Page 31 of His Eternal Claim

All I can see and remember, even when I press hard against it, is the void.

Blood.

Screams.

Hollow eyes.

Trembling hands.

I shut my eyes tight, shaking my head until the room spins.

Stop it. Stop it.

I want the illusion. I want to believe she is my Mother, and this is home. I want to be the girl who obeyed the spoon, because the girl who knows the truth is a girl who has to fight. And I am so, so tired of fighting. It is easier to be the weapon. It is easier to be the doll.

But then I feel the weight of the photograph in the mattress.

Property of the Cosa Nostra.

I am not hers. I am not his. I am a ledger to be balanced. I am a debt to be paid.

The day drags on in a blur of forced normalcy. I move from the bed to the chair. I flip pages of books I don’t read. I eat a lunch of chicken and roasted vegetables. I am the perfect prisoner because I provide my own bars. I am terrified of what will happen if I climb the walls. If I look over the edge of the “sanctuary,” will I find a cliff? Or will I find that there is no ground at all?

Evening falls, dragging a shroud of grey over the manicured gardens. The shadows in the corners of the room stretch, those long, dark fingers reaching for me again.

The door opens. My Mother enters, draped in silk. She looks radiant in red.

“It’s time to get ready for dinner, Selene,” she says, her eyes glittering with a strange, frantic excitement. “I’ve invited our guests I told you about this morning. It’s time you started rejoining the world.”

She leads me to the vanity. I sit on the cushioned stool, staring at my reflection. My skin is pale, my eyes too large for my face. I look like a Victorian waif. My Mother stands behind me, picking up a silver-backed brush.

She begins to stroke my hair.

“Do you remember, Selene? When you were six, and you got that ribbon tangled in your hair? You cried for an hour because you thought I’d have to cut your hair off.” She laughs, a light, tinkling sound. “I spent the whole night untangling it. I wouldn’t let a single strand be lost.”

I look at her in the mirror. Our eyes meet.

We have the same jaw, the same high cheekbones. We look like two versions of the same tragic story. But her eyes are bright with a terrifying certainty, while mine are hollowed out.

“I… I don’t remember the ribbon,” I say softly.

Her hand pauses. The brush stays in mid-air. Then she continues, her voice unfaltering. “Of course you don’t, darling. You were so small. And the trauma… it buries the sweet things deep. But they’re there. I’m keeping them safe for you.”

You’re erasing them. You’re burning the forest to make sure I don’t get lost in the trees.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers, leaning down to press her cheek against mine. “You are my greatest achievement, Selene. My masterpiece.”

Nausea surges up my throat. A masterpiece is something you display. A masterpiece is something you sell to the highest bidder.

“Mama?” I ask, my voice trembling. “When can I leave this room? When can I go outside? Into the real world?”

She smiles. “Soon, my love. Very soon. But the world is dangerous right now. People are looking for you. People who want to hurt you. People like Vitale.”

“I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s why tonight, you’re coming downstairs. We’ll have dinner together. Just like a family. I want you to see that you are safe here. That you can trust me.”

She stands up, smoothing my hair one last time.

“Wear the blue silk. It complements your eyes. It makes you look… alive.”