Chapter 15
15
T he manor’s heavy silence presses in around me as I sit on the windowsill, staring out at the storm-darkened woods stretching endlessly beyond the glass. Weak sunlight filters through the trees, its warm glow battling the rain-filled clouds drifting lazily overhead. The air feels thick and oppressive, reminding me of Magnolia Hollow, where the humidity threatened to suffocate with every breath.
My fingers clutch at my neck, searching for the small silver locket that had always hung there until recently. It would be cool to the touch—smooth and familiar. It would provide a small comfort in a house that feels like it’s waiting to devour me—and the three men inside it.
They might have already.
Instead, all I find is the lace trim of yet another negligee they’ve provided. How considerate—it’s not like I’m starving or anything.
The locket’s absence feels like missing a limb. My fingers hover over the empty spot at my neck, and the faint echo of its weight is enough to pull me back to those moments—when I would trace the edges, the familiar and repetitive action comforting. The memories are overwhelming—heavy—as if my past will never let me go.
I’m fourteen.
Powerless.
The Sacred Hall is cold—not just chilly, but freezing, like the stone walls are sucking the warmth from the air—and from me. It’s impressive, considering the merciless heat outside.
I feel so small standing here with everyone watching. My hands shake as I clutch the flowers they gave me with no explanation when I arrived. They told me lilies symbolize purity, but all I can think about is how they decorated Old Mother Prior’s casket at her funeral. The bouquet feels heavy in my hands, and somehow, the weight of death seems fitting.
The candles flicker along the walls, their light casting long shadows that appear to move, giving me something to focus on. The room reeks of incense, sharp and sweet, making my stomach churn. I have the desperate urge to turn and run as far as I can.
My dress is beautiful—everyone says so. It reminds me of the dress I wore for the Purity Ritual. The lace is soft, and the little pearls sewn along the bodice catch the light when I move.
Mother made it, spending hours at her sewing machine in the quiet of our house. She smiled when I tried it on, but her eyes held no joy when they briefly met mine. I didn’t know why then, but I’m beginning to think I do now.
Josiah stands in front of me, tall and overbearing, like he’s made of stone. His eyes never leave mine, and they make me feel… powerless. Like a mouse caught in a trap. I drop my gaze, unable to face Josiah any longer. My eyes search out my father, his chest puffed out with pride. His gaze is heavy with expectations, but I don’t understand what he wants from me—what he desires his daughter to be.
I want to go home.
Josiah lifts his arms, silencing the soft hum of conversations before his voice consumes the room—commanding attention. “Today, we witness the hand of God uniting two chosen souls,” he proclaims. Everyone leans forward hanging on his every word, desperate to hear what he’ll say next.
I wish he’d never speak again.
“Celestina Abernathy, pure of heart and spirit, has been promised to me—by divine decree. Together, we will fulfill the Covenant’s sacred mission.”
What?
My stomach twists, my grip tightening on the bouquet.
Promised?
To him?
He’s nearly as old as Father.
My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure everyone can hear it. I glance at my mother, seated on the wooden bench in the front row—like always. Two empty spots beside her beckon with a false promise of safety. Her hands are clenched in her lap, gripping her skirt like it’s the only thing holding her together. When our eyes meet, she looks away quickly, as if ashamed.
Or scared.
I’m scared.
Josiah keeps talking, but his words blur together, only registering in the back of my mind. “…devoted to the Covenant’s cause… twenty-fifth birthday… my bride.” Each phrase is another stone upon my chest. Each one heavier than the last, making it impossible to breathe.
Bride.
The word makes my skin crawl. I’m only fourteen. How can I be anyone’s bride? The congregation murmurs their approval, a low chorus that reverberates off the walls. My stomach churns. Why is everyone fine with this?
I’m just a child.
I turn to my father, whispering so only he can hear, “Why is this happening? I’m too young, Father. This must be a mistake, right? It can’t be true.”
His hand clamps down on my shoulder, hard enough that I wince. There will be bruises there by morning. “Celestina,” he bites out, his voice low and cutting through clenched teeth. “This is an honor. Do. Not. Embarrass us.”
Honor.
That’s what everyone keeps calling it, but it doesn’t feel like an honor. It feels like a nightmare. I glance at Josiah again—he’s looking at me with that smile. It’s not kind or warm; it’s greedy. It’s as if he’s already claimed me, like I’m something he owns.
No longer a girl.
An object.
Josiah steps closer, holding out his hand. His voice softens, but it still fills the room. “Celestina,” he says, his tone carrying a false warmth, like he’s talking to a child too naive to understand what’s best for her. “Do you vow to dedicate your youth to the Covenant’s divine mission and fulfill your destiny as my bride on the day ordained by God?”
I freeze.
Oh, God.
I can’t move.
I take a breath—nothing.
I can’t.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t speak.
I can’t.
No.
Please.
The room falls silent, but I can’t hear anything over the rushing of my blood—loud and frantic in my ears. I’m both hot and cold at the same time and feel my head growing dangerously light as my vision darkens around the edges. My father leans down, his voice sharp—full of the promise of pain later. “Answer him, Celestina.”
I glance at my mother again, silently begging her to do something—to help me, to tell me this is all a mistake. She shifts in her seat, her knuckles white as she grips her skirt.
She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t even look at me.
She won’t save me.
No one is.
I’m alone in a room full of people.
The weight of everyone’s gazes crushes me. Josiah’s hand is still there, waiting. I know I can’t say no. My voice is barely a whisper as I force the words out in one breath.
“I vow.”
The room erupts into prayers, their voices rising alongside their hands.
I can’t hear them.
I only hear Josiah.
He takes my hand—his touch cold and possessive. “Well done, Celestina,” he says, his smile widening—an uncanny resemblance to a wolf. “You are a true servant of the Light.”
Everyone moves into the dining hall to celebrate. It’s loud—filled with laughter and clinking glasses—but it all feels distant. I sit at the head table, Josiah beside me, unable to eat. I push the food around my plate, pretending. The smell of roasted chicken, fresh bread, and golden potatoes makes my stomach twist. I can’t bring myself to swallow a single bite.
Josiah talks to me the whole time, his voice smooth, almost patronizing. “You’ll grow into this role,” he says, as though it’s inevitable—his words carrying an underlying threat. “It may seem daunting now, but in time, you’ll understand the depth of your calling. I will help prepare you until our wedding day, so you know exactly what is expected of you—and how to… meet my expectations.”
I fight the desire to run from him. I might not fully understand his words, but something in the way he says them—and the look he gives me—makes me feel unsafe. I nod, not knowing what else to do. The dress feels too tight, the noise too loud, and I want nothing more than to wake up—to realize this was all just a bad dream.
I pinch my arm to wake myself up.
It’s not a dream.
Later that night, long after I should have fallen asleep, my mother sneaks into my room. She sits at the edge of my bed, combing her fingers through my hair—like she did when I was little and woke from a bad dream. Her hands tremble, and I wonder if she sees this for the nightmare it is, too.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t stop it.”
I sit up, the words tumbling out in a hushed, urgent whisper before I can stop them. “Why didn’t you try? Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you save me? You wouldn’t even look at me!” My voice cracks as hot tears roll down my cheeks.
Her face crumples as she takes my hands in hers. “Because if I had, they would have punished not just me, but you—or worse. They might have taken you away from me forever.” Her words falter, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll find a way, Celestina. I promise. Just… stay strong for now.”
She presses a silver locket into my palm, the cool metal grounding me. “Keep this with you—always,” she says, her voice trembling. “And remember—no matter what they say, no matter what they do—you are more than this. They can’t take everything from you.”
I clutch the locket tightly, but her words feel hollow, repetitive, and—more importantly—too late. The vow has already been made. The promise has already been sealed. And there’s nothing anyone—besides God himself—can do to undo it.
I wish there were.
The memory fades, but its weight lingers, pressing against my chest like a hand shoving me back into the past. My gaze stays fixed on the dark woods beyond the manor, but the trees blur from view.
I see the Sacred Hall, the flicker of candles, Josiah’s cold smile, and the crushing weight of a future I never chose. My mother’s face, my father’s pride, Josiah’s domineering presence—it all swirls together, a toxic reminder of the life I left behind.
Tears sting my eyes as I whisper into the silence, “I should have run that night. So much pain would have been avoided. If I’d fought harder…”
But I didn’t.
Now here I am—trapped in another prison, haunted by the same ghosts. The difference is, this time, I’m determined to break free. No matter how enjoyable this prison may be.
The absence of the locket feels heavier now that my hand is empty—its once comforting presence replaced by a sharp edge of guilt and anger. I unclench my fingers, staring at my empty palm, imagining the delicate silver surface, worn smooth by years of holding it in moments like this. My mother’s words echo in my mind: You’re more than this.
I want to believe her. I want to believe I’ve become someone stronger, someone braver. But right now, all I feel is…
Small.
Broken.
Weak.
I press my empty hand to my chest, my thoughts spiraling with self-reproach, sharp and unrelenting. I was just a child, I remind myself, but the excuse feels hollow. I spoke the vow. I let Josiah take my hand. I sat at that table, nodding like a puppet while my life was stolen?—
Piece by piece.
Year by year.
My stomach twists, a sick mix of shame and regret bubbling to the surface. I’d been so terrified of disappointing my father, of angering Josiah, of defying a room full of people who saw me as nothing more than a tool for their “divine mission.”
I’d thought staying silent was survival—but now I know it was surrender.
Shame gives way to something hotter. Something angrier—volatile.
Anger at Josiah for taking everything from me.
Anger at my father for forcing me into it.
Anger at my mother for her whispered promises and weak excuses. She’d said she couldn’t stop it, but wasn’t that her job?
To protect me?
To fight for me, no matter the cost?
It’s unfair to question such things—I know now why she couldn’t—yet knowing doesn’t change what happened to me over the last decade.
More than anyone, I’m angry at myself—angry at the girl I was, too scared to scream, to run, to fight back. Angry at the woman I’ve become—still haunted by their echoes, still doubting that I can ever truly be free of them. Angry that I’m still afraid to make demands—to advocate for myself.
The missing locket feels like a brand in my hand, the memory of its shape imprinted into my skin. I wish I had it so I could throw it across the room and watch it shatter against the wall—but I can’t. I don’t have it any more.
It’s just another thing I lost to him.
Like my childhood.
My innocence.
Hope.
Now, all I have are memories and they are a heavier burden than the ghost of the locket. No matter how much anger I feel, it doesn’t erase the love I know my mother bore for me. Or the sacrifices she made—even if I wound up in another prison, lorded over by men again.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath—as the storm inside me threatens to spill over and join the one rioting outside my window. I can’t let myself drown.
Not here.
Not now.
Not ever.
Never again.
The shadows outside the window shift, and for a moment, it looks like Josiah’s disciples are watching—waiting—ready to drag me back if I falter. I close my eyes, willing the hallucination away.
“I’m not her. Not anymore,” I whisper, my voice shaking but determined. “I’m not that scared little girl.”
Even as I say the words, part of me wonders if they’re true. Am I really free? Or am I still that scared little girl—running from a cage I don’t know how to escape?
The thought claws at me, sharp and insistent, but I push it down, burying it in the back of my mind. I have to. If I don’t, the thoughts win. And if they win, Josiah does too.
I glance toward the door, half expecting one of them to reappear—the glow of their masks, their unhurried footsteps hunting me, their gazes piercing, full of fire and ice.
They won’t return until dusk, I know that, but the mere thought of them brings a fresh wave of conflict—and guilt.
I don’t trust them.
Well… I shouldn’t trust them.
They’re dangerous. Unpredictable. Far too good at pulling on my loose threads, unraveling parts of me I don’t even understand—or want to face.
It’s getting harder.
When they’re around, I don’t feel small. I don’t feel like a pawn. Or a victim. I feel… alive. Empowered, even. They manipulate, hunt, and control me, and yet I feel freer than ever.
And that terrifies me.
I know it’s wrong—to feel this way about them. To let them slip under my skin when I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape men like Josiah. Still, I know they’re not like him—not exactly.
They don’t lie about their intentions. They don’t preach purity while stealing my agency. They might not give me a real choice, but they’re honest about the game they’re playing.
Even wearing masks, they’re more honest than Josiah’s ever been.
I shake my head, shoving the thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter how they make me feel. What matters is staying strong—staying free—and not breaking. That starts with figuring out what I want and who I want to be.
I clutch my empty hand, my resolve hardening. “I won’t be controlled again,” I whisper, the words a promise and a challenge all at once. “Not by Josiah. Not by my past. Not by anyone.”
Not even by them.