Chapter 32
ELLE
When I was little, my mom used to whisper stories of brave males and females with the kind of strength that can only be gifted by the Mother. Powerful hybrids and High Fae, only made possible by the blessings provided to them by some deity.
My parents were devout believers in the Mother, never missing a single service or religious holiday. In Redwick, religious meetings were held daily, once at first light and again at second light. Without fail, my parents would drag me to every single one.
“Listen up, Elle,” my mom would always whisper in my ear. She had an uncanny ability to tell when I wasn’t paying attention. My dad, on the other hand, would squeeze me tight, as if he knew I hated every second we were there.
Every night, my mom would revisit the lessons taught by the priest, whispering them to me in the dark as her warm, calloused hands rubbed my back until my eyes closed and my mind drifted far away from the stories of the Mother.
She used to credit her blessings to the Mother—our plentiful food, the safety of our home, our health and wellness.
As if my dad didn’t spend every waking moment working for those privileges, as if the Mother had something to do with his hard work and provisions.
My mom always used to credit Her with me. And so, naturally, I spat on the Mother. I was nobody’s possession and certainly nothing to be gifted. As I got older, I turned away from my parents and the religion that I was raised to believe in.
But now, I cry on bloodied knees to Her, praying, begging, screaming for Her to help me. For Her to do something. I spend hours apologizing and repenting for my sins. I spend nights clenching sheets and crying for Her to listen. She is the only thing I have left to cling to.
And She has abandoned me.