What’s New at the Convent Gift Shop

The community is pleased to present a selection of its handcrafted products.

🌿 Cloister Herb Soap

Made with rosemary, thyme, lavender, and other herbs from the convent garden.

Ideal for keeping everything clean and pleasantly scented.

(Sister Chastity insists it also contains a great deal of enthusiasm.)

✒️ Aurelius’ Note

I have been informed that the convent will soon be marketing its own herbal soap.

I have chosen not to ask exactly which part is intended to remain so exceptionally healthy.

I believe it would be wiser to continue cataloging books.

— Aurelius, Chronicler of The Attic

OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT

Aurelius has requested a few days of leave.

The reasons are public knowledge.

Gregorius will temporarily assume
the duties of Chronicler.

Gregorius is not aware of this yet.

The Convent appreciates your understanding.

Prymere Castle

At the Nappius family castle, dignity was lost generations ago. The china, however, has somehow remained intact… so far.

Hidden among ancient forests and winding paths remembered only by wild boars, Prymere Castle, the ancestral home of the Nappius family, rises above the landscape.

Its towers still defy the passage of time with remarkable pride, while ivy, climbing roses, and a certain aristocratic neglect have gradually claimed the old stone walls.

Count Cassannovus Nappius insists that every bit of it is part of a refined vision of romantic beauty.

Amadeus Culerus, his lifelong friend, quietly maintains that no one has cleaned the gutters in years.

Here, rugs conceal cracks, portraits keep watch over the hallways, and the silver spoons enjoy far more prominence than anyone would consider reasonable.

Welcome to Prymere Castle.

Where the nobility endures.

The roof… not always.

The Inhabitants of the Attic

“My name is Aurelius, and I’ve spent many years collecting stories no one ever asked me for.”

“Some are heartwarming. Others are absurd. Most should have stayed tucked away in a drawer… but stories have a bad habit of escaping.”

If you’ve made it this far, it’s already too late to turn back.

Come in. I’ll introduce them to you, one by one.

📜 ───────── 📜

Gregorius

Scholar, archivist, and tireless hunter of documents no one even knew existed.

Orian

“A minstrel with a melancholy smile who never seeks the spotlight. They say he knows every story the forest has to tell, but he only shares them when the wind feels like telling them too.”

“…When he leaves a village, no one remembers exactly which song he was playing. But for a few days afterward, everyone is just a little kinder.”

🌿🌿🌿

Sister Potato of Lourdes Foo-Foo

A nun by vocation, a gardener by conviction, and a specialist in explaining things that should have remained nothing more than thoughts.

Her treatise on the proper ventilation of turnips and foo-foos remains banned from the convent library.

🌿🌿🌿

Sister Piety of the Absurd Sorrows

She is the only nun in the convent who enters the Fresh Room carrying an empty basket and always comes back out looking thoroughly satisfied. Mother Patience has decided to stop asking questions.

She insists that turnips need affection too. No one has been willing to explore the subject any further.

🌿🌿🌿

Sister Chastity

A pure soul with a simple heart. She is still trying to figure out exactly what a foo-foo is, and whether there are seeds to grow them in the convent garden. The other sisters have agreed to change the subject whenever she asks.

🌿🌿🌿

Mother Patience

Mother Patience

No one remembers the last time she lost her composure. Most likely because it hasn’t happened yet. Even so, every now and then she’s seen looking up at the sky with an expression that only God seems to understand.

“The Lord granted her a rare gift: living with Sister Potato, Sister Piety, and Sister Chastity without ever requesting a transfer.”

🥒 Ode to the Cucumber

Oh, noble green cucumber,
fresh dweller of the garden,
you who grow in silence
without asking for a single honor.

Crisp as the summer breeze,
calm as the water in the brook,
you are the hero of every salad
and the comfort of every snail.

Beloved cucumber,
triumphant cucumber,
may you never lack rich soil
or the warmth of the shining sun.

And if anyone should mock you
for your humble shade of green,
we shall raise our mugs
and sing in your honor!

Ooooooooh, cucumbeeeeeer!

Greeeeeeen and refreshaaaaaaing!