Page 67 of The Hellkeeper

Someone punches me in the stomach so hard I spit out red. Hands tangle in my hair and yank with so much loathing that a few strands rip free from my scalp. Another kicks me right in the ribs.

“Nothing but a disgrace.”

Please stop.

Rocks are being thrown at me by a girl who is surely on their list to be sacrificed soon. But she shows no solidarity or even fear, only hate.

More follow. A rock hits my thigh. Another strikes my ribs. My feet.

They want me dead before the sacrifice even begins.

I’m dizzy. I taste blood, and I’m drowning in it.

They’re animals. Demons dressed as humans.

I close my eyes, trying to block it all out, trying to picture Damien’s face, his touch, his voice. But all I see are monsters.

“Amelia.”

I lift my head slowly. It’s like I’ve called an angel into existence. She looks like one, with her braided hair and loose gown.

The crowd parts for her. She’s come to save me.

“Mother,” I rasp. “Please—”

She slaps me hard. I flinch, my body betraying me with a whimper.

The crowd laughs.

“I bore you,” she growls, her nails leaving imprints on my bloody face. “I loved you. And this… this is how you repay me? By embarrassing me? By staining our family name?”

I wish I could believe this isn’t her. That this isn’t real. But something in me always knew my mother would choose the village over me any day. And today, she did just that. She chose her religion, the scriptures, the village, and even the damned Hellkeeper over her own daughter.

She turns away, lifting her hands to the sky.

“I call upon the Hellkeeper,” she chants, “to purify this wretch before her sacrifice.”

The crowd echoes her words.

Purify. Purify. Purify.

My mother walks over to an iron pot suspended over the flames and reaches for the wooden handle. The two men holding me tighten their grip.

“Mother—”

The water tilts.

And then—

Agony.

The water isn’t boiling yet, but it’s hot enough to make a million needles prickle across my skin. I scream until my throat is raw, until my lungs beg for mercy. But there is none. These monsters know no mercy. I have never felt this much pain in my life.

Death would be more merciful. This is torture.

“She is purified!” my mother declares. “Let her now be made worthy.”

I slump forward, trembling, dying.

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