Page 13 of Decimation

“And a good replacement for our sister.” Astrid says, earning a nod of approval from our father.

“Absolutely not.” My mother’s snap cuts through the room. Her aura flares again, the red streaks intensifying. She’s half-standing now, her chair scraping against the hardwood. “I’ve lost one daughter to this madness. I will not lose another.”

My father rolls his eyes. His aura remains that cold, unyielding blue.

“We require a virgin from every family…” Isaac starts to say.

“And you’ve had one.” My mother hisses, cutting across him. “You took my child, you took my daughter, and you murdered her.”

“She was not murdered.” Isaac replies. “It was an accident. A failure in her training. She did it herself.”

“She, she killed herself?” My mother gasps.

God, what did they do to her to force her to make such a choice as that?

“Enough.” Ezekiel says, “Cass is dead. Whatever we say now cannot change that, but the fact remains that I am one virgin down.”

“Then find one elsewhere.” My mother snaps, moving quickly, crossing to where I am still frozen in my seat and she wraps her arms around me like it’s a shield. Her aura envelops me, a protective lavender that feels like a desperate embrace. “We’ve given enough. Sacrificed enough. I won’t let you take her, and besides, she’s only eighteen.”

“So?” Isaac replies. His aura darkens, the muddy brown deepening. “Just because she is not twenty-one doesn’t mean the girl isn’t ready. She’s old enough for what we need.”

The girl. Not Leandra. Not your daughter. The girl, like I’m not even here, like I’m not sitting right across from him, listening to them discuss my future as if I have no say in it.

“She is old enough,” my father agrees, and something inside me withers. I don’t know why I expected anything different. I don’t know why some stupid, naive part of me thought he might protect me, might value me as more than just another asset to be deployed.

My mother is crying now, tears streaming down her beautiful face. Her aura pulses with grief, the lavender streaked with deep violet. “Richard, please. She’s our daughter. Our last daughter. She’s just a child…”

“She’s eighteen,” My father repeats, his voice hardening. His aura remains cold, unyielding. “She’s not a child, and this is an honour, Magdalena. Do you even understand what this means?”

An honour. An opportunity. The same words they probably used about Cass a year ago, before she disappeared into Isaac’s keeping.

Before whatever happened to her happened.

Before she became a problem.

I should speak, I should object. I should do something, anything to stop this momentum, this terrible forward motion that’s going to swallow me whole.

But I don’t.

Because I know better.

Because I’ve watched what happens to people who defy my father, who question the Brethren. I’ve seen the consequences, felt them reverberating through our house like aftershocks. I’m not brave like Cass was, or tried to be before they undoubtedly broke her.

“It’s settled, then.” Ezekiel stands, smoothing down his jacket. His aura swirls with a burst of gold and crimson that feels almost triumphant. “We’ll begin preparations immediately. The timeline is tight, but still manageable.”

“I want to see her.” My mother’s voice is desperate now, pleading. Her aura is a storm of violet and red. “I want to see Cass. I want to…I need to know what happened.”

“That’s not possible.” My father snaps, cutting across her.

“The body has been disposed of. Cleanly.” Isaac adds. His aura shifts uneasily, the muddy brown darkening further. “There won’t be any complications.”

Did they bury her, burn her, dispose of her the way they do diseased cattle? Oh god, I think I might be sick.

The chicken on my plate seems to writhe, the vegetables swimming in their butter sauce. The chandelier above us is too bright, the light refracting through crystal like shattered stars, like broken promises.

“Leandra.” Ezekiel’s hand is on my shoulder now. His aura pulses, a warm gold that feels far too fucking comforting given the circumstances. “Will you do this? Will you fulfil this sacred duty?”

When did he move? When did my mother step aside? I didn’t hear him approach, didn’t sense him circling around the table. His touch is heavy, possessive.