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)
Then I feel the fuzzy warmth of affection blooming behind my ribs like a flower opening up to sunlight.
The sensation is so foreign, though, so out of place, it unnerves me.
Am I being tricked again?
Is there a malevolent being trying to play tricks on me?
God rejected me, I remember it clearly.
The Prophet declared me, “Tainted!”
My father and mother turned their backs on me and abandoned me as the entire congregation hurled insults, slurs, and shoes at me.
I haven’t seen sunlight in over ten years. I’ve lived every day since the Judging beneath the cathedral, entombed in stone like a walking corpse.
Is this the Devil reaching out to me? Like Sister Agatha has always claimed he would? Is he trying to seduce me with empathy and tenderness?
Was it actually him I felt when I first heard the hymn?
Anger boiling my blood, I shove the arms away.
I won’t be fooled again.
The hold of the arms breaks from my force, but a second later they’re trying to wrap around me again like two desperate snakes.
Growing more and more enraged by the cruel trick, I shove the arms away again and scream, “No! Let me be!”
The sound of my own screaming voice rings in my ears and smashes through the veil of the dream.
Sitting straight up in my bed, I look around my small cell.
My eyes wild and searching for the intruder that was touching me. Half expecting to find one of the creepy, leering priests or a young, hot-blooded seminarian trying to climb into my bed.
It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened…
But there’s no one there.
Only the bare stone walls of my small room weeping their endless murky tears.
Feeling incredibly foolish, I close my eyes for a moment and lean my head back. Wondering if I’m already mad as I try to catch my breath.
The arms felt so solid, so real, I swear there was a person truly holding me.
Am I that desperate for another’s touch that I’m starting to dream it? Subconsciously ache for it?
Disgusted with myself for being so pathetic, I shake my head.
Ready to forget the stupid dream and get on with my day, I start to slide to the edge of my bed, but stop when I notice a strange wet sensation beneath me.
A moment of shame washes over me. Did I have an accident while I was sleeping?
Yanking my itchy brown cover back, my vision fills with red.
I’m bleeding all over my white nightgown…
How am I bleeding?
My heart jolts with adrenaline and my stomach cramps again.
Reaching down, I gingerly pluck at the gown sticking to my thighs.
Then realization dawns on me like a punch to my gut.
I’ve started my period.
“No…” I moan as I look down at the mess on my bed, frozen in horror.
I’m unable to move, paralyzed and petrified by all the implications.
For the past ten years, I’ve been living on the razor’s edge of hope. Hope that somehow the Prophet got it wrong. That I’m not the evil creature they say I am.
It’s heretical to say such a thing, let alone even think it, but it’s the one thing that’s kept me going. Living and breathing through all the misery.
In my heart, I’ve secretly hoped they would all come to see the truth one day and I would be set free.
Free from this stone prison. Free from these chains of faith they’ve wrapped around me.
And the one thing that has kept this hope alive inside me, nurturing it and protecting it through everything, is that I’ve yet to manifest.
I’ve been declared tainted in the eyes of the Order, but I’ve shown no signs of it.
I bear no mark upon my body.
There is no red figure eight staining my skin.
When I reached the age of puberty a couple of years after being imprisoned here, Sister Agatha was certain I would show my true nature any day.
She taunted me every morning with all the horrors I’ll suffer in Hell after I die while her hawkish eyes ran over my naked body, searching for the mark that would doom my soul to eternal damnation.
But even she eventually gave up, growing tired of waiting.
I’ve gone beyond the point of being a ‘late bloomer’. At the age of twenty, I’ve begun to foolishly hope I will never bloom at all.
Until now…
I’m still staring at myself in horror when the door to my cell bangs open and bounces off the wall. Grabbing my blanket, I scramble to cover myself as Jeffrey comes stomping into my room with his fists clenched.
Wearing only a pair of dark pants, his chest is bare and showing off the holy markings he’s earned in his service to the church.
Words written in a strange language I don’t recognize wrap around his shoulders and biceps, trailing down his arms like vines. Various crosses, both big and small, dot his skin, as if they were randomly placed, but I know each placement has some kind of meaning and significance.