Chapter Text
I have combed glass from the hair of victims in the Blitz. The shards go everywhere. In flesh, in clothing…
We must prepare for burns… and who knows what other terrors.
What do you do when you and your sisters once served through the Blitz? What do you do when you have seen with your own eyes horrors beyond comprehension, and all you could do was to strike out into the black and the fire and save whomever you could? What do you do when that day comes again, but this time, you’re alone?
Sister Monica Joan stood on the doorstep of Nonnatus House. Alone.
She had watched the world change. She had seen empires fall, seen women rise, seen enough to know that something out there would always be new.
She knew, too, that some things were constant. Some things had to be constant. No matter how far the world tilted on its axis, babies would still be born, mothers would still need care, and people of all kinds would meet their Maker. And so long as there was life—so long as it began, so long as it raged, so long as it ended—there must be midwives. There must be help.
And so she stood on the doorstep of Nonnatus House, and she raised her voice.
There is sanctuary and comfort here.
Use me as you will.