Liviana
I don't know how long I've been staring at the wall.
The grime and filth smeared across it tell stories of suffering—blood, scrapes of fingernails, dried spit, and worse.
Each mark, each stain, a testament to the countless souls who have been locked away before me.This dungeon is a pit of despair, a place meant to break the spirit, to crush resistance.
But they haven't broken me.
Not yet.
I shift slightly, the cold metal shackles digging into my already bruised wrists and ankles. Every movement is agony, but I refuse to show weakness.
That's what they want—to see me crumble, to hear me beg for mercy.
I won't give them the satisfaction.
I'm here again because I refused to participate in the so-called "Lord's Sharing."
A vile practice disguised as religious devotion, where the Prophet and his chosen male disciples take their pick of the women in the community.
They call it a divine offering, a sacred duty.
I call it what it is—barbaric.
I clenched my fists against the rough stone floor, my nails digging into my palms. I've been locked away so many times, beaten until my body screamed for relief.
Yet, I remain unyielding.
My refusal to submit has made me a challenge, an anomaly in their world of forced obedience.
They hate me for it. At first, they tried to starve me. Days without food, only water to keep me alive. When that didn't break me, they started with the whippings, the isolation, the endless sermons about my wickedness.
They finally allowed me a scrap of bread a day—but only after I confessed my so-called sins.
I spat the words out with bitterness, telling them what they wanted to hear. It was enough to momentarily satisfy them, but I knew this wasn't over.
They were keeping me here longer than usual.
Not because of punishment.
Because my suffering amuses them.
Bastards.
They relish the fact that I am still resisting, still fighting.
Unlike the others, who have been beaten and tortured into submission, I have refused to become a willing pawn in their twisted game.
But I can't keep this up forever.
I need to escape.
I don't know how.
I don't know when.
But I must.
If I stay here much longer, I'll lose whatever fragile hold I have on my sanity.
This place… it is not just hell.
It is worse.
I remember the world outside.
Faint, hazy memories from my childhood, before I was brought to this wretched community. A world with laughter, colors, freedom.
The Prophet's holy book calls it a place of sin, a realm of corruption and evil.
But I don't believe him.
I never have.
Because if this—this suffocating prison of rules and suffering—is what they call holy, then I would gladly take my chances with the so-called sinners beyond these walls.
The sound of metal scraping against metal jolts me from my thoughts.
The dungeon gate creaks open, the rusty hinges screaming in protest.
Fear slams into me.
Who is it this time? Another beating? A fresh form of torture? Or… is it Sister Daphne, bringing me food? Am I being released?My body tenses involuntarily.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself.
Wait…Why am I so afraid?I did nothing wrong.I only refused to be used.
A shadow looms over me. Heavy boots stomp against the cold stone floor.
I know those footsteps.
Brother Matthew.
The vilest, most cruel disciple in the entire community.
I lift my gaze slowly.
He stands there, his beady eyes filled with contempt, his thick beard framing his perpetual scowl.
"Get up, you devil spawn," he spits, voice dripping with disgust.
I force myself to my feet, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through my body. My lip is still split from the last beating, my ribs aching with every breath.
But I don't let him see my pain.
I won't give him that satisfaction.
He glares at me for a moment before delivering his next blow—not with his fists, but with words.
"You will be married to the Prophet in a few weeks."
The air is sucked from my lungs.
"What?" The word bursts from my lips before I can stop it.
He sneers.
"Are you deaf? The Prophet has decided to take you as his wife. It would have happened sooner if not for your disobedience and blasphemy. But in his infinite kindness, he has allowed you time to heal—so that you may be presentable for your wedding."
I feel like the ground has disappeared beneath me.
I knew this day was coming.
I had been betrothed to the Prophet since I was twelve. But I had foolishly hoped, prayed, that it would never happen.That maybe, somehow, I would be spared.But hope is a dangerous thing in this place.
Brother Matthew signals to one of the guards. Heavy hands grab at the iron cuffs on my wrists, unlocking them. My skin burns where the metal had bitten into it for days.
Sister Daphne appears, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she takes my arm and leads me away.
As we walk through the dimly lit corridors, a single thought pulses through my mind.
I have to get out.
I have to escape.
Caspian
Accidenti! I curse, slamming my glass down into the mahogany desk. The whiskey sloshed over the rim, a single drop splattering unto the papers before me.
"That fucking cult is ruining my plans". I mutter. "how do we go about this, Seb?"
Sebastian Bianchi—my best friend, my right hand man— leans against the desk, arms crossed.
"Brute force", he says simply. "It's the only way".
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the frustration boiling inside me.
"I want to take them out by force, Seb. But you know the rules. No harm to women and children and that community is filled with them"
I stare at the documents before me; maps, contracts, correspondence with the Bureau of land management.
For months, I've been trying to acquire land for a new wine factory. The location is perfect—strategic, profitable.
But there is one obstacle.
A religious community.
A fucking cult.
They claim to be a spiritual sanctuary, a place of devotion and purity.
But I know better.
Whispers of their practices have reached my ears.
I'm not saying I'm a saint or anything but I do not force people into demeaning practices against their will.
And now, I see their influence, how they've managed to sway the bureau against selling me the land.
It makes no sense.
Unless, of course, the director of the bureau is in their pocket.
I do not like being denied what is mine.
With a snap of my fingers, I could take that land. But I will not start a war. We have moved past the days of bloodshed, past the days of chaos.
Still, I need that land.
And I always get what I want.
I stand grabbing my coat.
"I'm going to go to the community and try negotiating with them"
Seb gives me a sceptical look "do you think that would work?"
"I don't know man, that's the best bet right now"
"I'll get the men ready" Seb said
As we stepped out of my office. I call out to Elsie—my assistant
"Cancel the rest of my appointments for today"
Elsie's sharp eyes narrow, "are you sick"
"No" I smile. "Just taking an early day for once"
She doesn't believe me. But she let's it go
"You two take care of yourself, I'll see you tomorrow"
"Yes ma'am" we echoed in unison before heading towards the elevator.