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)
The man flashes his teeth at my father to show that he’s jesting, but there’s a predatory glint in his eyes. Like he actually hoped my father would do such a thing.
My father offers his own amused smile as he walks us over to him. His entire demeanor suddenly relaxing. “Worried about my eternal soul, Howard? How considerate of you.”
“Of course,” Howard says, his smile fading. “It’s my Christian duty to worry for my fellow Brothers in the Order.”
“You shouldn’t have,” my mother says with a breathy laugh as she comes up to join us. “We’re simply late thanks to a little hair mishap.”
Howard glances at my mother only for a brief second, quickly dismissing her, before asking my father, “Vanity delayed you? Vanity is nothing to be proud of...”
My mother scoffs and my father stiffens.
Releasing his grip on my hand, my father says, “Alena, darling, go take your place in line.”
Unprepared to be suddenly left on my own, I hesitate and linger beside him, not sure what to do.
Howard turns all his attention to me, and the creepy way he looks at me makes me want to hide behind my father. “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”
Pushing his hand into my back, my father urges me forward with a firm, “Go.”
Stumbling, almost tripping, I hurry down the red-carpeted aisle between the pews. Wanting to obey my father and be a good girl.
But I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.
The front of the cathedral, where the priest usually stands and talks at us, is completely empty. There are no tables covered in pretty, embroidered cloths. No golden cups or flickering candles.
Only a strange, scary looking chair that looks like something an evil king would sit in.
The rows of pews are filled, practically overflowing with people, but they’re all grownups. Men dressed in dark suits with white rose blossoms pinned above their hearts and women wearing dresses the color of fresh snow.
There’s not another kid to be seen anywhere. Not even a boy.
My father told me to do what the other little girls do…
But where are they?
Nervously, I glance back at my parents.
His expression tight with what looks like anger, my father seems to be arguing quietly with Howard. Completely unaware of my need for assistance.
My mother, on the other hand, glares right back at me. Daring me to embarrass her.
Unable to go back, I continue forward. Praying God will lead me in the right direction.
Reaching the end of the long aisle, I freeze. Panic gripping me. There’s still no sign of any other little girls.
Spinning in a small circle, I search desperately for them.
Will I be judged for this failure before the Judging even begins?
Then I hear them. Quiet, hushed whispers come from behind a red velvet curtain to my right.
There’s usually not a curtain there. At least, not that I can remember. It must be special for today.
Heading quickly in that direction, it feels like my white slippers skim across the floor like a stone skipping across water. I’m so afraid of getting in trouble, I grab the thick velvet, yank the curtain to the side, and slip behind it.
Before the curtain falls back into place, Sister Agatha turns around to face me, her black habit swirling around her like a dark cloud of doom.
“It’s about time!” she hisses sharply and grabs my arm.
Her thin, bony fingers dig painfully into my muscle as she drags me along a line of girls dressed in white like me.
“We’re starting the ceremony late because of you!” Sister Agatha seethes as we reach the end of the line.
Then she releases me and gives me a sharp smack on the back of my head.
Not prepared or braced for pain, I cry out and tears sting my eyes.
Without thinking, I reach up, my hands cradling the back of my head while the line of girls in front of me breaks out in giggles.
Sister Agatha’s eyes spark with even more fury and she gets the same incensed look my mother gets before she slaps me again across the back of my hands. “There will be no crying! Stand there and be silent!”
Knuckles stinging, skin warm and throbbing, I bite down hard on my cheek and fill my mouth with blood.
Needing its bitter comfort to drag my hands away from my sore scalp.
Her body tense and ready to pounce on me, Sister Agatha watches me like a hawk, daring me to defy her again.
Once my hands are down at my sides, she gives a curt nod and turns to march up the line of girls standing in front of me.
Her thick heels thump against the floor as she snaps out, “Today, young ladies, you will be Judged before the eyes of our God, Almighty!”
The giggling ahead of me cuts off as if all the air in this small, cramped space was just sucked out.