Page 2 of Be My Sinner

I keep moving through the thick copse of trees, the scent of pine and earth making its way into my nostrils, and giving me a momentary sense of peace. It’s a facade I allow myself to momentarily dwell in, as I move closer to the large manor in the distance. The one with all the pretty lights from within, while the rest of the populace lives in darkness.

My stomach rumbles quietly as I move through the woods that have now become a part of me. The wilderness and thriving plant life are all that is left of free will and the right to control one’s own autonomy. Freedom is just a word, forgotten and abandoned in this world.

Hunger is a constant companion; only those with power eat well, while the rest of us consume scraps left from the altar of those holy men who offered us salvation and hope. The Order of the Brotherhood; the righteous who would save our souls, while offering us freedom from our sins and cleansing so that peace could be won.

Freedom. What a silly word that our ancestors took for granted. After hundreds of years and countless wars fought on that very principle, the world crumbled with one fell swoop at the feet of men who promised freedom, but wrapped chains around the world’s populace instead.Sheep led to the slaughter blindly.

We were too ignorant, a broken and beaten populace gripped by a fervent desire for change, hope, and a lasting peace, in a world ravaged by wars. Our hearts yearned for a brighter, more just future. The weight of our hope hung heavy in the air, like an unquenchable thirst for a better tomorrow.

Yet, we were blinded by our longing; we remained unaware of the poisonous corrosion eating away at the foundations of our society. The men who would take advantage of our weakness. The false promises from false prophets that were being made for a better world. It was a gradual descent into a darkness we couldn’t perceive, until it had already swallowed us whole, the signs of corruption hidden beneath the surface until it was too late to turn back.

All of the world’s technologies and methods for fighting back were confiscated by the Order. First, they took away our means of communicating over distances with each other, so we could not learn what was happening in different parts of the world. The atrocities and mass murders they were committing against those who resisted.

Then, they stripped us of our knowledge, deeming access to information and wisdom a sin, beyond the grasp of anyone but the chosen leaders. This act left the next generation in darkness, ignorant of the one that preceded them, unaware of the vast world that slipped through their fingers, and that was surrendered to false prophets. It was a world once brimming with wonder, inhabited by people filled with hope, desires, and aspirations.

Then came the classes, a system meticulously crafted to extinguish any flicker of ambition or revolt you might still possess. It was a world that had once fought relentlessly for the right to choose, to define their own destinies, now bowing in submission before a group of men who held the power to dictate their futures.

Now, all one could hope for was that their children wouldn’t succumb to abject poverty in one of the servitude villages, and that their own demise would arrive swiftly. The desire for a long life had vanished years ago, replaced by fervent prayers for an end to suffering and servitude.

Even among the upper echelons, the righteous found themselves torn, whispering prayers for salvation with one breath and invoking death with the next. This was especially true if you had the misfortune of being born a female in this world, as I did.

Your destiny was sealed from the moment you drew your first breath. Unlike those occupying lower rungs of the class system, you, too, would be conscripted into service, albeit in a different capacity.

Your womb would be held hostage by the Brotherhood, compelled to swell their ranks with righteous soldiers for their cause. No choice would be given to you. They would dictate whom you would belong to, and your opinion or desires would never be considered. You were to be nothing more than property, in this divine world forged by the Order of the Brotherhood of the Sacrament.

A deep sigh leaves my lips as I approach within two hundred feet of the house, concealed within the deep green foliage with only the stars above me to guide my path. Even the moon seems to have decided to forego me this evening; shrouding itself behind dense clouds, refusing to be present to witness the horrors being committed below in the mortal realm.

I gaze up at the sky, pondering what my ancestors would have been doing in a moment like this. Would they be appalled by the world’s transformation? Would the women who came before me call out to me and demand justice? I like to believe that they would, that the females who rest in their graves are screaming for retribution, demanding justice for the sins committed against their sisters, demanding that I avenge them.

I draw the blade from my strap, running my fingers along its sharp edge. A drop of blood rising to the surface of my skin, the acute pain a stark reminder that I am alive, even though I feel lifeless inside. Yet, it is this pain that reassures me I still live, breathe, and have a purpose. It is a sensation that fuels my resolve, a connection to my humanity in a world that now feels devoid of it.

I know that with this blade and the tools at my disposal, I can soothe their pleas, and incite the screams of the men who would seek to subjugate the women still on this pitiful earth of their line. That I can still bring about freedom with my fury and violence.

This blade I wield becomes a means to not only soothe their suffering, but also to appease the rage that smolders within me. A rage that hungers for retribution and blood, and demands justice. It is a relentless force, one that refuses to let me rest until my mission is complete. For them, I have become a specter of the night, a hunter of prey, a harbinger of vengeance, purging the earth of its vermin.

Have I sacrificed a portion of my sanity in this unrelenting and insatiable pursuit of vengeance? Perhaps, though, it feels like a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. Am I irreparably broken now?Yes, but all my shattered fragments have transformed into jagged weapons to wield against the enemy.

They took everything I had without a trace of remorse, and imprisoned me like the very animal they perceived me to be. They mistook me for a sheep when, in truth, I was a lion. They underestimated me, just as they had underestimated my female ancestors for centuries. In the end, the only way to combat a predator is to transform into a greater one.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Fuck that; all I do is want.

I crave violence. I want to be consumed by a seething rage. I yearn to witness the blazing fires of hell, unleashed upon those who callously buried me in a shallow grave, forsaking me to rot without a second thought.

Forgive my sins and trespasses, Father.

I assure you, I know exactly what I do. I am theUnholy Ghost, and I will not rest until the world is cleansed.

Chapter 3

The Sinner

Dinah

Iwatchthemintentlythrough the narrow opening, concealed by the deep shadows surrounding me. My knees protest the crouched position I’ve been holding for over twenty minutes, but not even the threat of my legs spasming and shattering could have me moving right now.

My eyes are glued to the sight in front of me. I watch as he fists the blonde’s hair, yanking her back until her neck is wholly bowed, and pain is etched across her features, as he pounds into her mercilessly from behind. His long, muscular, tattooed body is forceful in its movements, each muscle defined and etched out as if made from marble—a malevolent Adonis who corrupts the world around him with sin.

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