Page 2 of Hollowed

But they didn’t.

They turned away. Opened the doors at the far end of the chamber. Let the cold rush in.

And beyond those doors?—

I saw it.

The chapel.

Already burning.

They didn’t speak when they dragged me from the chamber. My feet slipped on the stone, raw from kneeling, and the moment I hesitated—just once, just one breath too long—a hand gripped the back of my neck.

“Walk,”someone hissed. Not in anger. In finality.

I did.

I walked like a body walks to a grave it dug with its own teeth.

The corridor smelled like mildew and smoke. Damp stone giving way to dry rot. Every step I took sent the red silk dragging behind me, sodden with oil, sticking to the insides of my thighs. My skin itched. Burned. My breath tasted of ash and something worse?—

Like old blood.

I reached for the walls once. Just to steady myself. The nun behind me struck my wrist hard enough to numb my fingers. Pain flared like something in me broke. I bit down on my tongue until I felt it split.

It was not a procession. It was a disposal.

No chanting. No prayer.

Only the sound of my breath and their footsteps. Me, shuffling like an animal too stunned to bolt. Them, moving like shadows trained to guide the dying.

When we reached the last arch before the chapel doors, they stopped. I didn’t.

I turned.

There were four of them.

I knew them all. I had served their tea. Washed their bedding. One had combed my hair when I was ten. Another once held me when I vomited blood during my first fast.

None of them met my eyes.

Butshedid.

She stepped forward from the dark.

The veil she wore was bone-colored. Threadbare at the edges. Her hands were bare. So was her mouth. No silence for her today.

My mother.

She looked at me like I was a dish she’d forgotten in the sun.

Spoiled. Useless. Burdensome.

I tried to speak. My throat convulsed. The words didn’t form. Only breath. Only ache.

She raised her hand slowly, like a blessing.

I thought—I was stupid enough to think—that maybe she would touch my cheek. Maybe she would say my name, even if only to let it die between us.

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