Series: The Un Series by Izzy Sweet
Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Up against the back wall, placed between two dusty red curtains, is the strange throne from the day of my Judging.
And sitting in the throne, clad head to toe in a plain black hooded robe, is the Prophet himself.
The sight of him causes me to swallow back a gasp of surprise. It’s been so long since I’ve been in his presence, I thought all the memories I had of him were the product of my young, traumatized imagination.
But he’s even more scary than I remember.
Stopping us in the center of the room, Sister Agatha takes a deep breath and says with utmost reverence, “Your Holiness.”
Then she shoves her palm against my neck and forces me to bow my head.
My chin digging into my neck, I stare at the dirty floor and my mind struggles to make sense of all of this.
How can the entire Order revere and defer to a man who looks like he’s molded himself into a clone of Death?
“Sister Agatha,” the Prophet says in return, his voice cracking against my ear like the snapping of dry twigs. “Young Jeffrey has informed me something urgent has happened to our charge?”
“Yes,” Sister Agatha says in relief, her hand on my neck relaxing. “I’m afraid, despite our efforts, she’s begun her menses.”
“I see…” the Prophet drawls out after a long moment, his voice dipping into a growl.
And I can’t help but shiver at the menacing tone.
“I’ve followed all your directions with no deviations,” Sister Agatha explains defensively. “Nothing has changed to my knowledge. She’s received her tonic and pills every morning. The doctor even increased her dosage when she started developing. Everything was going as it should. I’m not sure what went wrong.”
My head spins and my entire world tilts to the side. I’ve come to accept that Sister Agatha will never treat me with any respect. But drugging me? With what? And for how long?
“Well, you must have made a mistake somewhere,” Father Dominic snarks from behind us.
Sister Agatha gasps in indignation and out of the corner of my eye I can see her habit twisting to the side. “I assure you, Father, I did not!”
Father Dominic chortles. “Then how else did her menses start, hmm?”
“I… I don’t know…” Sister Agatha stutters.
“I do,” Father Dominic says with too much confidence. “You made a mistake.”
Sister Agatha’s wimple sways as she shakes her head in denial. “I didn’t…”
“Of course you did,” Father Dominic insists. “You’re a woman, after all. It’s in your nature.”
“It matters not how the mistake was made,” Father McCall says, adding his own opinion to the mix. “What matters now is how we fix it.”
“Oh, I beg to disagree,” Father Dominic says with a touch of eagerness. “Such a dire mistake should be addressed immediately and with severe consequences.”
“Father Dominic and Father McCall, how nice of you to join us in this most urgent matter,” the Prophet says dryly.
His tone switching to one full of humility and respect so quickly I can’t help but think it’s feigned, Father Dominic says, “Forgive me for the intrusion, Your Holiness, my curiosity got the better of me.”
“You are forgiven,” the Prophet says dismissively before asking, “Does she bear the Mark of the Beast?”
A sharp slice of terror pierces my heart as Sister Agatha is reduced to stammering again. “I… don’t… don’t know. I was in too much of hurry. I forgot to check.”
“Check her now,” the Prophet orders.
Hand quivering on my neck, Sister Agatha bobs her head up and down. “Yes, Your Holiness.”
Using her hold on my neck to guide me, Sister Agatha turns me to face her. When she bends down to grab the bloody hem of my nightgown, I know without a doubt she means to undress me right here.
“No!” I cry out and step back, ripping my gown out of her grasp.
I’ve endured countless indignities over the years at her hands. I’ve tried my best to endure them all with as much grace as possible, hoping one day I would be released and given freedom.
But this…
This I cannot bear without protest.
“Ah, such false modesty.” Father Dominic says snidely. “If I didn’t know any better, I might believe it.”
Trembling, I ignore his words, refusing to let them get to me, and take another step back.
Clenching her teeth together, Sister Agatha scolds me. “Alena, stop this nonsense. The Prophet has given an order. You will obey.”
Staring past her at the Prophet, at a man who appears to be more wraith than man, I know deep in my heart this fight will be futile.
I’m surrounded by too many obedient hands.
But how can I meekly submit to such a violation? I’ve lived the past ten years of my life covered from head to toe. My normal attire is an itchy brown robe made from the same fabric as my blanket.
Even my hair is to always be covered, lest the sight of it tempt a man. Modesty has literally been beaten into me on many occasions.