I felt an inexplicable draw towards him offset by a deep-rooted repulsion. I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what had happened to me, but it was impossible to ignore. His sigil was on my back, his name carved into my thigh. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been trying to brand the inside of me too.

  I desperately wished for a deeper, more intense hatred towards him. It should’ve come easily.

  The hate was somehow muted, watered down. Was there something wrong with me? There had to be. And whatever it was had discord stirring within my chest.

  I may have grown up in the system, but I often thought of myself as one of the fortunate ones. I didn't carry the weight of a traumatic past that could easily explain or justify an attraction to someone as inherently twisted as Alexander.

  I pondered my feelings, the term 'Stockholm Syndrome' briefly flitting across my mind. Just as quickly, I dismissed it. Did I really fit into that psychological puzzle? Surely, Stockholm Syndrome involved some level of dependency or bonding as a survival strategy, neither of which I felt applied to me. Or did they? The truth was, I didn't have a clear answer. I was doing my best to not bond with my captor.

  If I were to fully explore that line of thinking, I feared what it might reveal about me.

  After handling my bladder and gently dabbing at myself, I washed my hands and went through the motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face, the simple tasks offering a brief respite. When I was finished, I took a moment to look out the window beyond the tub. The view was no less stunning than it’d been the day before.

  The expanse of water served as a natural prison, but it also ignited a determination within me and resolidified my resolve. I needed to hold onto my morality and sense of self—use it as an anchor to ground me and a lifesaver when this place threatened to drown me. I couldn’t ever let it go. Not until I figured out a way to free Anya, and hopefully myself.

  I wandered into the closet, thinking of the note he’d left as I perused the array of dresses.

  My fingers brushed over the rich fabrics as I searched, settling on a simple floral dress with capped sleeves. After I was dressed, I ran a brush through my hair, leaving it loose. I made my way downstairs, the aroma of food guiding my steps. The large kitchen was alive with activity. Esther and Nicolette were engrossed in culinary endeavors, their easy camaraderie evident as they moved around with practiced efficiency.

  There was no one else with them, and I hadn’t spotted anyone on the way down. That meant the usual staff wasn’t back on yet. With their hairstyles and light-colored dresses, they reminded me of two sugar plum fairies. There was a sense of familiarity between them, a dynamic that spoke of shared experiences.

  Alexander didn’t seem to think they were friends. I couldn’t tell if they were or rather just worked well together. I cleared my throat to announce my presence, and their attention simultaneously shifted to me.

  Esther's eyes lit up with a welcoming smile, appraising my chosen attire with approval.

  Nicolette offered a more conservative greeting. I was surprised to see her here. I knew she’d be coming back, but she had to be in pain worse than I was. I refrained from bringing it up, getting the distinct impression that would be the last thing she wanted. We were pretending it had never happened. Got it.

  "Good morning," Esther trilled, her tone infused with warmth. "I hope you slept well."

  "Morning,” I returned, purposefully not responding to the latter.

  “Have a seat. As soon as you’re done eating, we can leave.”

  I perched myself on a stool at the island, noting the way Nicolette was watching me as I helped myself to some of the watermelon Esther had just cut up before either of them could attempt to serve me.

  “I would’ve gotten that for you,” Esther remarked.

  I was instantly reminded of her brother. “I’m perfectly capable of using my own two hands. I appreciate it, though.”

  At my words, she and Nicolette shared a look, and then promptly moved everything out of reach. I watched them bemusedly.

  “Is it that big of a deal for me to get my own food?”

  Nicolette quirked her lips and put a hand on her hip. “Have you forgotten everything we discussed yesterday?”

  “That would be impossible.”

  “Then you know that the act of serving you is a way for us to express our devotion and loyalty.”

  I held my hand up and massaged my brow. “Please don’t start reciting the doctrine. I have a good memory and haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “Oh, really?” Esther challenged playfully.

  I huffed and straightened on the stool. “The Electi and the bond they have with their Nocturnus Disciples and Luna Vestals is not a relationship of dominance or subjugation, but rather a symbolic connection,” I recited as easily as I would pledging to the flag.

  “And what does the Electi provide?”

  “Guidance, protection, and leadership,” I answered.

  Esther beamed at me. “You really memorized that in one day?”

  “Honestly? I just recited one of the passages I read more than once.”

  “But you…memorized it in order to do so,” Nicolette pointed out.

  “It wasn’t that hard,” I replied, frowning as I realized how that sounded. “I’m not bragging or anything, I just meant it was easy to retain the information.”

  “The Isle approves of you,” Esther murmured, a reverence in her tone that immediately made me uncomfortable. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to witness something so sacred twice in my life.”

  "The Isle…approves?" I questioned slowly.

  Esther leaned forward, her fingers interlaced and expression now serious. "The Isle isn't just a piece of land surrounded by water. It's alive in its own right. It feels, it senses, and most importantly, it chooses."

  That was not the reply I’d expected. "You mean, like it has a consciousness? It’s a sentient being?"

  "In a manner of speaking, yes," Esther nodded, her gaze searching mine for understanding.

  "The Isle has a sort of... lifelike force. It's intertwined with our faith, our practices, and our livelihood. But this is a rare phenomenon. When someone is chosen, it's not just by the people, or by our Carnalis Dominus. It's by the very land we stand on."

  As I processed this information, it dawned on me that Alexander must have been the last person chosen by this so-called sentient Isle. It seemed like exactly the kind of narrative he would be entwined with. I couldn't help but view it all with a critical eye. To me, it sounded more like a carefully crafted story used to justify and romanticize their customs, rather than an actual, tangible truth.

  As Esther observed my reaction, a flicker of understanding crossed her face. "You don't believe me, do you?" she asked, her tone devoid of any anger or judgment. It was more of a statement than a question, reflecting her awareness of my skepticism.

  Her expression was calm, as if she had anticipated my disbelief from the start.

  I decided to stick with the truth. "No."

  Nicolette smothered a snort, clearly amused. Esther stared at me a moment longer and then began to laugh.

  “I completely get it,” she replied, sounding our age for once and not like Grandmother Willow. “Still, you memorized a good portion of it! I’m so proud of you.”

  That, strangely enough, did matter to me, regardless of how different our areas of belief were. Still, this didn’t seem like something I should thank her for, so I said nothing.

  “Do you want anything else?” Nicolette asked, gesturing to my plate.

  “Is there mustard?”

  She turned and retrieved a plump yellow bottle from the door of the refrigerator, the flared skirt of her midi dress floating around her as she did.

  It was long enough that any damage Alexander had caused was covered. I looked shamelessly to see if I could tell how badly she’d been hurt. I couldn’t get the image out of my brain. Her flesh had been split apart. How she was moving about so fluidly was beyond my understanding, especially when I wanted to soak in a sitz bath.

  “Here you go,” she chirped, setting it down beside my dish.

  “What are you going to put it on?” Esther asked.

  “My breakfast,” I replied simply, shaking the bottle.

  Both she and Nicolette stared at me.

  “That’s…an interesting combination.”

  Right. Mustard on watermelon was strange, but kidnapping women and making them go through a latent satanic ritual was fine. I drizzled the condiment on my fruit and recapped the bottle.

  I took a bite and relished the familiar flavors. The sweet juiciness of the watermelon intermingled with the tangy, slightly spicy kick of the mustard. I ate in silence, sipping from a glass of iced water that I allowed Nicolette to get me to humor their ideology. All too soon, Esther put the fertility smoothie and pills down beside my plate, reminding me of another objective Alexander had.

  I was tempted to dump them both in the sink or trash compactor. The foreknowledge of cameras stopped me from doing either. I stared at the glass with a frown. He had come inside me multiple times, enough that I’d lost count.

  If these smoothies did what Esther and he claimed they did, I was soon to have a major problem on my hands. That would be the absolute last thing I needed. But I didn’t know how to stop it from happening.

  With a deep breath, I took both pills and drank the smoothie. Alexander could easily review the camera footage to confirm if I had taken them. My attention shifted to Nicolette, who was in close proximity. I observed her carefully, trying to discern any sign of discomfort or pain.

  Her composure remained steadfast, still revealing nothing. Color me doubly impressed. Walking in on her being hit had been difficult to witness. Worse was the fact that I was more concerned about Alexander being intimate with another woman—even if by force—than the pain inflicted upon her.

  The realization hit me like a wave, a sobering and unsettling self-reflection. In the mere days since my arrival, I had started to confront truths about myself, truths that I'd rather have kept buried. There was a part of me I wasn't proud of.

  It seemed to be slowly unraveling, revealing desires and facets of my personality I had never acknowledged. Just like that moment in the bathroom, where I had been forced to confront the raw and unfiltered reality of my situation.

  Esther's voice broke through my somber reverie, drawing my attention back to the present. She outlined the plans for the day, mentioning a ride into town with Isaac, a Tenebrarius from her father's circle. His name rung as familiar. He’d been present the night of the soup incident.

  The idea of exploring the town had intrigued me since Alexander had mentioned it. It would give me a glimpse into the world beyond the walls of this enigmatic mansion and a chance to get a better idea of the Isle’s layout.

  "What about Alexander?" I inquired.

  Her face lit up in a way that indicated a misinterpretation of my question.

  “He will be working most of the day but informed me he’d be retrieving you from the Chapel.”

  Now that she mentioned it, that had been on my daily schedule. On alternate days, I would be escorted to Stygian Chapel to be further educated in my role, responsibilities, and learn all about the Isle's devout society.

  There were a dozen other things I’d rather do, but I deigned to keep any protests to myself until I could see if this was something that would help me in the future.

  The ride to town didn’t do any good for my resolve.

  From what I gathered after explanations from Esther and Nicolette, the Isle’s geography was a strategic masterpiece, designed not just for opulence but for the preservation of its clandestine traditions.

  One end of the Isle belonged to the Diabolus Estate, Alexander’s private fortress. I already knew it was a sprawling property, sheltered by thickets of dark woods and cliffs that rose up and plunged into the lake, largely cut off and symbolizing Alexander's desire for dominion and discretion.

  On a different edge of the Isle were the homes of the Magistri Tenebrarum. Esther explained that these grand residences belonged to those that aided Alexander, the equivalent of right-hand men with their own level of power and privacy. Her parents had their own sector.

  That information was enough for me to glean that the Isle as a whole didn’t seem to have many weak entry or exit points.

  We were dropped off at the edge of the town. I took a moment to absorb the scene. It was bustling with activity, the air filled with the sounds and energy of a vibrant community. As we stood there, it became apparent that we were just another part of the scenery. No one paid us any attention, each caught up in their own routines. It was a refreshing anonymity, allowing me to observe without intrusion.

  “Come on.” Esther nudged me forward, her familiarity with the place evident as she navigated through the streets as my tour guide. It quickly became clear who were tourists and who were locals. All the natives dressed in similar clothing to mine, making them easy to pick out, and the tourists? Well, they dressed as I once would have.

  Nicolette noticed me taking them all in and nodded as if answering a silent question. “The women of lower station show wear colors that don’t sand out, representing modesty, humility, and simplicity.”

  My brows rose, and I slowed as Esther moved closer so two women wearing taupe could pass.

  “Huh,” I hummed. I couldn’t recall seeing anything close to that shade inside the closet. It seemed whoever had established their way of life had truly thought of everything.

  We continued walking. Esther and Nicolette alternated in their explanations, pointing out various stores and happily giving me more information about the Isle. The town was a beautiful amalgamation of gothic old-world charm and contemporary flair.

  Benches and ornate streetlamps lined the streets. Every shop was in pristine condition. There were far too many for me to remember the names of, but I absorbed as much information as I could, funneling it away for later.

  The more I heard, the better my understanding became.

  Stygian Isle was a world all its own.

  I knew from the night I was branded that beyond the town were roads that split off and went elsewhere, one being their sacred Chapel.

  Alexander had meat delivered from a butcher. The fertility concoction was crafted from things grown here. That meant an area of the Isle was sequestered for agricultural purposes, which required land. As did the different areas of housing.

  If none of that was enough to convince me this place was even larger than I thought, what I saw with my own two eyes did.

  Aside from the various shops and eateries that peppered the streets, there was Medbay, a state-of-the-art medical facility that almost looked out of place. Esther explained it attracted wealthy families from afar, promising treatments that were both revolutionary and discreet.

  “If it’s so discreet, how do they know about it?” I asked.

  She gave me a blank look as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “Do you not believe that there are affluent people with ties to the Impío?”

  I did believe that, actually. When I considered the men who owned and ran Millennium, I believed it even more. After all, the Erebus family had secrets of their own. And I knew that thanks to Anya, who’d tried to find out all she could about them. We’d met two of the brothers only once, and that’d been enough for her to become scarily obsessed.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Nicolette asked, gently nudging my shoulder.

  Esther looked on with concern.

  I forced a smile for their benefit and nodded. “Yeah, just taking it all in.”

  “It’s a lot, but you’ll get used to it. Look over there, what do you think of that?” She pointed out a regal building deemed Stygian Theater, a blend of vintage charm and modern opulence, offering ‘performances that mesmerize’—Nicolette’s added words.

  What I didn’t see was the lighthouse. We had to be more inland. To escape this place and somehow hitch a ride on a boat, I needed to find the coastal point, right? I needed a damn map.

  “Would you like to pop in anywhere for a better look?” Esther asked, interrupting my plotting. “If anything catches your eye, just point it out and it’s yours.”

  I made a show of surveying the street we were on and rested my gaze on a looming structure a few blocks ahead of us.

  “You let people go in there?” I pointed to the cathedral standing tall and grand.

  There were tourists milling all around it. Some held cameras, others were carrying notebooks. Esther gently grasped my elbow to keep me moving and leaned closer to reply. “It’s merely a decoy, the original Stygian turned museum, and it serves as a brilliant ruse. It allows the tourists to leave with tales that are far from the Isle's truths, while sating their curiosity.”

  “And it works?”

  “Sometimes it really is as simple as people seeing what they expect to see,” she replied with a shrug. “The faux Chapel, this town.” She gestured around us. “It all serves a purpose. Strategic distraction. And a money pit.”

  Huh. I guess that was smart. We meandered over the crosswalk, and I couldn't help but notice a road that looked as if it belonged in a gothic version of Las Vegas.

  I turned to Esther and Nicolette. "Casinos too?”

  Esther laughed. “Yes, and our Pleasure House.”

  "The Pleasure House?" I echoed, a hint of surprise in my voice. "Is that like the Isle's version of a strip club?" The idea seemed so out of place in this meticulously maintained, almost surreal world.

  Nicolette's answer came with a knowing smile. "You're on the right track, but it's more intimate than that." Her words hinted at secrets and stories untold, further piquing my interest.

  I nodded slowly, hearing what she wasn’t saying. "But why? Why have something like that here?" My question was genuine, reflecting my growing fascination with the complexities of this place despite my perilous predicament and its true nature.