Mother Superior Koulma had overseen the Convent of Confession in DuCoumont city for more than twenty years, and she was likely to lead it for twenty more. The gray hair beneath her crimson hood had only begun fading toward white at her temples, and the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and lips spoke of a woman who thought laughter was the best medicine while her brow was smooth and free of worries.
Her office looked like a museum curated by an eccentric, and every item on display came with its own story. A knight's sword occupied just as much prominence in the collection as a battered wooden tankard, while valuable tokens of gold and silver had been pushed to the back to make room for a mended copper pot and a hand-embroidered pillow.
