Journal Entry – Day 14 (I think)

I don't know if it's really been fourteen days, but I've been marking time by meals and sleeps, and that's what I've counted. The days blur together here. The room never changes—always the same dim light, the same cold walls, the same silence.

Every night, just before I feel sleep pulling at me, there's a hiss from the vents. A sweet smell fills the air, and I can't help but breathe it in. Next thing I know, I wake up, and everything's been tidied. The sheets are fresh, the food tray is gone, and any marks I've made on the walls are wiped clean. It's like I'm stuck in a loop, living the same day over and over.

My body feels strange. Weak. My legs wobble when I try to stand, and my arms tremble with the slightest effort. The worst is my left arm—the augmetic. It used to feel like a part of me, strong and sure. Now it drags at my shoulder, heavy and unbalanced. I have to cradle it with my right hand sometimes, just to keep from tipping over.

I tried walking laps around the room today. Twenty steps long, Ten steps wide. I managed three laps before my knees gave out and I had to sit down. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst. It's frustrating. I remember running through the corridors of the Schola, dodging older students, always moving. Now, just pacing this tiny space leaves me exhausted.

They don't give me much to eat. Porridge, a piece of hard bread, water, and the blessed protein paste. It's the same every day. My stomach growls all the time. I dream of thick sandwiches and sweet cakes, of the simple meals Valeria used to sneak me when I was a menial. I need more food, for substance, to fill up what I've lost.

I've been reading The Rule of the Sororitas. It's the only book they left me, besides this notebook. The pages are crisp, the ink dark. It feels new, untouched, like it's waiting for me to fill it with meaning.

There's a passage I keep coming back to:

"A Sister must purge herself of all personal desires, for in shedding the self, she becomes a vessel for the Emperor's will. Let not individual want nor fear deter you, for sacrifice is the path to purity. Put to death the self. Serve the Emperor. To die for the Emperor is to be sought over indulgence."

I think about that a lot. About what it means to let go of wants and fears. I still feel fear—it's a knot in my stomach that never goes away. Fear of being alone here forever, fear that I'm tainted, that I'll never see the sky again. I know I need to be stronger, to have faith, but it's hard when the silence is so loud.

Another part that struck me:

"Discipline is the fire that forges the faithful. Through unwavering devotion and adherence to the holy traditions, a Sister strengthens not only her body but her soul against the insidious whispers of heresy."

I try to be disciplined. I wake up and recite one of the morning prayers. I read the words aloud, letting them fill the emptiness. I practice battle-sign, my fingers moving through the motions even when my hands shake. But sometimes, the whispers creep in—the doubts, the questions. I push them away, repeating, "Contempt."

I miss hearing other voices. Even Sister Helena's stern corrections or Valeria's gentle humming. Here, there's nothing but my own thoughts echoing back at me.

At night, before the gas comes, I kneel beside the cot and pray:

"Emperor, I thank You for keeping me alive, for giving me another day to prove my faith. I know I am weak, but through You, I can find strength. Please forgive me for running away, for failing to stop Lucious. I didn't understand then, but I want to make it right. Cleanse me of any taint, and let me serve You as a true daughter of the Imperium.

Watch over Sister Helena and Valeria, wherever they are. Grant them Your protection and guidance. If it is Your will, let me see them again.

I place myself in Your hands, oh Master of Mankind. Your will be done."

When I finish, I feel a little lighter, like maybe He hears me. Maybe this is a test—a chance to show that I can be faithful even in darkness. I'll keep trying. I'll keep reading, keep praying, keep moving, even if it's just a few steps at a time.

I won't give up.

I know you're reading this, whoever you are.

I won't give up!