January 16th, 1922, Newark, New Jersey.

  “Eliza! Eliza, wake up; we have to prepare for the mass!” Sister Collins, with the might of her voice, screams out for the 18-year-old postulant, who is amusingly enough having a deep sleep.

  Eliza, in her usual demise-like sleep, still shows no response. The only thing she could do was mumble “coming,” but no result came) out.

  Then, Sister Collins took a long wooden stick from a branch of a fallen tree, and as loud as her heart, she hit it against the iron door of Eliza's door, shouting, “MOTHER CLAUDIA WILL BE CROSS!!! WAKE UP AND DON’T BE LATE!!!” She said with a hint of a growl, leaving the poor Eliza stumbling down with the hanging crucifix of Jesus falling on her head.

  Eliza Kalinin is an orphan, born without a mother or father by her side, and was found by members of Newark’s Chapel of Fatima in 1903. She was just a frail baby in a basket, her body pale, almost turning bluish from the frostbite that caught her fragile body. How can a compos mentis person who brought the child in the name of God just deceive her like this?

  The curious nun analyzed her background, where presumably, she was a daughter of a Ruskiyev citizens'migrant who stayed in Jersey for a moment before moving on to another state. All they approve of is due to the absolutely pale skin as white as snow, the red blush on the face, and the bluish, icy eyes she had, as well as the large, sharp, elegant, feminine nose a baby girl should have. The speculation became much more evident as they noticed she is an albino blonde. Hair wasn't brightened yellow, as is typical for Caucasians; rather, it is pale white and bright. At last, the members of the Chapel of Fatima took turns in raising her. Giving her as many Orthodox Christian lessons as possible, instilling in her a love for Jesus Christ as a first step, followed by bringing her to church, teaching her the Bible, disciplining her in modesty, and at last, encouraging her to start her journey on being a postulant.

  Eliza washed her face with the nearby stocked water in a narrow barrel. Short hair in the New Year; dare she raise it and wipe it with the white cloth Then, she slips into her black dress with the white wrist pattern. Before she inserts the veil into her head, she takes her beloved red, yellow, and green crystal pattern of a crucifix around her neck, giving it a kiss of love for her beloved Christ. She inhales as she fills her own lungs with the air surrounding her, and she steps out from the room, dousing the candle. She gripped both her hands tightly, placing them below her navel, into a modest drape. She started to walk across the chapel’s corridor, and from a distance she could already see the statue of Christ made of white stone that had been carved, with thirty small candles lit up on both sides. Mother Claudia is already there, and she slightly locks her eyes with Eliza for a moment and turns back. None of the other nuns, not even fellow postulants, bothered to talk to her.

  She just cleared her throat at the little moment and then started to follow the mass, opening her bible and reciting whatever verse everyone was reading that day. The rosary is included as well, alongside Father Simon's mass speech on giving reminders to always have Christ by their side as usual. The ceremony ended quite gloriously after, and Eliza was the last one, along with her senior sister, Collins Anderson.

  “What, in the name of Christ and Mother Fatima, led you to get stuck in sleep again like demised?” Collins asks like a grumpy child.

  Eliza was stunned for seconds; those vivid dreams of her memories piled up in her head after the end of the question.

  “I had an unexplainable dream…” Eliza said.

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  “What dream?” Sister Collins curiously wonders, paying attention to this longtime ally now.

  Eliza, being careful with her words, speaks up whilst absorbing that dream that is way too good to be experienced.

  “I was praying at the quartz-colored basilica in the dark. The walls were made of colorful stalagmites, the ceiling had the medieval painting of the limbo, the statues of saints were everywhere, but… everything was all dark…” Eliza said,

  “What did you see then?” Sister Collins, with increasing curiosity, peeks through much more.

  “The statue of Christ. But the blood flowed down the eyes, like tears of blood… I couldn’t move and kept praying hitherto a breath of a man with strange, unknown Cyrillic, perhaps, whispered from a distance. As I start praying the Rosary, it gets closer until he turns his face towards me, looking like a Ruskyiev male heir, as she was told in history. The man had long hair, as long as his chest, with a short length in the front, flowing over his face. Eyes crystal red, he pressed his cold hand against my windpipe,” Eliza said, with her whole feeling having flowed rich into the memories.

  “And what about the windpipe?” Sister Collins, curious, dug deeper instead of being scared.

  Eliza, getting back to her composure to tell, got interrupted by the Head of the Chapel of Fatima, Mother Claudia, an elderly woman in her early eighties. Still capable of walking as well as climbing five stairs to her office.

  “Sister Kalinin, come to my office, please.” She said, in her gentle demeanor and expressionless face.

  Eliza, without hesitation, follows her orders and tails her from behind. She walked through five stairs, and after crossing each fire lit up by the spiral walls, she finally arrived at the chestnut-colored wooden door, the office of Mother Claudia. She opens the door; her office was filled only with full shelves of Bibles in different languages, as well as the secondary resources on Christianity. She had a small prayer place for Mary as well.

  Eliza kept her composure ready, shoulders steady, face neutral, and her posture straight, and her hands clasped against each other below her navel.

  Mother Claudia organized the letters at the moment, and she was finally handed me the actual letter. The envelope looks much different than the recent envelope we used. It truly looks like it is belonged in the 1700s. She didn’t dare to question, and she just listened to what Mother Claudia had to say.

  “We have a letter coming from the body of the Royal of Ruskyiev; it is from a religious Duke who has somewhat opened a trip for one of us to go on to explore the scriptures and the relics kept in the Basilica Palace of Divulge Blood. Alas, we decided to choose you to go on this rough trip since you are somewhat among the most rebellious postulants of all. Dare to cut your hair, barely wake up in the morning, and neither bother to obey what Father Simon says a lot of the time. I hope that by this, I am expecting you to change your behavior for the sake of our chapel. We are not like the Vatican. Sister Kalinin, you have been here since the day you were an infant, so please, grow up.” She said in a tone almost like a hopeful grandmother, and Eliza finally read what was inside the letter that had a ship and train ticket as well.

  There, the letter is somehow elegantly written by a Slavic person, and it was almost beautiful to read because of how thick the ink the writer used was.

  Dear Head of Chapel of Fatima,

  I am writing this letter to inform you about how the members and I have expanded the Basilica-Castle of Divulge Blood as a splendid place, where it could be a holy place, as holy as the Vatican. It is almost impossible for even an ordinary person to enter, which leads me to tell you that I would like to choose one of your chaplains to have this educational trip visit my Basilica-Castle. On this wonderfully exciting trip, you can explore countless relics as well as books full of spiritual knowledge. With this two-week trip, one of your members could gain exciting knowledge and thus could transform your chapel into a much more solid place to be as an educational institution.

  It would be such a great loss if your chapel rejects this offer! You could exchange between your culture and my culture, too! Moreover, a lot of the members here were experienced friars, as well as bishops and popes. As a Duke of the Basilica-Castle, I, with an open heart, invite one of you to truly come to St Petersburg.

  Hope to see you soon

  Duke Dimitri Stephanov