Page 108 of Beautifully Shattered
I jerk away from the scrapbook like it’s going to burn me, but in the next second, I have it in my hands again, turning the page.
There in the middle of the page is a photo of a very young version of my mum. I know it’s her. She’s shown me pictures of herself as a child before, just never this one.
“Fuck,” JD mutters over my shoulder, and I can feel him and Jols flanking me on one side, and Ringo on the other. “Is that…”
I nod before he can finish. “That’s my mum,” I whisper, pointing to the little girl in the picture. “And that man…”
I can’t bring myself to finish, because surely this is some sick joke?
“That’s Banes. Minister Banes,” Ringo mutters in a deep growl, and I shake my head in disbelief.
A youthful version of Minister Banes stares out from the photo, and on his knee sits my mum. Probably only six or seven years old.
Shocked, but desperate for answers, I flip to the next page, finding a photo of my mum as an early teen, surrounded by kids a similar age. They don’t look happy, but they don’t look miserable either. Just eerily neutral, like it’s a class photo where they weren’t allowed to smile.
“That fucker looks familiar,” Ringo growls, jabbing a finger at one of the boys in the picture, and my heart slams to a stop.
“Oh shit. That looks like that Daniel fucker,” JD snarls, but I shake my head.
“Not Daniel. It’s his dad. Karl.”
“Did he and your mum grow up together? Go to the same school?” Jols asks what’s running through my head.
“I… I don’t know.” I glance over my shoulder at Jols. “My mum never mentioned him, and when I first started seeing Daniel, it seemed like they didn’t know each other when we introduced our parents.”
The frown pulling at Jols’ face matches mine.
This is just all too confusing.
Turning the page again, I find a picture of a woman with her back to the camera, wearing a white gown like the one my mum forced on me that day at the chapel.
It was a wedding dress, and as I look closer at the picture, I can see the woman in it is walking down the aisle of a church.
“What does that mean?” JD asks, pointing to the scribbled writing below the picture.
“Oneblood to bind. One womb to bear.
One heir to rise.”
This will be me soon.
“It must be scripture,” I mutter. Turning the page, I gasp.
In the centre of the page is a grainy photo of a naked woman standing in what looks to be a shallow barrel, with other women around her bathing her in a milky liquid.
“The fuck…” Ringo rasps next to my ear, leaning in closer as he reads out the script written under it.“The body is not mine. The will is not mine. Let Symme shape me.”
I suck in a sharp breath as I read the words my mother has scribbled under the scripture.“I’m excited to give myself to him.”
“Uhhh, I don’t know about you guys, but this is giving me the creeps,” Jols whispers like we are about to get sprung by a lurking spirit.
“That church really is a cult, isn’t it?” JD asks, and Ringo lets out a low “hmmm” as I turn the page, my eyes going straight to the scripture first, reading it in my head.
“Before the Eyes of Flame, we bind blood to blood.
Flesh to flesh. Womb to seed. Obedience to order.
By right of line, let this vessel be claimed.”
