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)
Custodes Tenebrarum—guards, I translated. That wasn’t surprising. None of it was when I considered the lengths Alexander and his people would go to in order to protect their home. That didn’t stop the meticulous scrutiny from being any less suffocating.
I realized then that the sense of freedom I felt while walking through the town was an illusion. In this world, privacy was a myth, and control was absolute.
"You're walking a dangerous path, Nicole,” Esther warned softly.
They leveled one another with glares that had animosity crackling in the air. As we moved away from the ears of immediate onlookers, Nicolette’s voice dropped an octave lower. "She needs to know, Esther. She has to understand the stakes. Do you want her a Progenitor or at the Pleasure House?”
I glanced around and felt like an idiot checking our surroundings as the two women went back and forth. There was no way for me to see where a camera would be.
I couldn’t understand most of what they were talking about to have any relevant input, and I refused to side with either of them.
Esther was beloved and family to half of the men at the pinnacle of power. Upsetting or alienating her would’ve been stupid.
Nicolette, for all her brazenness, had been chosen to be by my side with her. That had to mean something. She was also the only one of the two willing to tell me things Esther seemed to want to keep quiet about, even at her own expense.
I got the feeling Nicolette wasn’t entirely on board with the way things were done here. That could prove beneficial.
So, naturally, I remained silent. I listened and took it all in, hoping they’d let something slip that could help me.
“Diabolus would never force her descent,” Esther replied evenly, surprising me with how cold her voice had become.
“I’m sure Clarice thought that too,” Nicolette volleyed back.
Clarice?
“That b—” Esther caught herself and sighed. “She betrayed our Diabolus, sealing her own fate.”
Nicolette scoffed. “And Melanie? What did she do?”
Both of those foreign names seemed to carry a weight of significance. "Who's Melanie?" I asked, but my question was ignored.
Instead, Esther attempted to steer the conversation away from these dangerous waters, her voice soothing yet firm.
"Lolita, there are things that you don't need to concern yourself with. it's not something you'll ever have to face."
Nicolette, however, wasn't one to mince words. "Devote. Obey. Don't break the rules. That’s how you stay safe here," she stated bluntly, her hardened gaze meeting mine. "Melanie was here first. She failed and wound up at the butcher’s block.”
No way. She couldn’t possibly mean the woman was literally sent to be butchered. I didn’t want to believe that. I couldn’t imagine it. But the look on Esther’s face gave me all the more reason to think it was true. I was pretty sure I’d just discovered what had happened to one of Alexander’s wives.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The drive to the Chapel was cloaked in silence, thick with unspoken questions and tension.
The tightness in the air held my tongue. I was almost relieved when I caught sight of the cathedral, its grandeur magnified in the daylight. That relief was quickly dampened by the memory of my last visit. I’d never be able to look at this place without seeing myself branded before a room of masked sociopaths.
After exiting the vehicle, Esther and Nicolette led me inside, our footsteps echoing against the stone floor.
We passed by silent, masked disciples, their presence adding to the Chapel's ominous atmosphere. As we ascended a set of beautifully crafted wooden stairs to the far left of the first entry point, my eyes were drawn to the paintings that adorned the walls.
Each was a vivid portrayal of the Impío faith's dark history, but what struck me were the recurring images of women, all depicted in various stages of undress and subservience. In one painting, robed figures donning masks encircled a bonfire under a moonlit sky. Among them, the women were all partially nude, expressions ranging from ecstasy to resignation. It looked to be some kind of ritual, where devotion and sensuality intertwined.
Another canvas captured a scene of sacrifice, at its center an altar illuminated by candlelight. It was similar to the one I’d been branded in front of.
A woman lay draped in sheer fabric that did little to conceal her form, throat slit from ear to ear. There was a mixture of fear and reverence frozen on her face. Around her, the congregation's fervent gaze seemed to venerate her sacrifice as much as the deity they worshipped. The most striking piece was titled and depicted The ascension of Diablo. At his feet, a single woman knelt in a clear act of submission.
It was impossible not to notice that reoccurring theme. When I thought about it, I’d seen different versions of this playing out since I’d arrived. Women on the Isle were assigned specific roles, roles that seemed deeply entrenched in the fabric of this society.