Accidental Surrogate

#Chapter 179 — Bound Trigger warning — Assault (non-sexual)

Ella

"It’s all right, Ella."

The first priest says, approaching me as one might a skittish horse — with slow, measured movements and hands exposed to show he holds no weapon.

"We only want to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" I question shakily, my back flush against the locked door.

"You have a very powerful magic inside you, and if it's allowed to come out you’ll be exposed.We can’t let that happen." He explains, using a tone much too gentle to be trustworthy.

It’s as though he’s trying to trick me, to convince me he’s kind when he truly intends malice.

"I don’t have any magic." I insist, wishing that I did.

Maybe if I was magic I might be able to put a stop to the things happening here — to protect the others without bringing harm to myself.I was so preoccupied with this statement that I almost missed the second piece of information.

"Exposed to what?"

"You do, it just hasn't shown itself yet."

The second priest sighs, keeping his distance but watching me with sharp eyes.

"At least not in ways you understand.Tell me, have you never noticed how much stronger you are than your peers? That you can hear and smell things from much greater distances? That you can run faster, jump higher, suffer greater injuries with less pain?"

He inquires, his hawkish gaze searing into me, "do they not follow you? Gravitate to your side and obey you as a leader?"

My head spins, making me dizzy with the possibilities.He guesses correctly, but that can’t be because I have some sort of special power.It's just the way things are...isn’t it? "And exposed to a world you cannot yet join."

The first man adds.

"It must happen when the time is right - but that time is a very long way off."

"I don’t understand."

I squeak, a sense of pure dread settling in the pit of my stomach.

"We know, Ella."

The second man proclaims, "And I’m sorry that this must happen, it will not be pleasant, but it is necessary for the future of our people."I shake my head, fighting back tears.

Their words are triggering every alarm bell in my young mind.I know what men do to little girls under the guise of necessity, the pretense of helping or protecting.

And I know exactly how unpleasant things can get.

My blood runs cold, and my pulse races, triggering a strange new energy deep in my bones.

It pulses through me like a bolt of electricity, a wild thing writhes just beneath my skin, feral and rabid — begging to be free.

I hiss, my body shuddering with

each

on — another week and we’d be

"I’m sorry, child."

professes gravely,

do this if there

I’ve ever experienced before, takes over my

instincts are screaming at me to run, to get away at

men intend will be far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory

isn’t anywhere to

door at my back and two attackers far larger and stronger than I am bearing down on

my teeth into his

wrenches me away from the door, propelling me further into

my legs, and I’m lifted

screams muffled

mouth, the metallic tang

I’m gagging, fighting for air

fight them — I’m powerless

the wind for all the effort

the air, sounding very

deeper than my own, thick with grief and pain more complex than the

tinged with concern, joins the terrible

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

voice, floating above

"We're so close."

coming from, and the priests don’t seem to hear

nothing more than a

the floor

sits on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag

extracts a shimmering silk cloth, it’s pearlescent sheen glimmering like

when they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens

it round and round

against my sides and

soon

falls over my mouth, the priest finally removes his

scream escapes before the moonlight closes over my gaping lips, locking my face into the contours of

able to breathe, though I

nightmares come to life - my mind is awake but I’m trapped in

endings and muscles to move, to do something - anything! But nothing

strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of beads? novelebook A bottle uncorking? For all the fabric’s strength, it does not

with some pungent, herbaceous fragrance a moment before drops of moisture seep through the silk and onto

my body, stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on my head, chest, arms and

foreign electricity in my veins warning me that

I know I’m running out of time, but I refuse to

speaking

around the small room, carrying