Page 1 of Depravity

We’re outside a chapel. It’s old. Creepy. The kind of building you’d imagine would be the perfect setting for a horror movie. All those beautiful sparkling lights of the city are long since gone and there’s nothing here but an eerie looking gardens and trees that look so mangled with time that they could have been turned to stone.

“Where... where are we?” I whisper, not that I’ll have any clue if he does say. It’s not like geography was high on my list of studies.

Conrad doesn’t reply beyond hauling me forward and because I’m not wearing any shoes, my feet are instantly met with sharp, nasty little stones that force me to walk on tiptoes to try to limit the pain.

Ahead, there’s two arched, solid oak doors and they creak open as we approach.

A man in robes stands watching us in silence, and in both fear and stupidity I cling to Conrad while my head tells me that this man, this priest is from the Brethren. Are they going to condemn me? Is that what this is, is this my judgement? Will I be shipped off to Oblivion now because I wouldn’t shut up and be a good girl for my captor?

Conrad pulls me in closer. His arm wraps around my body, and it’s a stark reminder that I have no good options here. No good choices.

Inside, the flagstone floor is freezing. And dirty. It’s like the place has never been swept. Crispy old leaves are scattered across the floor, and all over are what look like markers for people buried beneath.

This place can’t be a chapel, it’s more of a crypt. Somewhere you bury nasty little secrets you don’t want to ever get out.

Candles flicker in the windows, providing the only form of lighting.

The altar is the one thing that looks maintained, and laid across it is a thick black velvet fabric adorned with the Brethren crest, stitched in a bright gold thread.

But that’s not what gets my attention. It’s the red ribbon, the knife, and the two rings that make my heart literally stop.

My tormentor fixed a veil onto my head, smiling at me like this moment is the best damn one of his life.

“Noooo,” I gasp, stepping back and trying to pull myself free from Conrad’s grip.

The Priest frowns, glancing at him, but he doesn’t make any attempts to do anything as Conrad grabs me by the throat and all but throws me down the last part of the aisle where I land in a heap, giving them both an eyeful.

“You have a choice.” Conrad says, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Marry me, or go to Oblivion and be fucked every which way until your body gives out, and you’re used up entirely.”

I try to argue, to fight, but my words get lost in my mouth. My fear overrides everything, and all that comes out is a pathetic wail. I hate him. I hate that there is no choice. No reprieve. No escape.

If I were braver, I’d say screw him and take my chances, but I know if I go to Oblivion, he can find me there. All my aunt’s hateful friends will also find me there. And what they will do, how they will make me suffer…

No, I don’t have a choice. I don’t have anything now. I am lost. Ruined.

This man ruined me the night he raped me, and he’s destroyed every last piece of my liberty since then.

“I will be a good husband.” He says, as if I believe a word of it. “I will treat you well. I will take care of you.”

“Like you have up until now?” I snarl. He’s not shown any care whatsoever, he’s manipulated me, coerced me, manoeuvred me into this position where I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, and he wants to pretend that he’s done that from a place of consideration? What a hypocrite.

His eyes flash and his hand tightens around my arm, but he already knows that he’s won.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” He states, “but either way, you are becoming my wife. Tonight.”

I shake my head, even as the blow of his hand hits me and my face falls back, slamming into the marble altar.

“I don’t want, I don’t want…” My words are silenced by another blow to the mouth that splits my lip.

Clearly, Conrad thinks that’s enough, that he’s won, because he waves his hand for the Priest to start the ritual. If he thinks I’ll just give in, if he thinks a few smacks are enough to subdue me then he clearly hasn’t been paying attention.

“Please,” I say, turning my eyes to the man standing watching us both. He’s a Brethren Priest. Surely, he won’t allow this? Conrad might be a Blake, but I’m not a nobody. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t…”

“That’s enough of that.” Conrad says cutting across me.

“I’m a Mon, Mon, Monclere.” I say as forcefully as I can. “My grandfa-father is Lord…”

“Your grandfather doesn’t give a fuck about you.” Conrad retorts, and I hate how true those words are. “He thinks you ran away, just like your whore of a mother did. When he realises that that’s not the case, he’ll be relieved that you haven’t tarnished the family name further.”

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