Today marks the first of the hottest days in the Royal Nation of Ruskyiev. Despite the bright sunlight, the fog lingers over the St. Petersburg area. Sister Eliza woke up nearly crippled by foot cramps, veins screaming as if they were being torn apart like fraying rope. She took a thick jacket and placed it over herself before changing into her ordinary wear. A simple Victorian-style dress she wore on mundane days.

  She had two classes today, one in ethics and customs and another in relic analysis. Having gathered her books, Eliza, with deliberate steps, made her way to the meeting room of the Basilica-Castle. There she encountered the handsome Mr. Nazarev once more, attired in his white garb and navy-blue jacket. His hair fell straight yet voluminous, and his face bore a smooth, powdery whiteness on this day. His lips were thin, yet soft, as he prepared the books before drawing forth a mannequin, upon which was displayed a medieval Rus’ woman’s dress—complete with a conical hat veiled delicately and adorned with frilly embellishments.

  “Miss Kalinin, for today’s instruction, we shall commence with the ethics of a Rus’ woman,” he said, his tone gentlemanly and precise.

  Soon, Duke Dmitri entered, and with measured authority began to speak: “As for the ethics and customs of Ruskyiev’s women, Miss Kalinin must take heed. During the entirety of your month-long stay, certain events shall transpire. The Basilica Castle of Divulge Blood is no ordinary holy place; it hosts its own ceremonies and observances. Miss Kalinin, you must learn to adapt this knowledge alongside Mr. Nazarev’s instruction.” He spoke, smiling with those night-blue eyes, before withdrawing.

  “Thank you, Duke Dmitri Stephanov. Yes, Miss Kalinin, you must master these ways, for our customs differ greatly from Rus’s standard of women’s modesty, especially compared to America.”

  Eliza absorbed all she could: the most basic postures, the proper way to speak, and the conduct befitting respect toward Ruskyiev’s aristocracy.

  “In Rus’ culture, the act of a woman softening her body’s movement symbolizes the absolute power of a Duchess’s mirror, for mirrors reflect one as the maternity saints, should one be kin to proper manners,” Mr. Kion Nazarev explained patiently, in his gentlemanly tone, demonstrating each gesture while guiding Eliza’s attention to the illustrations within the book.

  Alas, Duke Dmitri peered from the doorway, observing how Eliza strove to assimilate the ethics and customs. She also learned the symbolism woven into the garments of Rus’ women. “The conical hats with veils signify the sacred pride of a woman, illustrating that she is a being protected by God, a reflection of the great Mary herself. The fabrics, woven of fine, translucent yarn and adorned with marble buttons, embody the traditions of the Empire’s women. Though these garments were once most uncomfortable to wear, they have since been adapted for the security and comfort of women, for their well-being is of equal concern as that of men,” continued Mr. Nazarev.

  Eliza learned to pour tea with precision, focusing upon her task and avoiding the gaze of her guest, for even the slightest glance could lead to misunderstanding or scandal. She mastered proper speech and the art of employing anaphoric and metaphorical expression, the hallmarks of a refined woman.

  She also learned to wind herself gracefully with a folded fan, bound in leather, maintaining the calm, humble expression expected of a Rus’ lady—not overly smiling, nor entirely impassive, but bearing an atmospheric composure that conveyed humility.

  Soon, she commenced instruction in the wearing of the corset under the guidance of Olga, the marvelous assistant who aided Mr. Nazarev in teaching Eliza the proper use of these Ruskyievian corsets. They were constructed of thick wool over a thin layer of wood and bound with some twenty tightening cords. Eliza winced in discomfort.

  “Oh, no! Are you alright?” asked Olga.

  “A little tight,” Eliza admitted, her voice tinged with pleading.

  “Oh, well, a tightened corset, indeed…” Olga giggled softly as she loosened the cords, her expression neutral yet with something concealed beneath her reserved composure.

  Soon, Eliza was instructed in the art of dance, moving in accordance with the standards of modesty. For some inexplicable reason, she felt her pride safeguarded in these lessons.

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  She discovered a quiet comfort in Mr. Kion Nazarev’s tutelage, though she refrained from humorous conversation, for it was not yet proper to speak with men as with close companions.

  “Thank you, Mr. Nazarev,” Eliza said, pride tinged with reverence, before preparing for her next lesson: the exploration of historical relics. Kion adjusted his arms across his chest, knelt upon one knee, and offered a modest, gentle smile as she departed the room.

  Eliza entered the chamber reserved for relic study within the Basilica-Castle, where she encountered the same polite and earnest gentleman, Anton Kaminsky.

  “Greetings, Miss Kalinin. I have prepared the relics here: the Revelation Stone, believed to date from the days of Jesus, as well as the heart of a saint and a sword from the wars of old,” Anton Kaminsky announced.

  The relics were extraordinary indeed. The bluish heart preserved in a jar, known as the heart of St. Nicholas, was explained to her by Mr. Kaminsky with meticulous care. He described how the heart had been taken and preserved by the Orthodox as a symbol of the Lord’s creation, kept here to remind humans to return to Him and devote time to contemplation of His wondrous works. Eliza found herself truly amazed. The Revelation Stone, no ordinary artifact, had endured through the very life of Jesus and was imbued with a sacred significance.

  Eliza learned much that day. When she returned to her chamber after lessons, she felt genuine happiness at being permitted to keep certain relic books and instruments to bring back to America, though some objects would remain in the chamber until their safe transport could be arranged.

  As she turned, Olga appeared unexpectedly. “Sister Olga?” Eliza exclaimed. Olga smiled politely. “Come, let us attend the tea party together,” she said, her excitement apparent. She grasped Eliza’s arm and urged, “Come, do not linger, Sister Eliza! Sister Swetlana has prepared delightful desserts for us alone.” Olga’s insistence was firm yet comforting, and Eliza felt truly needed in that moment.

  She followed Olga through the labyrinthine halls. As they approached the exit of the Basilica-Castle, Eliza’s gaze fell upon the golden mosaic door once more. The twelve-foot door loomed before her, and she wondered what lay beyond it. What made it so holy, and why was it forbidden to all?

  Setting aside her curiosity, she allowed herself to follow Olga outside for the tea party. They seated themselves at a quartz table adorned with sweets. Olga lifted her sleeves slightly and poured tea for Eliza, who accepted it gracefully and nibbled a cupcake. Meanwhile, Olga held her cup close to her lips, eyes fixed upon Eliza, yet she did not drink, nor did she taste the desserts.

  Eliza could not help but wonder at the mysteries surrounding her—the members of this holy place, the sanctity of the Basilica, and the strange human foibles she observed. Perhaps there were deeper lessons awaiting her before her return to America.

  Eliza and Olga got along exceedingly well. She had also tried to befriend Sister Swetlana, yet the latter remained distant, seemingly guarded, as though she regarded all others with suspicion in order to protect herself.

  Eliza Kalinin’s Diary:

  Good Day

  Dear Lord,

  From the day I was set upon this earth, I thank You humbly for the prosperity You have granted me. I pray that You continue to shield me, for at present my heart is troubled. I find myself confused, and I cannot discern why I am so often left amidst uncertainty.

  These purposes, these people—there is something about them that feels strange to me. I observe their manner closely, and they move unlike I do, quieter, restrained, as though withholding some unseen truth. I wonder why they do not eat as I do. Rarely have I seen them prepare food for themselves, and it appears that I alone partake each time.

  I do not know what this means, Lord, yet I ask You to grant me clarity and steadfastness, lest my thoughts wander too far into unease.

  Amen.

  Whatever the matter is, I confide my trust in You.

  Eliza

  Just as Eliza closed her book, ready for bed, she glanced out the window to see if the moon was out. That’s when she noticed something on the tower’s onion dome—a familiar figure. At first, she thought she must be imagining it. But no, a person in a royal red suit was crawling and rotating around the dome, then carefully making his way back down.

  Fear rooted her to the spot as the man turned his face toward her.

  It was Duke Dmitri. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished into the shadows. Horrified, Eliza bolted to her bed, pulled the blanket over herself, and forced her eyes shut.

  Just as she thought she could relax…

  “You need to come back where you belong…” A whisper in Ruskyiev’s language, seemingly from Swetlana, jolted her, and she let out a muffled scream into the blanket.