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She stares at me like she can’t believe I’ve even asked that question.
“Hell yeah, I do. It takes guts to realize you're not happy with your life and to make a drastic change, not knowing what the outcome will be.”
No one has ever called me brave before, and I preen at the compliment while also remembering that wanting praise is a sin.
“You’ve already done the hardest part,” Dara continues, oblivious to my internal struggle. “And if you try the outfit on and don’t like it, I can run home and grab you another.”
Not seeing that I have any other choice and knowing that, on some level, she’s right, I reluctantly nod.
She claps her hands together. “Excellent.” She spins around, offering me some privacy as I hurriedly pull off Don’s clothes and shimmy into Dara’s.
The clothes are form-fitting and tight, like nothing I’ve ever worn, and when Dara turns back around, she whistles. “Damn, girl. You look fucking hot.”
I can only assume by her tone that that’s a good thing.
“See for yourself,” she points toward a floor-to-ceiling mirror and anxiously, I walk over to it.
I freeze several feet away, staring at my reflection as though I’ve never seen it before. In fairness, I was rarely permitted to look in the mirror, and it has been some time since I last did. Vanity is a sin and when you have the Devil inside you, staring into your eyes for too long might call him forth.
However, the woman staring back at me looks far different than the girl I remember. My breasts are larger, and the low neckline of the halter top has much of them on display. My body is also more shapely than I remember, tapering in at my waist and then flaring out at my hips, giving me an hourglass figure that can clearly be seen in the tight outfit.
“See, I told you,” Dara says, coming to stand behind me. She glances down, and I see when she spots the other reason I was reluctant to wear this outfit.
She tenderly brushes my hair aside before trailing a delicate finger along one of the scars. Her features darken, and gone is the bright, bubbly girl. In her place is someone as dangerous and ruthless as Don.
“Penance?” she questions.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
I shrug a shoulder. “For angering God. For breaking the Ten Commandments. For giving in to the devil's temptation.”
“What could you have done so wrong that required permanent scarring to atone for?”
“I brought a plague to our town that destroyed our crops, and now everyone will have to suffer through a harsh winter with inadequate rations.”
Dara stares at me in shock. “That’s not your fault.”
All I can do is shrug helplessly. “I caused Mrs. Beecham to have a miscarriage when I accidentally touched her on my way to school one day.”
Now Dara just looks confused. “Did you push her over or something?”
I shake my head. “No. I just brushed her arm, but within the hour, she was having cramps and had to go to the hospital.”
“How does that have anything to do with you?”
I indicate my red hair and strange eyes. “The Devil communicates through me.”
Instead of the fear I expected, Dara just snorts. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“You don’t think it’s true?” I ask, unable to hide my hopefulness as I observe her through the mirror.
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. I don’t believe in a god who demands a blood sacrifice from his followers.”
Turning, I search her face before asking, “Then what type of god do you believe in?”
“I am my own god,” Dara states with a chin lift. “I am the only one responsible for my own actions and behaviors.”
