Chapter 5
5
M y head is pounding .
It’s the first thought I have as I groan softly. The ache building behind my eyes makes it hard to think. I shift, testing out my ability to move, and my fingers brush against something smooth and soft—too soft. Flashes of running through rain-soaked woods flit across my tender mind. My eyes snap open, and I jerk up too fast, making the room spin.
This isn’t my bed, and I'm not sure if I'd rather wake up back home or here—the unknown. I hope this is better, but after being chased through the manor and woods, I’m not so sure.
The room is large—almost overwhelmingly so—with dark wood walls and heavy curtains that block out most of the light. It smells faintly of cedar and something floral, but nothing about it feels familiar. My heart—which I’m surprised is still functional—thuds in my chest as I scan the space. I shiver from the slight chill in the air and rub my bare arms to warm up.
Wait. Bare arms?
My breath hitches when I look down at myself. I’m not wearing my T-shirt and jeans. In fact, I don’t own, nor have I ever worn, anything like this. Somehow, I’m dressed in a pale-peach, silky negligee. The thin material is nearly transparent while thin straps barely cling to my shoulders. The fabric feels wrong against my skin—too intimate and far too revealing.
Where are my clothes? A brief scan around turns up nothing. They aren’t draped across the back of a chair, or even in a pile on the floor. They’re just…gone.
They changed me.
They stripped me naked and put this wisp of fabric on me. They didn’t even give me undergarments. My stomach churns as realization crashes over me. They did this all while I was unconscious. There’s no way for me to know if they did more than change me.
The air feels thick and heavy as I try to fill my lungs. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I hug my arms tightly across my chest, attempting to cover as much of my body as the thin fabric allows. Warmth is a lost cause, which is made even more obvious when my feet touch the cold floor. It’s just shocking enough to ground me and push past the wave of nausea threatening to rise.
I tell myself to stay calm, take a few deep breaths, and put my tasks in order. First, I’ll need to find something else to wear. There’s bound to be something in one of these drawers. Then I’ll find a way out of here. All I have to do is keep my panic in check, take it one task at a time, and everything will be fine.
If only I actually believed that.
I try a dresser on the far wall first, pulling open the top drawer with shaking hands. Empty. I try the second, then the third. They’re all the same—barren, desolate, and completely useless to me. Just like this stupid thing I’m wearing. A sharp, panicked laugh escapes me as I shove the last drawer shut.
“Of course,” I mutter. My voice is rough, and my mouth feels like I swallowed a handful of sand. “Why would it be that easy?” I close my eyes and try to get my breathing back under control, reminding myself that everything is going to be all right.
It’s got to be.
There’s really no other option.
I turn the knob of one of the three doors in the room and yank it open, revealing a bathroom with a huge clawfoot tub. Under any other circumstances, I’d be thrilled to have access to something so luxurious.
I have no idea what could possibly be making it hard to admire my surroundings. Nope. Not a single clue.
I was already parched, but now, with the thought of water, I can feel the way my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I go to the sink and turn the handle. The water is clear, and I put my mouth under the flow.
The first few mouthfuls I swish around and spit out before drinking until I'm full. Which might’ve been a mistake, now that I can feel it sloshing around inside my empty stomach. I haven’t had a real meal in a couple of days. I guess water will have to do for now.
I splash my face with cold water and then open every drawer and cabinet in the ensuite, just in case there’s something I can use. I find towels in one of the cabinets, but nothing else. By the time I’ve made it back to the sink to check the vanity, the only other things I find are some random shampoo and body wash. Both look to be a decade old—at least.
I pull open the top drawer next to the sink and find a toothbrush and toothpaste— my toothbrush and toothpaste, to be exact. Which means they have my purse—and the metaphorical keys to my new life.
I can’t leave without it.
I need to survive, and I need to find where they’re keeping my things. I have no idea what they want with me, but they didn’t kill me—so maybe they won’t. No matter what happens, I have to stay smart.
After brushing my teeth—a few times—I leave the room and go back to try the second door. It doesn’t open. I assume that must be the exit, which means I’m trapped in here. Trying not to freak out, I distract myself by searching behind door number three. I sound like one of those daytime game show hosts Father loves so much.
The door creaks open to reveal…nothing. No clothes, no shoes—not even a stray piece of fabric. It’s an empty closet; there’s not even a lone hanger to be found. I run my hands through my hair, wincing when I touch the tender wound that I somehow forgot about, and I try to steady my breathing. The task feels impossible, and I’m having a very hard time continuing to convince myself everything will be okay.
Defeated, I stand in the center of the large room and feel sorry for myself. I might as well, right? It’s not like there’s anything else I can do. It’s obvious that I’ll have to wait till the deranged masked men—if they can even be called men—decide to let me out of here.
They didn’t hurt me. They could’ve, but they didn’t.
Maybe they just want to chase me again. That wouldn’t be so bad, and no, I’m not examining why that’s my first thought. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sure the… unusual feelings I had were a one-off.
There’s no way they’re human; their speed alone is unnatural. I bet that’s got something to do with it
God, what’s wrong with me?
With a long-suffering sigh, I grab the comforter from the bed and wrap it around myself, the thick fabric heavy and warm against my chilled skin. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing, and it brings me a bit of relief. My eyes dart to the closet, its door slightly ajar—the darkness inside a welcome reprieve from the vast openness of the room.
When I was little, I sometimes hid in my closet when I was scared. There’s something about being less exposed that gives me the illusion of safety.
I shuffle toward it, almost in a daze. My bare feet are silent against the polished floor. Inside, the air is cool and a touch stale, the faint scent of cedar lingering here too. I sink to the floor, curling into the corner and pulling the comforter tightly around me.
I bury my face in the fabric, my breaths shallow and uneven. My chest tightens, and my hands won’t stop shaking. With each beat of my heart, the throbbing in my head intensifies, growing into a skull-splitting beast. The darkness presses in, and it’s getting harder to convince myself everything will be okay.
They changed me.
They saw me.
They touched me.
What else did they do to me?
The question is a constant loop in my mind, growing louder with each pass.
My father’s voice cuts through the panic—sharp and condemning. “This is what happens to women who stray. The men outside the Covenant will strip you of your dignity. They’ll ruin you.”
Even worse—Josiah’s cruel, sinister voice follows. “You belong to me. No one else will ever want you.”
The pain makes my thoughts feel disjointed, out of control. Memories flash behind my closed eyes, no matter how hard I try to will them away.
The rituals.
The sermons.
Josiah’s hand lingering on my shoulder, sliding down my body when no one was looking. My father’s impossible standards, crushing me under their weight. Their voices echo in my head, relentless and maddening, smothering my thoughts
Were they right?
Am I na?ve for thinking I could escape them?
Have I only traded one prison for another?
How could I be so stupid?
My mother put herself on the line for nothing. She should’ve expected me to fail, like I always do.
I grip the edges of the comforter, my knuckles white as I struggle to focus on my breathing.
In, out.
Everything’s okay.
In, out.
I’m okay.
In, out.
Am I though?
In, out.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who—or what—they are. I have no clothes, no belongings, and no way out.
In… in… in?—
I can’t breathe.
Panic claws at me, dragging me under. My chest tightens, compressed, as if something is pressing down on me. My limbs tremble, the storm inside crashing over me, while exhaustion seeps into my bones. Everything feels unbearably heavy. My mind moves sluggishly, pain flooding in like a tide.
I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to let my guard down. But my eyelids grow heavier with every passing second. Panic gives way to a bone-deep weariness I can’t fight.
The comforter is warm—its soft weight lulling me into a false sense of security.
As I drift off, my last thought is a desperate, quiet prayer: Please, let me wake up somewhere else. Somewhere safe.
There’s no comfort in sitting on the hard wooden benches in the Covenant’s Sacred Hall. I’m surrounded by the other girls my age, but none of us are really friends. Personal connections outside of family are forbidden for us.
It makes me sad when I see the boys my age playing games together. I don’t understand why we’re not allowed to, but it’s not something I’d ever say out loud.
Father wouldn’t like that.
Sometimes, when I see Hope, we wave and smile at each other—but only when no one’s looking. She’s eleven, like me, and the only other girl who dares make eye contact. It’s our little game.
It might not be as exciting as the boys, with their balls they kick around the field, but there’s something thrilling about having a secret. I think she might even be my friend.
The hall falls silent, and I sit up straight, ankles crossed, hands folded neatly in my lap. My attention is fixed on Josiah—nothing else. I know better than to get distracted. The last time I didn’t pay attention when he spoke, my father let Josiah take a belt to me.
I try not to shift in my seat as Josiah’s stare lingers longer than feels right. It’s like he’s waiting for me to slip up. Finally, his eyes move to the rest of the room, and he starts speaking.
“You, daughters of the Light, are the purest among us. You carry the Covenant’s future within you, and it’s your sacred duty to remain untouched by the world and its corruption.” He paces slowly, making deliberate eye contact with each of us, pausing again on me. I wish he wouldn’t. It makes my hands sweaty and my tummy hurt.
“The world outside this sanctuary is a dark and sinful place. It’s filled with men who would seek to destroy your most precious possession—your purity. They will not stop at simply harming your body—no—they will devour your soul.”
How do you eat a soul?
What does it look like?
I blink and force my mind to stop wandering—just in time. Father steps forward to stand next to Josiah, looking directly at me as he begins to speak.
“You must understand—the men beyond these walls are worse than beasts—they’re demons. They will charm you with sweet lies, promises of freedom, addictive pleasure, and unconditional love. But—hear me when I say—they’re hearts are poisoned by sin, and their intentions are nothing but pure evil.” He gestures toward the rows of us girls, his eyes cold—as always—but there’s something else in them tonight. Something scary, as he looks at all of us—as if we’re… we’re disgusting.
When his eyes meet mine again, I do my best not to flinch. “Do you know what happens to girls who leave the Light? To those who believe the whispers of these wicked men?” His question was meant for all of us, but I feel like it was meant for only me when he continues to hold my gaze. Josiah steps back, breaking the stare as he places a hand on my father’s shoulder, as if it pains them to tell us these truths.
“There was once a girl. She had been blessed as a daughter of the Light. But she thought she knew better than the plan God shared with me. She left the Covenant.” Murmurs ripple through the room, and Josiah raises his hands, a gesture that silences the crowd. “I know, I know. This girl was led astray, thinking the world outside would offer her the freedom she desired.”
He pauses, allowing the disapproval of the crowd to rise before he continues.
“What do you think she found? Men. Demons who promised her everything—but took it all instead.” Josiah’s voice softens, almost as if sharing a secret, forcing the room to lean in, hanging on his every word.
“They didn’t kill her. No, that would’ve been far too merciful for these beastly men. They each stole pieces of her soul, piece by piece, leaving her a hollow, broken shell of the girl she once was. We never stopped looking for her; a shepherd does not stop searching for their lost lambs. When we found her, she begged for God’s forgiveness, but it was too late. Her purity was gone forever, deemed worthless by the Light.”
Josiah and my father each take a moment, as if mourning the girl he spoke of. I risk a glance at the other girls and see the same terror reflected that I feel. But in the next instant, the fear of having my soul stolen and losing my purity forever is taken over by something else—curiosity.
How do you steal someone’s soul?
Father steps forward, taking the time to sneer at each of us. “Purity is the most valuable gift you’ve been blessed with,” he says, as though we’ve already lost our souls. “Once it’s taken, you cannot get it back. Not unless God himself demands it to be so. And once it is gone, so are you. You no longer have a place within the Light.”
Father’s eyes find me once again, and they seem to burn into me. “Remember, it is not just your body that’s at stake. These men will strip you of your very essence, leaving you unworthy of God’s love—of any love.”
I’ve never given my father a reason to doubt me. I think it’s because I’m a girl. He tells me all the time that girls are weak-minded and born of sin. That’s why we have to spend our whole lives trying to be worthy of godly men and work hard to get to heaven.
I know he wishes Mother would’ve given him a son instead of me. I know a boy wouldn’t need so much minding. I know I always disappoint him. It always makes my eyes sting, and I have to fight not to let the tears fall.
I can’t let myself cry.
Father wouldn’t like that.