"Written in Light" is a heart-stirring exploration of the fragile yet unbreakable threads that bind humanity to faith, love, and yearning for redemption.
Isabel and LucĂa, two women whose lives intertwine through divine providence, return to the convent they once fled. Isabel, scarred by betrayal and burdened by her failing health, finds herself grappling with the sins of her past. By her side stands LucĂa, a woman of unshakable silence and extraordinary spiritual light, whose steadfast faith becomes a lifeline in Isabelâs darkest hour. Together, they embark on a journey not only to confront their brokenness but to rekindle the divine spark within their hearts.
Through breathtaking prose and deeply resonant storytelling, "Written in Light" examines the human spirit's relentless pursuit of grace, even when hope seems lost. Can forgiveness truly heal the wounds of the soul? Can love bridge the divide between sin and salvation?
This novel is more than a story, itâs an invitation to reflect on the sacred beauty hidden in our scars and the transformative power of belief. For readers seeking inspiration, spiritual solace, or a reminder of the enduring triumph of light over darkness, Written in Light will leave an indelible mark on your heart
"Written in Light" is a heart-stirring exploration of the fragile yet unbreakable threads that bind humanity to faith, love, and yearning for redemption.
Isabel and LucĂa, two women whose lives intertwine through divine providence, return to the convent they once fled. Isabel, scarred by betrayal and burdened by her failing health, finds herself grappling with the sins of her past. By her side stands LucĂa, a woman of unshakable silence and extraordinary spiritual light, whose steadfast faith becomes a lifeline in Isabelâs darkest hour. Together, they embark on a journey not only to confront their brokenness but to rekindle the divine spark within their hearts.
Through breathtaking prose and deeply resonant storytelling, "Written in Light" examines the human spirit's relentless pursuit of grace, even when hope seems lost. Can forgiveness truly heal the wounds of the soul? Can love bridge the divide between sin and salvation?
This novel is more than a story, itâs an invitation to reflect on the sacred beauty hidden in our scars and the transformative power of belief. For readers seeking inspiration, spiritual solace, or a reminder of the enduring triumph of light over darkness, Written in Light will leave an indelible mark on your heart
Chapter 1: The Weight of Silence
The morning bell tolled through the convent, rolling over the hills like a soft ripple across the water. Stone walls, kissed by the dawnâs pale light, seemed to hum with the vibration, welcoming another day. Inside, the sisters stirred a rustle of habits and hushed whispers echoing through the narrow hallways. The faint shuffle of feet on stone floors and the soft clink of pots in the kitchen gave the air a rhythm, marking the beginning of another day in their routine.
LucĂa was already awake, sitting on the edge of her narrow cot, her legs crossed beneath her. The conventâs single small window framed her in light, golden beams catching on her dark hair, which hung loose and wild around her face. Her fingers hovered over a worn leather notebook, the one she carried everywhere, the one no one else was allowed to touch. Its corners were frayed, its spine cracked from years of use, and the faint smell of ink lingered on its pages like a shadow.
From below, the faint sound of Sister Beatriz scolding someone rose through the air, sharp and clipped. LucĂa tilted her head, listening with a smile that played at the corners of her lips.
âI said water them gently! Not drown them! Are we raising roses or seaweed, Sister Patricia?â Beatrizâs exasperation pierced through the calm of the morning.
âIâm doing my best, Sister Beatriz! They looked thirsty!â Patriciaâs defensive tone made LucĂa stifle a laugh.
LucĂa pressed the notebook tightly against her chest for a moment, her face contemplative. The leather felt warm against her skin, as though it had absorbed her secrets, prayers, and confessions. Then she opened it, her pen poised with deliberation. She hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly, before scrawling words across the page in her precise, flowing script.
"Today," she wrote, each letter taking shape slowly, deliberately. "Today, I will not use it."
But even as she wrote the words, a faint hum, like the first note of a hymn, pulsed through her fingertips. The pen felt alive in her hand, and a strange sensation ran up her armâa warmth, a pull, a whisper of something that begged to be released. She stared at the ink, which seemed to shimmer briefly before settling into the page.
The creak of the door startled her. LucĂa turned to find Sister Isabel leaning against the frame, her plump face twisted into a familiar mix of exasperation and affection. Isabelâs habit was slightly askew, and her hair, always refusing to stay tucked under her veil, curled rebelliously around her temples.
"Skipping breakfast again, are you?" Isabel said, her eyebrow raised in a mock challenge. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes drifting inevitably to the notebook in LucĂaâs lap.
LucĂa quickly flipped it shut and shook her head, but her cheeks betrayed her, flushing a soft pink.
"Mmhmm," Isabel said knowingly, stepping into the room and sitting down on the cot beside her. "Let me guess. Another earth-shattering revelation? Or are you writing my biography now? If you are, please donât leave out the time I managed to sneak chocolate into Lent. That was a masterpiece of divine rebellion."
LucĂa rolled her eyes, her lips curling into a silent laugh. Her pen scratched across the page quickly, and she held the notebook up to Isabel.
"Itâs private."
"Private, huh?" Isabel tilted her head, squinting at the letters as if trying to decode them. Isabel chuckled, her eyes narrowing playfully. "You know, one day youâre going to write something that changes everything. And when you do, donât forget who gave you the inspiration!". And by the way, donât forget to mention my unmatched skill at burning toast. Itâs practically a miracle in itself."
LucĂa couldnât suppress the silent laughter bubbling up, her shoulders shaking. She wrote again, her strokes bold and quick.
"Youâre impossible."
"And youâre predictable," Isabel shot back, her teasing tone softening as her gaze lingered on LucĂaâs face. She reached out, resting a hand on LucĂaâs shoulder. "You know we worry about you, donât you? Always tucked away with that book of yours. God made us a community for a reason, LucĂa. Donât keep yourself so apart."
LucĂa paused, her hand hovering over the notebook, her smile fading slightly. She stared at Isabel for a moment, then nodded, her expression soft but resolute. She wrote again, her pen moving with care.
"Iâm fine. Truly."
"Truly?" Isabel squinted at, leaning closer with mock suspicion. "Thatâs the best youâve got? Truly? Thatâs as convincing as Sister Beatriz claiming she loves everyone equally when we know sheâd trade all of us for a well-pruned rosebush."
LucĂaâs grin returned, her shoulders shaking again with laughter. She flipped the notebook closed and tucked it under her arm, the gesture protective but not defensive.
"Fine, fine," Isabel said, throwing up her hands in exaggerated surrender. "Iâll leave you to your mysteries. But at least come outside with me. The roses look terrible, and I swear if I have to listen to Beatriz rant one more time, Iâll need divine intervention."
LucĂa tilted her head, intrigued. The roses were her favorite, and the thought of them drooping in the morning sun made her stomach twist slightly. She stood, sliding off the cot with ease, and gestured for Isabel to lead the way.
As they walked down the stone corridor, the morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting fragmented rainbows across the walls. Isabelâs chatter filled the air, her voice a mix of teasing and genuine warmth.
"You know," Isabel began, "the other sisters are starting to take bets on whatâs inside that notebook of yours."
LucĂa glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Iâm serious!" Isabel continued, her tone animated. "Sister Patricia thinks youâre writing recipes. Beatriz swears itâs a list of sinsâwhich, letâs be honest, means hers is probably the longest."
LucĂa shook her head, smiling.
"But me?" Isabel leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think itâs poetry. Romantic poetry. About that carpenter who delivered the new pews last month. What was his name again? Miguel? Oh, the way he smiled at you, LucĂa. If you werenât so busy scribbling, you mightâve noticed."
LucĂa stopped mid-step, her cheeks flaming red. She whirled on Isabel, her eyes wide with indignation as she scribbled furiously in her notebook. She shoved it at Isabel, her face alight with silent fury.
"Youâre impossible!"
Isabel burst out laughing, throwing her arm around LucĂaâs shoulders as they stepped into the garden. "There she is. Thatâs the fire Iâve been looking for. Come on, mute poet. Letâs see if we can save Beatrizâs precious roses before she declares them martyrs."
The garden was alive with the scents of earth and flowers, the air thick with the buzz of bees. Sister Beatriz was crouched over a bush, muttering darkly as she inspected the leaves.
"Look at this," Beatriz said, waving a drooping stem in their direction. "Neglect. Pure, unholy neglect. These poor roses deserve better than this."
LucĂa knelt beside the bush, her fingers brushing lightly over the petals. She frowned, pulling out her notebook.
"Whatâs she doing now?" Beatriz asked Isabel, her voice tinged with suspicion.
"Saving the day," Isabel replied breezily, plopping onto a nearby bench.
LucĂa wrote quickly, her pen moving with determination. She turned the notebook toward Beatriz, who squinted at the words.
"They need shade in the afternoon. The sun is too harsh."
Beatriz straightened, her lips pursed in thought. "Hmph. Makes sense. Didnât think of that. Maybe you should be the one in charge of the garden."
LucĂa shook her head, her smile soft as she reached for her pen again.
"Iâm better with words than plants."
"Ha!" Isabel laughed from the bench. "Thatâs the understatement of the year."
LucĂa glanced at her, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress her grin. The three of them fell into a rhythmâBeatriz muttering instructions, Isabel providing a running commentary, and LucĂa quietly, diligently tending to the roses.
For a brief moment, the world felt whole, simple, and untouched by the complexities of LucĂaâs gift. But deep down, she knew it couldnât stay that way.
The garden was alive with sound: the chirp of birds, the buzz of bees flitting between the herbs, and the steady murmur of sisters working. LucĂa knelt near the rosebushes, her fingers tracing the edges of their wilting petals. The vibrant reds and yellows she loved were muted, tinged with brown, as though the life had seeped out of them overnight.
Beatriz bustled over, her expression sharp. "I told Mother Superior these roses needed pruning weeks ago," she huffed, shaking her head. "Now look at them. Theyâre practically dead."
LucĂa glanced up at her, her brow furrowing. She set the notebook on her lap and quickly wrote.
"Theyâre not dead. Just tired."
Beatriz blinked at the words, then rolled her eyes. "Tired? Roses donât get tired, LucĂa. Theyâre plants, not nuns."
Isabel chuckled from a few feet away. "Donât argue with her, Beatriz. LucĂaâs got a way of seeing things we donât."
LucĂa ignored them, her focus narrowing to the roses. Her pen hovered over the page. She hesitated, her pulse quickening.
"Just this once," she thought. "Itâs harmless."
LucĂa hesitated, her pulse quickening. Her pen hovered over the page, the word forming in her mind, sharp and deliberate. Finally, she wrote it:
"Bloom."
For a moment, nothing happened. The roses swayed gently in the breeze, their petals untouched by her command. Beatriz muttered something under her breath about the weather, already distracted. But LucĂa stared at the bush, her heart pounding.
A single roseâjust oneâseemed to catch the light differently. Its edges softened, its color brightening ever so slightly, like the blush of dawn creeping over the horizon.
She blinked, unsure if sheâd imagined it. Isabel glanced toward her but said nothing, her brow furrowed in curiosity.
LucĂa quickly snapped the notebook shut, her breath hitching. She clutched it to her chest and turned away, the faint hum of power still lingering in her fingertips.
The silence that followed was heavy, though not laden with awe but with curiosity. Beatriz frowned, squinting at the bush. "Hmm. Did it always look like that?" she muttered, brushing her hand over the petals as if trying to confirm the subtle change.
Isabel tilted her head, her gaze flickering between LucĂa and the roses. "What did you do?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
LucĂaâs breath hitched. She clutched the notebook tighter, her heart racing. She quickly shook her head, her movements sharp but not panicked.
"LucĂa," Isabel said softly, her tone patient but probing. "Something happened. I saw it. Was that⌠you?"
LucĂaâs face burned, but she refused to meet Isabelâs gaze. Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away, the notebook pressed against her chest like armor.
Isabel reached out, but LucĂa flinched and turned, running toward the chapel.
The chapel was cool and dark, the faint scent of incense hanging in the air like an unanswered prayer. Shadows danced along the stone walls, shifting with the flicker of the eternal candle near the altar. LucĂa sank to her knees before the altar, her breaths shallow and uneven, the soft scrape of her notebook against the floor the only sound in the stillness.
She opened the notebook with trembling hands, her fingers brushing the word sheâd written earlier.
"Bloom."
The ink on the page seemed alive, shimmering faintly as though whispering back to her. It carried a weight she couldnât shake, a pull that both frightened and tempted her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she flipped to a blank page, her pen hesitating only for a moment before it moved, almost as if guided by something beyond her.
"Light," she wrote.
The candles on the altar flared to life instantly, their flames leaping high in a burst of brilliance before settling into a steady, golden glow. LucĂa froze, staring at the gentle illumination sheâd summoned, her hands gripping the edges of the notebook so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Do you think youâre the author of the world now, child?"
The voice, calm yet cutting, sliced through the silence. LucĂa flinched and turned sharply to find Mother Superior standing at the entrance to the chapel. Her figure was shrouded in shadows, but her eyes, sharp and knowing, seemed to pierce through the dim light.
LucĂaâs heart sank. She grabbed her pen and scribbled furiously onto the page, holding the notebook up for Mother Superior to read.
"I didnât mean to."
Mother Superior stepped forward, her movements deliberate, her hands clasped before her. Her robes whispered against the stone floor as she knelt beside LucĂa, her presence both grounding and overwhelming.
"What you mean to do is of little consequence, LucĂa," she said, her tone carrying a gravity that weighed on the air itself. "The question is what you choose to do."
LucĂaâs eyes filled with tears, the words cutting through her turmoil like the toll of a bell. She wiped at her face hastily, the notebook trembling in her hands.
"Gifts," Mother Superior continued, her voice softening, "are neither sins nor blessingsânot until you decide what they will become. That choice, child, is yours alone."
LucĂa lowered her gaze, her pen hovering over the paper as her emotions churned. She wrote again, her strokes hesitant and uncertain.
"Why me?"
Mother Superior exhaled, the sound as gentle as the rustle of a page turning. "Why any of us?" she replied. "I have asked that question more times than I care to count. And I have learned thisâGod does not choose the easiest path for His strongest children. But He does not abandon them to walk it alone."
LucĂaâs tears spilled freely now, blurring the ink on the page. Her shoulders shook, her anguish spilling over in the only way it could. She wanted to scream, to tear the notebook apart, to cast it and its cursed power into the flames. But she couldnât.
Mother Superior reached out, her hand resting lightly on LucĂaâs shoulder. "Her silence is her strength," she said softly, her gaze steady. "But strength, untempered, is no more than raw power. And power without guidance is chaos. You cannot run from this, LucĂa. If you do, it will consume you."
LucĂa hesitated, her pen wavering above the paper. Then, slowly, she wrote two words.
"Iâm scared."
"I know," Mother Superior whispered, her voice laced with an empathy that LucĂa hadnât realized she needed. "Fear is not weakness, child. It is a call to faith. The world will try to make you believe your gift is a curse. It will test you. But you must remember thisâ "Your words carry weight, child," Mother Superior said softly, her voice like a thread of calm in LucĂaâs storm. "Perhaps more than you know. God does not give such gifts lightly. Trust that in time, you will understand why."
The words wrapped around LucĂa like a fragile comfort, fragile but real. She nodded slowly, her tears slowing as the weight of Mother Superiorâs presence anchored her.
"Come," Mother Superior said, rising gracefully. She extended a hand to LucĂa. "Let us pray. For strength, for wisdom⌠and for the courage to wield what we are given."
LucĂa took her hand, the warmth of it steadying her as she rose. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something besides fearâa faint glimmer of resolve. As the two knelt together before the altar, the light from the candles cast their shadows across the stone, intertwined yet distinct, as if to say that no path was walked entirely alone.
The day ended as it always did, cloaked in the solemn hush of prayer and the soft shuffle of the sisters retreating to their cells. But tonight, the stillness didnât comfort LucĂaâit pressed down on her, heavy and stifling, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. She lay awake in the darkness, her eyes wide and unblinking, the notebook resting beside her like a sentinel.
Her fingers traced its worn leather cover, a habit she didnât realize sheâd formed. Tonight, it felt different, colder, heavier, almost alive. Questions swirled in her mind, restless and unspoken, each one louder than the last.
Unable to resist the pull, she opened the notebook, her fingers trembling as she flipped to a blank page. The pen hovered in her hand, suspended between fear and compulsion. Her heart raced as the word formed in her mind, unbidden but undeniable.
"Open."
She wrote it slowly, her strokes deliberate, each letter dragging her closer to something she couldnât name. The ink glistened on the page, almost too bright in the dim light, as if it carried its own glow. The air shifted a sudden and subtle pressure that made her ears ring.
A soundâfaint but distinctâcut through the silence. It was like a distant creak, the groan of old wood, or the whisper of hinges. LucĂa froze, her breath catching in her throat as she glanced around the darkened room.
When nothing moved, she exhaled shakily, closing the notebook and clutching it to her chest. She shut her eyes tightly, willing sleep to come. But when it did, it brought no peace.
Her dreams were no longer of the garden or the sistersâ hymns. Instead, she saw the gate, shrouded in mist, its edges pulsing with light. It loomed before her, vast and alive, its iron bars twisting into shapes she couldnât understand.
And then, it began to open.
Before I launch into my review, I would like to say a warm thank you to Antonio Garrido Caballero and Reedsy Discovery for the Advanced Digital Reader Copy of this title. For anyone with their eye on this title, here is my personal review of the book to help you decide whether you are interested or not. All opinions offered are my own.
LucĂa and Isabel have only ever known the convent. It, therefore, comes as a surprise to the rest of the convent that LucĂa feels compelled to leave. Not wanting her the girl to be alone, Mother Superior orders Isabel to accompany LucĂa in order to maintain her role of mentor and caretaker. Although Isabel is dissatisfied with this charge both women experience an awakening only afforded because of this experience.
In terms of formatting, I found it odd that there were bold titles within a chapter, and lines as dividers that were not aesthetically pleasing. Instead, they were a little distracting, although this might be local to the format I was reading. The language was easy to understand, and the sentence structure was basic, by which I mean, they were not written in a cumbersome way that required a lot of thought to be able to process them.
The first third of the book was extremely slow going for me and I did consider giving the book up to my DNF pile. However, given the short length and the fact that LucĂa and Isabel were finally on their way, I persevered. For such a short story, I would have favored less general scene setting i.e., tending to the rose garden, more background information such as why LucĂa, in particular, is at the convent, and more speed towards the main action. I am a firm believer in the shorter the tale, the more explicit and purposeful one needs to be with the text.
Formatting and pacing aside, I enjoyed witnessing the way the main characters developed. Once they left the convent, it was interesting to witness how their experiences in the ârealâ world strengthened and/or altered the values they grew up with. However, I would have liked to have spent more time getting to know what made the characters tick.
Through the exploration of curiosity, faith, love, friendship, and forgiveness, the story explores a crisis in faith and how to restore that said faith. I canât speak for many religions, but I would say this book would certainly strike a chord with followers of Christianity. I felt there was a subtle focus on sin and reconciliation. However, do not let this deter you from reading the book because the portrayal of religion is not heavily emphasized, making it appropriate for all readers whether they follow a faith or not.
Having read previous work by the author, I entered into reading this book with higher expectations. I would have liked to have had more detail on the fall from grace and how this was restored, in exchange for the earlier chapters that I didnât feel added a lot of real value to the plot. This may have prevented the final few chapters, especially the last one, from feeling rushed.
Overall, this book is written for a younger audience than I. Whilst it is easy to understand the plot and the messages in the text, I wonder whether it lacks enough suspense and adventure to engage an audience in the mid to late-teen range. I wouldnât discard the book, but at the same time, I wonder who I might recommend it to. Consequently, I have concluded that the book is a 3 out of 5 stars for me.