MARKED IN BLOOD

I have prayed my whole life that this day would never come. Every night, when I was old enough to understand the bells, I spoke quietly in the dark: Please skip me. Let my blood stay quiet. Let another girl’s blood be chosen. I held the sheet tight. I closed my eyes hard. I begged whatever was listening above the tall Temple to leave me alone. Prayers are only words. They change nothing. Last night was the hardest. I could not sleep. My heart beat very fast, like it wanted to run away before the knife came. Every bell that rang far away felt like it was counting down to me. I remembered the scary stories the girls tell when no grown-ups are near: Girls found dead in the river at morning. Girls who “got lost” in the quarry and never came home. Quiet girls who stopped eating until they died. The Keepers say those deaths mean the blood refused. Other people say the truth: those girls chose to die instead of going to the altar. I have thought about doing the same many times. But I never did. I am still here. I am still alive. And now I must go. Even my mother went through this. Twenty years ago she stood in the same place. She opened her hands. Her blood went into silver bowls. She was chosen. They took her through the east door. She never looked back. She almost never talks about the man who was waiting for her. One time, when she drank too much wine, she said only this: The blood chooses. We must obey. That was her only warning to me. Today is the day. Nyx sat on the bed. She pulled her knees up to her chest. She stared at the white robe on the chair. It looked too clean. It looked ready to take her away. Her hair was in a long braid, still wet from washing. Mother made her wash. The red string at the end of the braid felt heavy, like a promise she did not want. Mother put the water bowl away. She said nothing for a long time. The whole house was quiet. The street outside was quiet too. Neighbors spoke in low voices. Little brothers and sisters looked from windows. No one wanted to say the word Keepers too loud. The Keepers wear gray robes. No one sees their faces. They decide everything: who goes to whom, whose life ends here, whose life starts somewhere else. One look from them can take away food from a family. Or take a girl inside the Temple for questions. So everyone stays quiet. At last Mother spoke softly. Wash again if you want. They want us very clean. Nyx looked at her left hand. The skin was still smooth. No mark yet. Soon there would be a small scar. Every chosen woman has that scar. She put her hands in the water again. She rubbed hard until the skin turned red. She wished she could wash the day away. Did you pray too? Nyx asked. She did not look at Mother. Mother stopped moving for a second. She was holding the robe. Every girl prays,she said. Some stop praying when the day comes. I will not stop, Nyx said. Mother made a small sound almost a laugh almost a sad breath. Good. Praying changes nothing. But giving up changes everything. Outside, people started saying: Veil Lane’s turn today. That was Nyx’s street. Her name would be on the list of twenty-three girls. Mother helped Nyx stand. She helped her put on the white robe. The cloth felt rough on her skin. The high neck hid her fast heartbeat. The long sleeves hid her shaking hands. Inside the robe, Nyx felt very small like a little girl wearing someone else’s death. Father came to the door. He was tall and quiet. Dust from the quarry still covered his shoulders. He looked at Nyx like this was the last time he would see her like this. Blood remembers,he said. His voice broke a little. Blood remembers, Nyx answered. He stepped close. He put his rough hand on hers for one second. Then he turned and walked away. No hug. They were past hugs now. Mother fixed the bottom of the robe. Keep your head up. Look straight ahead. Do not show fear. Nyx nodded. The room seemed to move. Fear, hunger, and no sleep mixed inside her. The big Temple bells rang eight times. Time to go. Mother opened the door. Everyone outside became quiet when Nyx stepped out. Neighbors looked at her. Some felt sorry. Some felt glad it was not their daughter. Some looked afraid. A small girl whispered, Will she come back? No one answered. Nyx started walking. The robe touched the stones. Her heart beat loud and fast. The street went straight to the Temple. Black towers stood against the sky. The doors were open. Torches burned inside. Other girls in white robes joined her. All had braids. All had pale faces.