I remember the writing clawing its way across my body like a wildfire—not ink, but scripture. Not a pen, but a brand.
Holy words burned into my flesh, not to teach but to bind.
My heart thundered. My veins lit up with fire. The world blurred in pain.
But I did not scream.
If I screamed, they would think I was afraid.
Not devoted.
Their punishment still meant something. It meant they hadn't given up on me.
I dropped to my knees. My hands hit the cold marble just in time to stop my face from crashing into it.
In the reflection, I saw it.
A human face. Her face. My face.
Wide, trembling eyes. Gritted teeth. Blood seeping from the inside of my cheek, flooding my mouth with the taste of iron.
And then, the pain stopped.
The trembling didn't.
Blood oozed between clenched teeth, trailing down to the floor.
"Ah. So it still works. Good."
I looked up.
The wrinkled face of one of the Church's hierophants loomed above me. A grin clung to his lips like rot.
"Before you're passed on to your new handler," he said, "understand this, hellspawn: this mission is an extension of your leash, not the removal of it. Don't make us regret showing mercy to a creature like you."
My wounds began to heal.
I rose slowly. My reflection rose with me, my body trembling—but devotion remained behind crimson eyes.
They say monsters can't be loved.
But I'll prove them wrong.
I'll earn it.
Their love.
Their trust.
Their mercy.
Through obedience.
Through blood.
Through whatever the Church commands.
I will become a weapon so flawless in its devotion that they'll have no choice but to love me.
Even if it means killing the last of myself.