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.

my body shuddering with

men look at each other with grim

was spot on — another week and we’d

"I’m sorry, child."

priest professes gravely, closing the

this if there was

terror, unlike anything I’ve ever

to run,

intend will be far worse than anything the doctor or dormitory matron have

there isn’t anywhere

down on

teeth into his palm, but

away from the door, propelling me further into

man grabs my legs,

their hold, my screams muffled

mouth, the metallic tang fanning the flames in

fighting for air

what to do or how to fight them — I’m powerless in their strong grips, and they seem completely

as well be a feather swaying in the wind for all the effort they expend to

keening pierces the air, sounding very

than my own, thick with grief and pain

deep voice, tinged with concern, joins

"It’s too much."

"Just a little more."

second voice, floating above

"We're so close."

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

more than a pawn in their game — tiny and helpless to stop

onto the floor

restrains my wrists while the other sits on my kicking legs, pulling

it’s pearlescent sheen

when they begin wrapping it around my body, it tightens around me with the unyielding force

fabric, winding it round

arms are locked against my sides and

can’t move a muscle in the fabric’s punishing grip, and soon they’re wrapping my head,

my mouth, the priest

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

to breathe, though I don’t understand

to life - my mind is awake but I’m trapped in my own body, unable to move

do something - anything! But nothing happens because this isn’t a dream from

I strain to identify the sounds: the clink of glass? The jostling of

a moment before drops of moisture seep through the silk and onto

stones or crystals placed in deliberate patterns on my

that foreign electricity in my veins warning me that I won't be

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

begin to chant then, speaking

small room, carrying arcane