Page 24 of Breaking Ophelia
I let my finger linger over the signature. I wonder if he hesitated before he wrote it. Or if he even knew what he was signing me up for.
It doesn’t matter. The future is set.
I stand again, this time with intent. I flatten my skirt, tie my hair tighter, and face the stained-glass crest head-on. For a moment, I imagine myself as one of the panthers in the mosaics—cornered, but still dangerous.
The door opens behind me. I tense, but it’s just Dr. Abelard, this time alone.
He doesn’t bother to sit. He keeps the door propped open with his shoe, as if expecting a short visit.
“Ms. Morrow.”
I nod. “Dr. Abelard.”
He studies me, and I wonder if he’s searching for weakness, or just confirming that I haven’t fainted. “I thought I would reiterate a few key points. You are not the first to resist,” he says. “But the cost is always the same.”
I want to scream at him, tell him the cost is my life, but I keep my voice level. “I don’t see it fair that I pay my fathers debt.”
He raises a brow. “Have you no loyalty? Would you consign your father to death for the sake of pride?”
The question lands like a slap. “If this is about breeding, pick someone else. I’m not worth it.”
He almost laughs. “You misunderstand, Ms. Morrow. It is not about worth. It is about will. Yours has already been accounted for.”
I feel the tremor in my knees, but I plant my feet. “What if I go to the authorities? Or the press?”
He does laugh, then—a cold, unfiltered sound. “You think this is the first time a girl has threatened us with exposure? No one will believe you. No one ever does.”
I believe him. That’s the worst part.
He gestures to the folder in my hand. “Sign the contract. Save yourself the trouble.”
I grip my pen. My fingers shake so bad I nearly drop it, but I steady myself against the table and sign. My name looks small next to my father’s.
He takes the folder, tucks it under his arm, and nods. “You will report to Mr. Montgomery at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow. Wear white. All your clothing will be white from now on. Your wardrobe has already been corrected accordingly.”
He leaves, and the door swings closed with the sound of a coffin lid.
For a long time, I stand in the center of the room, hands empty, feeling the outline of the word prey being burned into my skin.
As I exit, I hear voices through the wall. Ms. Valence, unmistakable, her vowels sharpened to points: “She’ll run.”
“They always do.”
A pause, then: “Have Caius mark her. It’s safer that way.”
My breath comes shallow. I press a hand to my chest and tell myself I will not break.
Tomorrow, I will wear white.
Tomorrow, I will fulfill my duties, but only because the alternative is death.
Half of me wonders what would happen if I were infertile by some chance.
But then a memory hits me.
The check-up I had right before coming here…
I’m definitely breedable.
