Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
The atmosphere was charged with an intensity that was almost palpable. At the front, amidst the masked figures and in front of an altar hewn from black stone stood a man donning a leather beaked mask.
Mr. Hawthorne.
I didn’t need to see his face to know who commanded the entire room. Threads of fascination wove into my thoughts, despite my inner turmoil. He was a beautiful embodiment of sin.
His clothes were regal, a fusion of gothic and ceremonial elements that made him look like a dark prince reigning over an insidious court.
Beside him were four men, their presence of authority and allegiance. Two shared his distinguished attire but wore different masks. The other pair were dressed in cloaks of red. One man's hair triggered recognition. I’d seen him before. He was at the resort with Mr. Hawthorne.
I expelled a quiet breath and leaned back, lifting my eyes to the imposing statue behind the altar. It was huge and carved with meticulous detail, meant to portray the devil himself. His tattered wings were spread wide in a symbol of rebellion and pride. The statue’s features were a blend of beauty and corruption, reminding me of Mr. Hawthorne.
Especially with the way its intense gaze was trained on the woman of stone that knelt at its feet.
The way she’d been crafted struck a deep chord of discomfort. Her head was bowed as she wept crimson tears. Spiral pillars of blackened stone stood on either side of the statue. Tapestries of the same symbol etched into the floor hung on both.
Mr. Hawthrone stepped forward and began to speak. His voice resonated through the chapel, its tones carrying the weight of authority and reverence. "My loyal disciples, tonight marks a momentous occasion," he declared, his words punctuated by a pause that seemed to emphasize their significance. "We have gathered here to partake in a rite of initiation—a sacred honor that has been foreseen and patiently awaited."
As the assembled masked members waited in attentive silence, Mr. Hawthorne’s masked gaze swept over them.
His mere presence seemed to demand their allegiance. His head turned in my direction, and it felt like he was staring at me directly.
"Amongst us, we have my Electi," he continued, his voice resonating with pride. "And not only her, but two additional chosen brides who have come to join our fold."
My heart raced as his words reached my ears. I knew what an initiation was from watching TV and being an avid reader, but that was when someone was joining a gang. I didn’t know what occurred when someone was becoming part of a… a fucking cult. And I certainly wasn’t ready to learn.
The atmosphere within the church seemed to intensify, the air charged with an energy that vibrated with a mix of excitement. As my brain tried to keep up with what was going on, I latched onto something he’d just said.
There were other women here. I shifted and strained to see them, but they were hidden from view thanks to the confines of my box. Mr. Hawthorne’s speech continued, and I saw a grim fate being weaved that I could do nothing to stop.
"Tonight, we stand on the cusp of ascension," he proclaimed, his words resonating with a sense of purpose. "But before we can embrace our collective new family, two phases of penance must be administered."
As soon as he finished speaking an unseen door opened, its creak echoing across the vaulted ceilings. I watched yet another hooded figure wheel a circular contraption to one side of the altar.
The design of it mirrored the pentagram with a star in the center, as well as a man. Leather restraints held him captive and there was a gag firmly placed in his mouth.
On the opposite side of the altar, a woman was walked forward, this time by someone dressed as a masked nun. She stood with a cloth bag obscuring her features, but I recognized the long blonde hair and nightgown from the night before.
“In case anyone has forgotten, there are consequences that befall those who challenge our customs,” Mr. Hawthorne proclaimed. He turned towards the man first. "Tonight, observe what happens when you disrespect what is mine.”
At that, one of the men in red turned and lifted something from the altar. I leaned forward and squinted to get a better look. It was a large tool of some sort that reminded me of salad tongs but with U-shaped metal points on each end. He passed the device to Mr. Hawthorne, and a small murmur went up amongst the gathered crowd. I could sense their excitement for whatever was about to occur.
“I’ve decided to deal with disciple Charles myself,” he announced, casually strolling towards the bound man. His companion from the resort followed beside him and removed the gag from the man’s mouth.
Mr. Hawthorne stood to the side, allowing everyone to see what he was about to do. The man must have known because he began to plead. It was ignored. Mr. Hathorne looked right at me and declared, “He risked this by staring at my sun. It’s only right I grant him eternal darkness.”