Page 14 of Semper
I couldn’t let this happen.
Not again.
Before I realized what I was doing, I shot up from my seat, but Seraphine and Selena were faster. They moved in unison, blocking me from getting any closer to the exit. Keres stood too, as if she were ready to back me up. Selena took a step towards her and Keres raised her fist, squaring up for a fight. "Try me if you want," she dared the Acolyte, her defiance practically radiating off her.
Seraphine’s voice was calm, trying to smooth the rising tension.
"I know you want to run down there and do what you think is right but ask yourself if that’s really the right choice.”
“What Ithinkis right?” Keres shot back. “You people are all whacked.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, even if it is prejudiced, but that doesn’t change the fact the door to this room is locked and the service cannot be interrupted. OurDiabolusknew you'd try this," she said to me directly, her words almost apologetic. She glanced at Keres, adding, "Theyallwere prepared for this."
"I don’t give a damn what that heathen waspreparedfor," Keres spat, her voice low.
My attention shifted to the other woman, and it finally dawned on me that for her, this was about more than just Nicolette's situation. Keres was also struggling with the sameissues I was facing. When we weren’t together, she had to navigate her own path with a man who had stolen her away.
Despite always appearing composed and put-together, Keres was just as much a victim of circumstance as I was.
Selena raised a brow, her tone still calm but now laced with an edge of authority. "There’s no need for insults. You just need to try and under—."
Before she could finish, Nicolette's terrorized cry echoed through the room, and my heart seized in my chest. I ran to the viewing window and pounded against the unforgiving glass. I remembered then it was a one-way window, and that we were hearing everything below from speakers somewhere in the ceiling of this room.
I watched in helpless horror as Alexander calmly stepped forward, a thin, glinting blade in his hand. He worked with a kind of chilling precision, threading the cruel needle through Nicolette’s trembling lips.
Each puncture sent a sickening sound of flesh tearing into the silent air like wet paper being shredded.
Blood spilled freely down her chin, soaking into her clothes and pooling on the floor. Her muffled screams were trapped behind the threads, her lips sealed shut as her body convulsed against the men pinning her down. Every time I caught a glimpse of her eyes, wide and wild with terror, I felt my stomach lurch. The agony etched into her expression was beyond anything I’d ever witnessed.
She thrashed with each violent tug of the thread, trying to twist away, but it only made the process worse.
"Be still," Alexander's voice was soft, eerily calm, but her body only jerked harder, a reflex born of pure pain. He didn’t pause. The blade slipped again, tearing through the flesh of her chin before he looped it back into her lip, over and over, the grotesque dance continuing without mercy.
Each pass of the needle sent another spray of blood splattering to the floor, staining the pristine surface beneath her. He had to of been wearing a mic or something because the room was filled with wet, visceral sounds — the crackling of skin being pierced, the squelch of blood, and the metallic scrape of the knife as he set it down to pull more thread. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of it all, my pulse hammering in my ears. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of horror, Alexander finished, stepping back to admire his work. Nicolette’s lips were sewn shut, the threads pulled taut, trapping her raw screams behind the crude stitches. Blood continued to seep from the wounds, dripping slowly onto the floor. I pressed my hands harder against the glass, my breath fogging it as I stared at Nicolette’s mangled face.
Her mouth was a bloody ruin, half her lips gone, leaving her teeth and gums exposed and stained with blood. Her chest was heaving as if each breath might be her last. Bishop approached her, cradling a small bowl filled with something thick and black. It looked like tar.
“What is that?” I asked.
Seraphine’s calm voice came from beside me, chillingly casual. "A numbing agent we use to ease their suffering, made from nightshade, poppy resin, and ash."
Bishop squeezed Nicolette’s jaw until a small enough opening formed around the thread, and I winced as he poured the thick, tar-like substance into her mouth. "This will help with the pain," he said, though his voice was devoid of empathy.
Her cries turned into weak, muffled gasps. The light in her eyes seemed to flicker, dimming as the concoction took its hold.
"That… doesn’t look like it’s meant to help," I murmured, nausea gathering in the pit of my stomach.
Seraphine’s smile was thin, almost pitying. "It helps in more ways than one. It silences the body… and the mind."
Nicolette was carried off by masked nuns, her limp body draped over their arms as they moved swiftly through a rear door. The sight of her broken form disappearing from view left a chill in the air.
“Her husband will retrieve her,” Seraphine explained.
The words echoed in my head. "Herhusband?" I remembered Nicolette mentioning she had someone, but I couldn’t imagine any man being okay with his wife enduring what she did.
"Yes," Seraphine confirmed without hesitation. “He’ll take her home and care for her.”