Chapter Text
The room was dark and time was infinite; any notion she had of space and time had been distorted beyond recognition. They had become futile, useless in the face of the punishment she was being subjected to. As useless as the attempts that had led her to this situation: the attempt to escape Him and the attempt to understand Him.
She was so foolish. Foolish like her mother and the cultists. The difference was that she wasn't replaceable like them, she was special. He couldn't kill her, but nothing stopped Him from punishing her for her foolishness, the latent foolishness, impulsiveness, and desperation that had doomed her from the beginning, from the day she first trusted Him. And the worst part was that she still trusted Him, despite everything. That ugly, inhuman feeling throbbed in her chest like a second heart; it was the thing keeping her alive amidst the filth, the isolation, and the revolt, which with each passing minute retreated into her mind, begging for mercy, slowly dying.
There was nothing, no one, just her, the silence, and the darkness. It made her miss Him, which disgusted her even more, as if the things He had put in her food and the incense in the air weren't enough. In her solitude, she heard voices, sometimes His, telling stories and taunting her, the kind of taunting she had tried to analyze more than she should have. Other times, she heard her older siblings—or rather, those she wished were her older siblings—in their incessant, childish debates. The worst thing was when she heard her mother's singing, so warm and loving. How disappointed would she be to know what her daughter had become and what she was thinking? Shame consumed her with every second, along with regret.
Would her mother hate her if she knew she was a coward? If she knew how submissive and vulnerable she was? If she knew the feelings she harbored? If she knew her neediness and hunger? If she knew the things she had done and the things she had grown accustomed to? All useless questions, like the actions and words that had led her to this situation. They were worthless; she would never see her mother again, because if there was one thing He had taught her long ago, it was that there were no gods or paradise, that there was nothing truly after death, that all of this was a lie meant to soothe or torment the hearts of pitiful human beings. Like a good daughter, she should listen to her Father's words. Like a good actress, she should follow his script. Breaking those boundaries was what had led her to this situation, after all.
Yes, she could behave, she could start all over again and survive, if she just held on until the end, until the dawn, hidden by the isolation of the locked room. She would obey, submit, not run away or say more than He wanted to hear. The second heart in her chest, the demonic and selfish heart, was winning, and she let it. It was better than the silence and the hallucinations, than the pain of missing her daily agony and the heavy feeling of the necklace around her neck, her beautiful chain. It was so easy to give up, to be a coward, and accept her difference from others. She might be foolish like them now, but she could improve as long as she obeyed, as she should have done from the beginning. After all, she was special, as her Father had always told her, she should be superior.
Bitter tears streamed down her face, the girl inside her, who should have died on that cliff years ago, begged her to turn back, to not give up on rebelling. But she was tired, so tired, so desperate, so hungry for sound outside her breathing and the whispers of her family. How could she not succumb? He truly knew her weaknesses, and had exploited them after she revealed His. Truly, by design, the two were not so different.