Page 23 of Semper

In perfect sync, the nuns moved towards me like puppets on strings. I struggled to get up, but Alexander's hand pressed firmly on my back, forcing me back onto the altar.

"Stay," he whispered softly as the nuns approached.

My heart pounded in my chest as they threaded the cold steel chains through metal hoops and tightened them around my wrists. Each chain pulled taut until I was stretched out, completely immobilized against the altar. Fear and disbelief consumed me as I realized there was no escape from this twisted ritual. Alexander's voice dripped with command as he switched to the Isle's native tongue.

The two women bowed low in perfect unison and intoned, "Our honor,Diabolus," before retreating into the shadows with haunting silence.

My heart raced as Alexander's hand stroked my spine in a disturbingly soothing manner. Without warning, he moved towards the cart and retrieved something. Fear shuddered through me as I heard the clink of metal. My mind raced with dread as I tried to prepare myself for whatever was about to unfold. The nearby flame cast eerie shadows on the walls as Alexander approached me from behind. I could feel his presence looming, yet unseen. With each step he took, my body became more tense, and my mind filled with terror. Suddenly, his hands were on me again, but this time they weren't holding me down - they were tying something around my eyes.

A blindfold.

My vision was engulfed in darkness, amplifying every other sense. I was completely at his mercy.

I heard his footsteps retreating, the soft click of his shoes on the stone floor, leaving me momentarily alone in this vulnerable state. My heart hammered in my chest as the seconds stretched on, and I strained to hear where he had gone. With a swift return, he stood close once more, his hands gathering my hairand exposing the nape of my neck. A cold rush of air hit my skin as I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

His blade sliced through the back of my dress, leaving it in tattered shreds and exposing my bare back to the room. His fingers grazed the tender mark beneath my shoulder blade, his touch almost reverent as he traced the symbol that bound me to him. The pain was still fresh, still healing, but he seemed to relish it. As the quiet sounds of the cart being pushed filled the Chapel once more, voices joined in.

“That’s a beautiful sight,” Bishop's deep voice broke through.

“It’s healing nicely,” an unfamiliar male chimed in.

“But not too healed yet,” Alexander's dark voice cut through the air with intent. “Perfect for what I need to do.”

I bit down hard on my lip, suppressing a whimper. They were talking about the mark— the one that bound me to him in ways I still couldn’t comprehend. My breath quickened, every inch of me acutely aware of their eyes, of what they had planned. And there I was, exposed and bound, a living canvas for their twisted rituals. “Where do you want us?” the unfamiliar voice asked, a trace of curiosity in his tone. “Either side, just as a precaution,” Alexander’s voice was smooth, as though this was routine for him, a well-practiced art. I tensed instinctively as I felt their approach, one on each side of me.

Their silent, watchful presence was a dark shadow that hovered over me, making my skin crawl. The unfamiliar voice spoke again. “Do you remember Dad telling us the story of Mom?” “Of course.” Alexander’s reply was sharp and to the point. “This isn’t remotely the same.”

I shuddered as the words sunk in. The other voice was his brother—Emilio. Footsteps sounded again, heavy in the oppressive silence. I flinched as the sensation of cold liquid ran down my back. It felt like ice, coating the raised lines of his brand on my skin, dripping down along my spine. The chainsrattled again as I jolted forward against the altar, trying to brace myself for what was coming next. The bowl was set back on the cart with a soft clink, and then I felt the heat. A surge of panic shot through me as I realized what was about to happen.

“Please," I whispered, my voice trembling.

Alexander leaned in, his voice low and deliberate. "You've been so obedient thus far, Lolita. Don't ruin it now."

I whimpered, the sound catching in my throat, as the heated blade hovered just above my skin. The warmth radiated against me before the sharp edge made contact, searing a path through the numbing cold. The heat wasn't enough to burn me completely, but it left behind a lingering sting that sent waves of agony through my body. I bit down hard on my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

"Shh," Alexander's voice was strangely calm and gentle as he pressed down, dragging the blade over the already-marked skin. "Just let it happen."

I couldn't hold back a gasp as the heat intensified. The blade moved with precision, tracing every curve and line of his mark like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.

My entire body felt like it was engulfed in flames as the sensation shifted from dull heat to searing pain. I could feel blood trickling down my back. It was like a symphony composed by a sadistic maestro, with each note building upon the last until it reached a crescendo of anguish. His hand held me steady, his fingers like a comforting anchor as he tilted my head to the side. The two men flanking me tightened their grips on my arms, working with the chains to ensure I stayed still. Alexander's voice was both soothing and unnervingly dark as he worked, his movements precise and calculated.

"Almost done, my sweetdeliciae," he murmured. I tried to fight the instinct to thrash against the pain. My eyes squeezedshut, desperate to block out the searing heat of the blade against my flesh, but it was futile. Each cut felt like a fiery brand.

Alexander's voice was a soft command in my ear. "You can handle this. You're mine, remember? You've always been stronger than you think." I whimpered again, tears streaming down my cheeks from beneath the blindfold that covered my eyes. I clung to his words, trying to find strength in them. He removed the blade and ran his hand over the new mark, tracing its lines with reverence. The fresh wound stung beneath his touch, reminding me that it was now a part of me forever.

"It's beautiful," he said, to himself. "You bear it well."

I could feel blood still dripping down my back, hot and sticky as it trailed in thin lines over my skin. The wound throbbed, a stinging sensation that flared with every shallow breath I took. My body trembled, and the chains rattled softly as I fought to keep still. A cool liquid was poured over the mark again, and I hissed as it hit the raw flesh, making the pain even worse. The sudden cold contrasted violently with the heat of the burn, sending waves of sharp discomfort through me.

“Easy now,” Alexander soothed from behind me.

I felt the soft dabbing of a cloth against the wound, wiping away the blood with slow, careful motions. The pain dulled slightly, but it was still unbearable. My back felt as though it had been torn open, the stinging intensifying with every movement. Then, something cool and gel-like was smeared over the mark. It burned at first, making me flinch under the gentle pressure of his hand. As the gel spread, the sting faded slightly, replaced by a numbing sensation that soothed the worst of the pain. The men continued to converse behind me, their voices a low murmur, as if I wasn’t there.

“You did well, brother,” Emilio commented. “The lines are perfect.”

“I wouldn’t allow anything less on her body,” Alexander replied casually, his tone filled with pride.

Bishop let out a soft chuckle. “We’ll be seeing her again soon, right?”

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