That evening the sky was spotted with fast-moving dense clouds, and the reflected light of the full moon pierced the mottled and volatile canopy erratically, subjugating the space below to a neurotic interplay of light and dark.

The resultant effect was gothic, sinister, and frightening.

Sister Angelica had taken her usual route to the monastery, but the familiar buildings and narrow walkways had been transformed by the fitful play of moonlight.

The nun felt apprehensive, restless; and so, she hastened her steps, furtively glancing about herself all the while.

There were but twenty meters or so remaining before she would arrive at the large wooden door. She relaxed somewhat, knowing that she would soon be in the safe space of the church.

Only the small garden which fronted the western range of the monastery, where the private quarters of the abbess were also located, was left to traverse.

The garden featured several dwarf conifers, as well as two olive trees, symmetrically disposed on either side of the cobblestoned walkway which led to the smaller access door of the western wall.

She was now on the dirt path which crossed the cobblestoned walkway obliquely and led towards the church. The path was regularly used by those nuns whose duties took them outside the cloistral complex.

As she neared the outside edge of the garden, the light of the moon was suddenly obscured by the moving clouds. The dirt path darkened. The nun slowed her pace in response.

It was then that she heard the sound, the crack of a dry twig snapping, breaking under the weight of an errant boot.

She turned around quickly, petrified.

'You!'

A nun is violated. Twelve years later, a young Roma girl is also raped. Both violations resulted in pregnancies - the nun, twin boys; the young Roma girl, a boy. Manfri.

The villain in both cases is the same man - a priest, years later to be appointed Archbishop of Milan.

We follow both victims over the next several decades.

Ultimately, the young Roma girl takes her revenge.