Page 56 of Whispers of Fire

Becoming mute made me focus on the things that I used to overlook and the many inconsistencies of my beliefs. As each day passed, I started questioning more our traditions.

Why did I have to dress like this? Why wasn’t I allowed to watch a movie like any other girl?

So many things just don’t make sense.

Never, in my many years at the Institute, from the age of two, did I learn who wrote the Ascendium, our holy book where all our guidelines and principles are written. Our Shepherd always refers to it as the most sacred text, but the origins remain a mystery to everyone. The Shepherd says our teachings are sacred, but I'm starting to wonder.

Were all those rules written for our own good, or to control us?

The more I think about it, the more I see how sheltered I've been. I’ve been living in a bubble, away from the real world. The outside world, the one I see glimpses of with Vox while he reads to me or makes me listen to the sweetest music I’ve ever heard. It just seems… colorful . It's as if Vox had opened a window to a world I never knew existed, one where laughter is free and smiles come naturally.

With him, I find a glimpse of freedom, a taste of a life I've never dared to imagine. His presence ignites a fire in me, urging me to break free from the chains of the Faithful Lambs and explore this new world that lies beyond our walls.

But what if I’m wrong?

The thought of defying the Shepherd and his teachings that have shaped my entire existence fills me with fear.

What if there's no life beyond our community, and I'm doomed to lose myself in the darkness of the outside world, taking for granted the life I always knew?

Vox told me about our Shepherd working with his club, buying… guns.

Dear god.

I don’t want to believe him, but then, why would he lie to me? He’s the only one who ever took care of me, despite not being from the community.

I want to know more, look for the signs that he’s indeed right. I need to talk with the Shepherd, just him and I. Only Elders can ask for a meeting with him, but if I am to become his wife, I believe I have the right to know the whole truth. My hands are sweating at this idea, but I need to know.

With Vox by my side, I feel stronger, less… alone.

Confronting the Shepherd is a risk. He could punish me for it, for daring to speak up my fears.

What if Vox is wrong? What if the Shepherd's intentions are pure, and I am simply misinterpreting his actions?

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself, pushing back the doubts that threaten to consume me. If the Shepherd accept to see me, it won’t be a walk in the park and the idea of being alone with him in a closed room is enough to make my anxiety spike through the roof. I know I need to prepare myself for whatever truths may emerge because confronting him is the only way I'll find clarity about my future.

On one side, there's the path I know, the one that's safe and predictable. It's about adhering to tradition, following the rules laid out for me since birth. But then there's another path, the one Vox embodies—a path filled with uncertainty but also with the promise of freedom and so much more .

Do I keep following blindly, or do I look for truth outside our community?

I don't know what's next, but finding my own way feels like a tiny light in the dark.

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I arrived at the Institute after my father drove me a few minutes ago. I told him I wanted to talk to the Shepherd to express my gratitude towards him for making me his wife. Don’t know how they bought it, but here I am, waiting in the corridor, outside the Shepherd's office. My skirt prickles against my legs. I’d rather be wearing a shorter skirt; it would feel less suffocating.

The Shepherd's office doors loom before me, huge and scary.

Just like him.

Alone on a plastic chair, I wait anxiously, my hands clammy from nerves. My mom opted to stay home, and my father, surprisingly, remained in the car. I expected him to accompany me so I wouldn’t be alone with another man, but he didn’t. My fingers fidget, twisting and turning, as I anticipate the moment the dark doors will swing open.

I glance down at my bag resting on the floor by my feet, my lifeline containing only a notebook and pen. And then, my hand brushes against it—the phone Vox gave me. I'm not sure why I brought it, perhaps for comfort, to feel his presence beside me. I want to reach out to him, text him about the last chapters he read to me, but the doors interrupt my thoughts with their abrupt creaking.

"Rose," the Shepherd's voice pierces the silence. I nod in response, unsettled by his departure from our customary greetings. He should normally say “To cleanse our sins” to which I would answer “we must obey”. This is the only form of greeting in our community.

Why is he not applying his own rule?

"Come in, child." He gestures with an outstretched hand, his tone commanding yet oddly cold. I rise from the chair, all of the sudden wishing I had never come. Something feels off about the Shepherd today, a darkness lurking beneath his facade. With a deep breath, I follow him into the office.

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