Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
The room held its breath, every eye fixed on him as the silence swelled. “To life,” he intoned, his voice a velvet shroud of command, “and to death. Ad vitam et mortem.”
The room exhaled in unison, voices rising like a chant from the depths, “Ad vitam et mortem!” The words hung in the air like a funeral dirge, wrapping around us, binding us to the darkness Alexander spoke of. My hand trembled as I lifted my goblet, the weight of it cold against my skin. In that moment, the shadows felt alive, breathing, watching. I realized that this place, this Isle, demanded more than blood and absolute devotion—it demanded souls.
I hesitated only a second before drinking. The liquid burned slightly as it slid down my throat, sweet and potent, but I ignored the taste. This wasn’t the time to hesitate or make a scene.
As I lowered my glass, Alexander’s eyes shifted toward me, an approving smile on his lips as he took his seat. Conversation resumed, and as I pushed the food around on my plate, I became aware of movement near the far wall. Masked nuns approached what looked like a keypad, their movements swift and synchronized.
I watched, curious, as they keyed in a sequence, and the wall began to shift, stone grinding against stone. As the wall opened, revealing the Chapel’s sidewall terrace, my breath caught in my throat. The terrace was grand, a sprawling open space that stretched out like a natural amphitheater. Tall, sculpted stone walls flanked the sides, the boundary between civilization and the untamed wilderness beyond. The trees loomed in the distance, their canopies whispering in the breeze, carrying the weight of ancient secrets.
At the heart of the terrace stood a slightly elevated circular platform, surrounded by concentric rings of cobbled stones. At the center of the platform, a massive inverted cross loomed high, a symbol of the Isle’s faith. Bound to the cross was a figure—a woman. I blinked, my heart hammering in my chest as I recognized her.
Emilia.
Her body was wrapped in dark-colored rope, her head hanging forward, and even from this distance, I could see the strain in her muscles, the unnatural stillness that radiated from her. The wind swept across the terrace, carrying with it the distant hum of laughter and celebration from the feast. The air felt charged. The very atmosphere pulsed with anticipation. The music shifted, its tone eerie and hypnotic, weaving through the crowd like a whisper, luring them outside in a slow, relentless tide.
People moved together in pairs and small clusters, their faces painted in vibrant masks, hands intertwined as they swayed beneath the blackened sky. Their laughter was soft, like a murmur under the music, blending into the night. I inhaled deeply, catching the scent of the distant lake carried on the breeze, With each breath, I felt something shift inside me—an unsettling pull, like an invisible thread had wrapped itself around me, dragging me forward without my consent.
My steps felt disconnected, my body moving of its own accord. Every inch of me was hyper-aware: the night air cool against my skin, the fabric of my gown brushing my legs, the strange heat coiling low in my belly, growing steadily. My mind screamed that something wasn’t right, but my body didn’t listen. It was as if I was trapped in a waking dream, unable to stop myself from moving.
Before I realized what was happening, I was no longer seated at the table. No one had stopped me, no one had even followed, as if I had vanished from their awareness altogether. The terrace stretched out before me, bathed in the dim glow of flickering torches, but my focus was drawn to the raised dais at the far end. Emilia, bound to the cross. Her pale skin gleamed in the torchlight, the sharp angles of her body casting deep shadows. She was alive—very much alive. My breath hitched in my throat, and I blinked, my thoughts slipping like sand through my fingers.
The world around me was a blur, dulled yet sharpened in the most unsettling way. I couldn’t think, couldn’t process. I was simply… there. Standing in front of the dais, as if I had been summoned by a force beyond my control. The scent of the bold red flowers decorating the terrace mixed with the night air, the aroma of food lingering from the feast, but none of it mattered. My gaze remained locked on Emilia, and I couldn’t tell if the warmth flooding through me was panic or something else. I was here—so close, yet untouchable, just as Emilia was bound and waiting.
What was she waiting for?
People nearby were dancing, their movements slow and hypnotic, a languid rhythm that felt almost ritualistic. It was then that I began to notice the way their eyes lingered on one another, the subtle caresses and secretive smiles exchanged between couples. Their touches were deliberate, filled with a meaning I hadn’t grasped until now.