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When I was twelve, The House required us to memorize the world. Not just geographically, but culturally. If we did not pass the final testing, we were to retake it until you got a passing grade. My friends and I cursed out our teachers, made fits, and slacked off in rebellion. We were angry that we couldn't just play. That is until the head of the school sat us down in front of a screen and played us a movie on the Linovian Witches. In the film, we saw young girls being raped, men being tortured and raped, and other unspeakably treacherous things. But the scariest part was not the evil actions, no, it was the way the witches went about doing as such. They would take hold of a person's mind. Bleed them until they were no longer human. Suck out their souls. That was how they used their magic. When the movie ended, we all were scared shitless. The teacher told us that if we ever found ourselves in Linove, it might be helpful to know some things about it. We didn't play for the rest of that year. We studied and studied until we could practically sing every single thing about the world. We all passed with flying colors. I made history by being the youngest in The House to get a perfect score.

And now, I am thrilled too. I stored all this useless information for more than a decade, and soon it would actually come in handy. I frown. I dare to imagine telling my twelve-year-old self that I would actually be using that information. I feel myself become incredibly emotional. I peeked with that perfect grade. I did well enough in school. Sure. But my social life plummeted. My friends were no longer my friends. We didn't really have a fight, but they just one day decided that I wasn't a good enough friend. It broke me. I stayed in my room a lot after that. My roommates would try to get me to sneak out with them but I couldn't bring myself to join them. Eventually, something in me snapped and I became a wild child. I would sneak out and go clubbing. Hook up with random people. Take drugs. Smoke. I became a cliche problem kid.

Things changed when I turned eighteen and was sent to the base. That's when I met Adam. He was older than me. Not but much, but still. He was the most attractive man I had ever seen. Dark hair, the color of tree bark, and eyes the color of its leaves in the spring. He was tall, broad, and in incredible shape. He made me feel weak and desperate. We immediately hated each other. We would get into dumb arguments just to start up with each other. We were always together because we were always fighting.

But it was the hottest day of the year and he was in an especially vicious mood. I made fun of the fact that he fell during a training session. He attacked me. A punch to the gut. A blow to my side. Never to my face. He had me pinned against the wall. He was looking at me with such intensity that I thought I was going to explode. I gave him a curious look and said, "what?" His arm was choking my neck to keep me still. But with his other hand, he took his index finger and traced my features. He stopped at my lips. I was so confused, and I couldn't breathe because I had just realized that I was helplessly in love with him. He lifted a second finger to my lips. His eyes looked wild. Wild with something I couldn't place. I made a small whimpering sound. His eyes widened. He stared at me for another minute. I couldn't say anything. I wouldn't. I thought I was dreaming. But before he did what he did next, he spoke.

"When we first met, I knew you would be my undoing. I walked back to the bunks that day we met, and all I could think about was you. That walk lasted about fifteen minutes, but I have not stopped thinking about you ever since. Auriel, I love you so goddamn much it hurts my entire body. The kind of pain that you want to drench yourself in. The kind of pain that becomes you. My god Auriel, my god."

With that, he kissed me so long and so deeply that I thought I was drowning. And I was. Just not in water, in him. In his love. In his entire being.

And suddenly I had a thought.

“What happens when the ritual is done?”

The women, or now that I think about it, girl, looks down. She plays with the towel she has in her hand, wet from my body. She doesn’t really look guilty or ashamed. Rather, she looks wary, as if she knows if she said the truth, I would try to escape. So instead of telling me anything more, she leaves, leaving me naked and chained to a poll.