Page 156 of Buried in Blood
I reach for the ceremonial cloth folded at the edge of the altar. White linen. Trimmed in red. Fireproof. It was Harmony’s job to wash these once.
Now she stains them in fucking betrayal.
“On your knees,” I say without raising my voice.
Reese guides them forward.
I hear the shuffling of bare feet, the stifled whimpers. One of them begins to sob.
I close my eyes, ears sucking in the sound like a sweet melody.
“We are born into sin,” I say, stepping in front of them. “And we die in it—unless we are chosen.”
I pace slowly between the girls. Neither meets my gaze.
That’s wise.
That’s instinct.
Because tonight, I am not a man.
I am a god.
And gods do not need forgiveness.
They need a sacrifice.
“This altar has seen pain,” I murmur. “It has tasted the marrow of those who came before you. Do you know what that means?”
Silence.
I crouch, grabbing the chin of the one on the left, forcing her to look up. Her eyes are wide. Glossy. Red-rimmed.
Terrified.
“It means it already knows your name.”
She sobs harder. I let her go.
I rise and return to the altar, slowly removing the blade from its sheath. The steel hums in the candlelight. Honed. Patient.
I raise it to my lips and kiss the flat edge.
Not in affection.
In thanks.
Reese shifts behind me. I don’t look at him.
He no longer speaks during the rituals. Not since Harmony left. Not since the light in his eyes began to flicker.
I wonder if she took it with her.
“It’s not enough to remove her,” I whisper to no one and everyone. “We have to scrub the stain. Boil it from the bones.”
I turn toward the girls.
“You are the offering,” I say gently. “You are the sponge.”
