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)
Are these the very steps she dragged me down after the Judging? Is that the spot, right there on the dusty floor, where Jeffrey first beat me?
I try to look closer, letting the memories of that day flow through me, but Sister Agatha snaps at me. “Would you stop your gawking, you little idiot!”
Making a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, she grabs her habit and starts up the steps.
Any other day, any other time, I’d quickly correct myself to avoid her ire. But not today. Not when my very soul is aching for more of not the same.
Reaching the top, Sister Agatha drops her habit and yanks me down a short, dark hallway.
Memories come flooding back to me. Memory of this very hallway. This has to be the way she first led me after the Judging, and that means for the first time in a decade I’m above the ground again.
My breathing quickens to match the beat of my heart and my head grows light at all the implications.
Sister Agatha pushes open a door and sunlight, blessed sunlight, hits me.
My vision swims with tears, leaving me mostly blind. I’ve lived in the dark for so long, it feels like my eyes are being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, but I don’t care.
Elation and giddiness fills me and I turn myself toward the sunlight. Wanting to feel it on my face. Wanting to feel it warm my flesh.
Not having any of it, Sister Agatha viciously yanks on my arm, pulling me closer. “What is wrong with you?! Have you lost all your senses?!”
She drags me away from the sunlight, and I twist in her hold, desperate to feel it again. The urge to run to it, to throw myself at the stained glass windows, to be free, thrumming through my very soul.
We make it a few feet of me dragging my heels and trying to pull away from her before she completely loses her temper.
“Keep your face down!” she snaps. Shoving my head down, she tweaks a muscle in my neck. “There are holy men present!”
Ah, yes… men. The literal bane of my existence. The reason I’ve been locked away and hidden for so long. The Order afraid I’ll somehow lead them all astray with a mere look and into the clutches of Satan.
How could I forget?
Forced to stare at the floor, I finally notice how quiet it is around us. Like a hush has suddenly fallen. Were there sounds before? I think so but I’m not sure because I was so caught up in the moment.
The back of my neck prickles as Sister Agatha leads me across the cathedral. Eyes are upon me, and no doubt I’m a shocking sight.
Dressed in a white nightgown stained with blood and being forcibly dragged against my will by a nun.
But if there are holy men here to witness this, as Sister Agatha claims, none of them speak a word.
The shadows on the hardwood floor grow darker and darker, and we pause just long enough for Sister Agatha to open a door.
Though I can’t exactly see where we’re going, between the lack of sunlight and the dusty staleness in the air, I sense she’s leading me somewhere deeper in the cathedral.
Somewhere less used.
Hushed voices reach my ears a few moments before Sister Agatha suddenly jerks me to a stop. She was rushing me so fast, my head spins and I sway on my feet from the abrupt change.
“Sister,” a man growls in irritation. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting us.”
I become very aware of eyes on me again, their judging weight pressing down on me like the stone I just escaped.
Daring to peek up, I see two priests standing close together. One is older and unknown to me, but the sight of the other priest fills me with dread.
Father Dominic.
Out of all the priests I’ve had to interact with over the years, he is by far the cruelest.
And I hate him immensely.
The majority of priests tend to be uncomfortable when they’re forced to be in my company. They avoid looking in my eyes, and shift and move around a lot, as if I make them uneasy.
But Father Dominic likes to go out of his way to remind me that I am cursed and a burden that should be dealt with swiftly. He’s always quick with his insults and has it made no secret that he believes I should be put down like a rabid animal.
In his eyes, keeping me alive by feeding me and sheltering me is too risky.
Sister Agatha’s grip tightens around me, and her body stiffens with tension.
“Yes, Father, forgive me,” she says, some of her rigid composure slipping. “I need to see the Prophet, it’s an emergency.”
Hearing her cowed with her voice cracking after all the years I’ve spent trapped under her thumb, subjected to the harsh lash of her tongue, should be gratifying. For once, she is not at the top of the totem pole, so to speak.