Georgia flies through the air, her golden curls streaming out behind her like flags of sun and happiness. Her laugh reminds me of hot days spent at her house playing in the back yard and racing each other around the neighborhood on our bikes. Her pink dress is one I’ve seen many times—girly and perfect, just like Georgia.

But this scene is off. The swing creaks as she kicks, each movement twisting something tighter into the branch above, digging deep into the oak’s flesh, leaving room for bugs and rot.

A grownup Georgia turns to me, a pentagram carved into her forehead, blood trailing into her eyes. “Come and play.”

I can’t move. It’s raining. Water drips down my hair and shakes the leaves above us as the sky roils from gray to black. It isn’t summer. Not anymore.

She jumps from the swing and dashes around the tree, her pink dress shredding away and revealing skin marred with cuts and burns, emblems of several ancient religions oozing blood down her tan body. “Let’s play chase!”

“Don’t go!” I struggle to follow her, but my limbs won’t move. Tears roll down my cheeks as thunder rumbles overhead. “Come back, please.”

“I miss you.” Her voice floats on the wind as a tornado forms nearby, black dirt rising into a catastrophic funnel that whips across the landscape. “But I don’t want you down here with me. Don’t let them send you to this place.” She dances out from behind the tree, her skin white, her eyes rolled back in her head.

I scream as she lurches closer, dirt in her hair, death leaking from her rotting pores.

“Don’t let them send you here.” Her voice is watery as the tornado approaches, the funnel even blacker than the sky.

Water pours onto me, and I sputter, awakening into a hint of light in the pitch darkness that has become my life.

“You’re screaming like a banshee, Delilah.” Grace’s voice cuts through the haze of my dream, then she dumps another bucket of water on my shivering frame. “It’s your sins. They eat at you.” She walks around me, her fingernails trailing down my leg. “You don’t belong here. That’s why you tried to leave. Your sins urged you to go out into the world and be what you really are—a slut, a fallen piece of trash, nothing and no one. But here you are.” She slithers closer. “Still in my care.”

Drip.

I try to fight against her words, her poison, but she continues, “You are nothing more than a scrap of trash that desires nothing more than to spread your legs for whatever man or beast that might come along. You’d sell your disgusting body in a heartbeat. That’s what animals like you are made for. Breeding. You have no other purpose.” Her nails dig into my shoulder. “You were nothing before you joined the Cloister. But once you did, you became more than just a filthy sinner, you became blessed among women, a jewel of the Prophet, chosen by the Almighty to lead a righteous life in service. And what did you do? You acted like a slovenly whore. Leading Protector Newell into temptation and corrupting Adam with whatever lies fell from your forked tongue. You are lower than the serpent in the garden.” Her warm breath fans across my cheek. “You disgust me, you disgust Adam, and you disgust the Prophet. You will die here for your sins and be cast into the darkest pit of hell.”

A drip from above smashes against my forehead. And that’s when I feel myself shatter. I scream and strain and fight, but I go nowhere. She’s lying. I try to shake her tenterhooks free from my mind, but the barbs are in deep. I bite my gag and try to kick free. I barely move. The struggle ends quickly, when my last bit of energy fades. And suddenly, I know she’s right. She’s been right all along. I don’t belong here. I am filthy. I’ve failed Georgia and myself. I am not worthy of the Cloister, and certainly not of the Prophet or his son.

“The only way to free yourself from your prison of sin is to accept the Prophet.” She leans next to my ear. “You must be in perfect obedience to him. Offer everything you are to him. Beg for forgiveness.”

I can see it in my mind. Bending before the Prophet, offering him my body, my soul, my everything. And my heart finally seems to beat again.

Drip.

My fears fall away. This place is only temporary. A short stop on my way to salvation. The Prophet is the key.

I want to say yes, to beg to see him, but the gag prevents it.

Grace leaves, closing the door and entombing me in darkness.

The Prophet will save me. I thought that Adam cared about me. I was wrong. I thought I was here to find the truth about Georgia. Wrong again.

I’m here to serve the Prophet. Hot tears pour from my eyes as the truth settles inside me like a seed, sprouting and growing. The Prophet. He is my only love, my only light, and my salvation.