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.

go away!" I hiss, my

each

was spot on — another

"I’m sorry, child."

professes gravely, closing the

do this

I’ve ever

screaming at me to run,

far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory

isn’t anywhere to

and stronger than I am bearing down on me.I try to scream, but the second priest clamps

my teeth into his palm, but he doesn’t even

wrenches me away from the door, propelling me

man grabs my legs, and I’m lifted

violently against their hold, my screams muffled and

the metallic tang fanning

gagging, fighting for air and struggling to

how to fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they seem completely unaffected by my

be a feather swaying in the wind for all the effort they

the air,

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

tinged with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

voice, floating above me,

"We're so close."

no idea where these sounds are coming from, and

focus, and i’m nothing more than a pawn in their game —

thrust onto the floor

other sits on my kicking legs, pulling his tool bag to his

pearlescent sheen

begin wrapping it around my body,

fabric, winding it round and round like a

arms are locked against my sides and my legs tightly

punishing grip, and soon they’re wrapping my head, as if they intend to mummify me

silk falls over my mouth, the priest finally removes his hand from

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

to breathe, though I don’t

is awake

my nerve endings and muscles to move, to do something - anything! But nothing happens because this isn’t a dream from which I can

of my silken prison, and I strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of

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

are laid over my body, stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns

desperately trying to fight the cocoon, that foreign electricity in my veins

time, but I

speaking a language I do

small room, carrying arcane power older than the