittgenstein. Qualified teacher with a license. Red hair, of…"'

There are a lot of things that she could say. Of unknown age? Dubious origin? But I can take a guess.

'…of short stature?'

Sister Mary clears her throat. I feel like doing the same.

I've always been… vertically challenged. I was always small for my age as a child — which I would take advantage of, flagrantly — but as I grew older, I stopped growing… taller. I wasn't a small child anymore, I was just small and it became all that people saw. Occasionally, my low voice tells my age, but not often. I imagine that if I had been inclined to attend university, I would have been mistaken for a lecturer's child. One of the many reasons I never went to university.

Sister Mary coughs. 'I didn't see why that would be such a defining characteristic, but… yes. Of short stature.' She has the courtesy to look embarrassed, which I appreciate.

'I hear that frequently. It can't be helped. Please proceed.'

Sister Mary straightens her glasses. 'Yes, quite. Of… indeterminate age, around thirty?' She frowns. 'As I'm in charge of the orphans, I know the difficulties the lack of a birth certificate can cause, but…?'

'I'm twenty-nine. I'm afraid I don't know my birthdate, for the exact reason you just stated.'

'Ah, wonderful. Much better. If we're going to have men of indeterminate age about here, I'd prefer to at least have the number of years nailed down.'

I certainly misjudged her. I don't know whether to laugh, or seize up.

She continues. 'Citizen of Glanzreich, born in Wienner?'

'Correct.' At least as far as I know.

'And that's all I have here, so now for a few questions of my own. Do you smoke, Herr Wittgenstein?'

'No.' I spent my money on books, not tobacco.

'Do you drink?'

'On occasion.'

'Well, that's to be expected. Are you a Christian man?'

I pause. Well, yes, I am. But I don't know if that's what she's really asking.

When I grew up on the streets, I thought religion was for people who were wealthy enough to pay for indulgences — for the forgiveness of sins. I thought religion was for people who had never had sins like mine to confess. It was like being trapped at the bottom of a well, wondering if there was even Someone up there to save me. I thought that I was so stained with sin that I could never do enough to undo the things I'd done.

But then I met Viktor. And he changed everything. He showed me affection, even genuine love, which I'd never felt before, nor understood. Never understood how anyone could love me, or want to save me. When he nearly died, and I prayed for the first time in my life. I said I'd do anything, begging for him to live… and he did.

After that, I started studying for my teacher's license, and I read the Bible cover to cover. Read it, and studied doctrine and theology. Yet I didn't go to church; this was something I had to do for myself. And I found the doctrine of salvation by grace — that I could never pay for my sins and the only way was through faith in Christ and Christ alone. And I gave in, and surrendered. I asked for grace. Accepted that Someone loved me and wanted to save me. And I'll never know which was the greater miracle, that Viktor lived or that God could forgive someone like me.

It still stuns me to think that I could have missed this path altogether so easily. It took a miracle, it Viktor showing me kindness, and showing me that it's possible for people to care, for Someone to care.

This all flashes through my head in quick succession. No, Sister Mary could be asking if I'm merely a Christian, but she could also be asking me what kind of Christian. And I don't really know myself. I merely trusted God and I never put a label on my faith, nor drifted towards a particular denomination or church. Fiercely independent, as always, as Viktor said when I told him about my new beliefs.

As Glanzreich is a multicultural kingdom, multiple religions and denominations coexist together. The royals support one denomination, yet endorse several others for the sake of religious peace. And for all the planning Viktor and I did, I never asked which denomination would be overseeing the church. So I'll find out sooner or later. For better or worse.

But what do I say?

That's the wrong kind of question to be asking yourself. The question is, why are you putting a label on your faith now after all this time?

Dear God, please let this be enough. 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

Good. Christian, morally upright, suitable for working with children, and in no way prone to violence or going after people with a two-by-four plank of wood. That side of myself is well and truly locked away now. I hope.

I tack on another sentence. 'I confess that as I'm somewhat new to religion, however.' Good, that way if you make a mistake or contradict someone, you can blame it on inexperience. I nearly said became saved, but if this church adheres to a different set of doctrine, then I'll be in direct contradiction of their beliefs from the outset and I don't need sparks flying on day one. I can't deny my beliefs, but I have to use discretion. Bide your time, Heine. After everything Viktor and I have done I can't ruin it all in a moment, especially for the children's sake. They need a teacher. I just have to be careful not to rock the boat.

At least not right away — I haven't changed completely.

Sister Mary shrugs, and makes the sign of the cross. 'No matter. The Lord is what matters; the rest is just trimmings.'

Well, that was anticlimactic. And surprising, coming from a nun.

'…I must warn you,' she continues, 'that we hold services on Sundays, and the local priest comes in to preach. He's been very skeptical of the idea of getting a teacher, and… he may give you a hard time.' No surprise. Seeing my skepticism, she quickly adds. 'He's a good man, of course. Very devout.'

I suspect she's dissembling through her teeth. I refrain from saying what I want to — thou shalt not lie, Sister — and say, 'Of course. I look forward to making his acquaintance.'

She riffs the pages. 'I wrote this before I heard anything about the new teacher, so some of it will sound absurd applied to you, but… I can trust that you're not going to run off with any of the students?'

There are older students? I sigh. Absurd indeed. 'Rest assured, I will not. Given my height…'

'Yes. But say what you will about that, I think they'll relate to you.' I look up. Sister Mary continues and says, 'You effectively said that you were orphaned, and given that you aren't going to tower over the younger students, they'll probably find you more approachable.'

I try not to grimace. Perhaps. If they're not too busy ridiculing me for my height, or mistaking me for yet another orphaned child that the cat dragged in. 'That's a kind spin on the situation.'

'Regarding your wages for this post…'

'I'm volunteering. I know I'm not getting paid. I didn't take this post for wages.'

'Please join us for a meal each day — we can at least give you that much.'

'If it won't inconvenience you, then yes. Thank you.'

Sister Mary flicks through the remaining pages. Something inside me starts to tighten, like a coiled spring. While all these pleasantries have been entertaining, I've been waiting for the storm to hit. I'm not a saint, by any means. My relationship with Viktor and the resulting fallout chequered my past, and sent all the chess pieces flying. And I may have to answer for it.

'Well, I'll stop dragging this out.' Sister Mary tosses the papers aside. 'The mere fact you were willing to put up with me rather than storming out says more than enough for your character. We'll be pleased to have you here.'

She stands, and walks past me. I blink. That's it? Nothing? I get to my feet. Coloured light dances below the stained glass. Perhaps I was overthinking it. This is a small church, for orphans. All of us have had to do some terrible things to survive. If I were to, I don't know, do something ridiculous such as taking on the position of Royal Tutor, I wouldn't even survive the background check.

I stand. Empty bookshelves line the walls, waiting to be filled. There's even a blackboard. A small smile flickers on my face.

If you can find a way to get a school built for these kids, Viktor… I'll teach the classes.

To be fair, I technically made two promises, and that was the second. The first was that I begged God to save Viktor, and I promised my life, in return. I was a fool, thinking I could make a deal. But he answered my prayer anyway for better or worse. Then to fulfil that promise, I promised Viktor I'd become a teacher.

'I'm here now,' I whisper.

This is going to be my life, maybe for forever. That might scare some people, to have their future set in stone. On the contrary, I feel at peace.

'What wilt thou have me do?'

To be continued...

A/N: Because I'm such a responsible writer, I rewrote and edited this whole chapter on the same day that I posted it, and had a beta-reader check it five minutes before unleashing it on the internet. That's what happens when you put up bottom-drawer stories, people. After seeing follow alerts in my inbox over the last week, I was like, 'Wow! Followers! Which means that I have to edit the next chapter in time for the next upload... oh, dear...' Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!