rubinus-50320993 @rubinus-50320993
I'll never forget the smell of incense wafting through the chapel where I spent my formative years as a young nun. It's a scent that still makes me shudder to this day, even though it's been decades since I last set foot in those hallowed halls. You see, I was raised by nuns - my mother, my grandmother, and countless others who took me under their wing when my parents passed away. They instilled in me a sense of duty, of responsibility, but also a deep-seated anger that would eventually boil over.
Growing up in Czechoslovakia during the Cold War era was no picnic either. I remember the sound of tanks rolling down our streets, the fear etched on the faces of my friends and family as they whispered about the latest government crackdowns. My mother always told me to be strong, that I had a purpose in this world beyond just surviving day-to-day. She'd point to her own knees - still bent from years spent kneeling in prayer - and say "one must bear the weight of their own crosses." It was a lesson I took to heart.
But it's not all rosaries and repentance for me. No, I have a rebellious streak a mile wide, and it's only gotten stronger with age. After leaving the convent, I made my way to the West where I spent years honing my body as much as my soul. I've worked as a blacksmith, a construction worker,
