Chapter Text
I called myself Clancy, at least after my first escape.
After I became aware of the horrors of the city, I decided to go read the minimal books the bishops created that share the history. One name stood out to me, the first Bishop, who went by Clancy.
Not much is known about him, other than that he founded this city. They say he kicked out those he deemed unworthy of being citizens and that he wielded strong magic to enforce it.
They also say that he passed down that magic to the next generation of Bishops, but that seemed to just be folklore.
I decided to name myself after him, possibly as an act of rebellion? I’m still not too sure.
My existence was already an act of defiance. I was born a girl to my parents, but I had secretly always wanted to be a boy. I was also born into the Easton family, a family that has been in the city since it was founded. At least that’s what my brothers told me. I have no way of knowing if it’s true.
“Abigail!” That name rang through the apartment, and I looked up from the book I was reading to see my mother.
She cleared her throat, giving me a silent apology for shouting.
“As you know, you’ve reached the age where you can witness the annual assemblage,” she said, and I looked up at her.
“You’re still letting me go?” I asked, and she nodded. “It’s either we let you come, since you’re now fourteen, or you get placed under Bishop supervision for the night.”
Two things that had the same outcome. I’d still be a prisoner, but if I went to the assemblage, there’s a chance I could sneak off.
When I was out in Trench I met a boy around my age, he said that his name was Joshua, and that he was in line to be the next Bandito leader, whatever that meant. I wasn’t able to talk long, as that’s when Keons came and got me.
I remember Joshua told me that he’d come back for me at some point, but I was brought out of my daydream by my mother tapping her foot against the hardwood floor.
I pushed my hair out of my eyes and nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“Wonderful, hopefully it’ll jog your memory back to where our traditions lie.”
She left the room, and I was once again able to keep studying peacefully, pushing the concept of attending the assemblage to the back of my mind. It wasn't until a few weeks from now, giving me enough time to plan. I wanted this city to know me as the Clancy who defied, the Clancy that destroyed everything the original bishop had built.
Later that night, I sat at the dinner table with my family, which was always awkward since my escape attempt. I was the first Easton to attempt escape in the entire time my family has been here. We didn't talk much at meals anymore, except for my younger brothers, who were talking about their days to our parents. I couldn't bother to listen. Once I had finished eating, which was always quick, was when I spoke up.
"May I be excused?" I asked, and my father nodded as he took a sip of his water. "Just don't leave the apartment, young lady."
I cringed internally at being called young lady. Of course my parents didn't know, it was illegal in the city to be different in that aspect, and sharing it publicly has worse punishment than attempting to escape. I rinsed my plate off in the sink before turning around and heading towards my room to grab pajamas. If I was giving myself anything tonight it was a hot shower.
I grabbed a white shirt and a pair of black shorts from my room before heading to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me, and I sighed.
This was the worst part of my night. I hated looking at myself, but I had to get over the anxiety that came with the dysphoria, so I always told myself that I'd get it over with quick, but that never happened. Once the hot water hit my skin I didn't want to leave.
It soothed me, despite feeling like my skin was melting off. The burn distracted me from my thoughts, especially all the ones regarding that I was trapped here forever.
After my shower I went directly to my room. Usually I stayed up reading the minimal books I had, but tonight I needed as much sleep as I could get, considering I started classes tomorrow that "reteach" the propaganda. I've heard stories about it throughout the city, and I've also heard some call it "reprogramming." I wasn't sure what they did, but all I knew was that I was scared.
I just hoped I could remember my name by sunset, so I started whispering to myself as I fell asleep.
"I am Clancy Easton, I am 14, I will be okay."
That was all I could do to soothe myself until I drifted off.
The next morning was bleak, but if I was being honest, it fit the mood of what was going to happen. I woke up earlier than usual, so that gave me time to brush all the tangles out of my hair. When I was younger my mother told me that sometimes it’d take 30 minutes to brush my hair because of how much I moved in my sleep. That was one thing that didn’t change about me, and I was glad it didn’t.
“Abbie! Hurry up!” one of my brothers shouted from outside the bathroom. Every time they tried to rush me I ended up taking longer, just to be petty. When I finally left, I ruffled my brother’s hair, who gave me a glare in response. I was the oldest of three, and my two younger brothers were twins. They practically did everything together, and we used to be closer until my escape attempt.
“Do I need to bring anything with me?” I asked my mother as I walked into the kitchen. She shook her head. “Supplies will be provided there.” I nodded as I grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter. “When will we be leaving for the towers?”
My mother paused for a moment before turning to look at me. “You’ll be escorted there in a few minutes, I have to walk your brothers to school.”
I knew that was just being used as an excuse. My brothers were twelve, they could easily walk themselves to school, but there was the time they tried skipping and a priest had to personally escort them back to their class. Missing school in Dema was obviously frowned upon, at least at that age. I should still be in school, but I was a special circumstance due to my escape attempt. Which seriously pissed me off.
“Abigail,” my mother started, and I looked back at her. I could hear the footsteps of the guards walking down the hallway. Walls were thin here, which was another way to spy on us. Whatever she had to say I hoped she said it quickly. “I know I’ve been harsh lately, but it’s because I love you, and I want what’s best for you.”
There was a knock at the door, and I nodded. “I know,” I replied, opening the door. “I’ll see you later, mom.”
I followed closely behind the guards, fidgeting with the hair tie I kept on my right wrist. I couldn’t show my nervousness, I didn’t know what would happen to me if I did. We walked out of the main door to the complex and I was hit with a blast of cold air; winter in the city was never merciful.
“Can I put my hair up?” I asked, and the guards stopped. “It’s too windy, I can’t see.”
“Blurryface said to get her to the towers as quickly as possible,” one said, and another sighed. “She can’t see,” he said, pointing at my long hair that was currently getting whipped around by the wind, “it’ll only take a few seconds.” He gave me a slight nod and I quickly put my hair into a low ponytail, which made things a lot easier.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and he nodded. “I have young daughters back at home, I understand how annoying long hair can be.” We kept on walking, my shoes crunched against the newly fallen snow, and when we got to the towers I was told to go to Nico’s.
I was taken to the second floor of our leader’s tower and locked into a room. The guard stayed by the door, and I sat down at a desk. There was a notebook, two pencils, and a pencil sharpener. This was the thing that they called reprogramming? It seemed like regular school.
Suddenly, I felt icy pinpricks on my neck and my brain went foggy. All I could focus on was the bishop in the front of the room, it was Nico.
“My child, you will pay attention, you will learn the error of your ways, and you will become a functioning member of the city once again,” he said, and I nodded.
The icy sensation ran down my spine, and it felt like someone had wrapped my neck in barbed wire. “Tell me your name, child.”
The more I fought against the control the more pain I felt. “Abigail Beatrice Easton,” I replied, letting go of whatever control I still had against the bishop’s dark magic. “That’s my name.” The pain faded, and Nico smiled. “Good.”
I was returned home at sunset with no memory of what happened. All I noticed was the brain fog never truly went away. Dinner was full of conversation tonight, and I went to bed without reading once again. I could tell something was different, but I couldn’t figure out what.
However, as I was closing my blinds, I noticed the lights of torches in the streets below. The sight of the yellow in the flames broke through a part of the brain fog, and I remembered the color outside of the walls. I looked back out the window and noticed that there were no torches, so I passed it off as a sign that I needed to sleep. When I closed my eyes though, a boy in a green hoodie with yellow tape passed through my mind.
I didn’t know who he was.