Page 91 of Buried in Blood

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Good.

Pain means I’m still here. Still mine.

But it doesn’t stop the chant.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.

I want to rip the words out of my skull.

Scrape them off my brain with broken glass.

I want to scream.

But instead, I lie back down.

And whisper the last chant out loud.

Just once.

So it hears me.

So I make a promise back.

“Obedience is golden. Sin is cleansed.”

But not for long.

Not for fucking long.

27

Damien

The Golden Hollows doesn’t creak.

Ithums. Low. Subtle. Electric.

The kind of sound you don’t notice until it stops—and when it does, you realize you’ve gone deaf in one ear.

I like it that way. Controlled. Alive.

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