The ceremony
988 Words
Steam curled through the room, soft and ghostlike. The scent of jasmine clung to the air as Tessa sat before her mirror, silent, her skin still damp from the bath. Two maids worked quietly behind her, combing her long blonde hair, coating each strand in fragrant oil. Their hands trembled — always did — but tonight, they shook more than usual.
Tessa studied the reflection before her. A beautiful woman stared back — pale, graceful, her face framed by gold and silk. But beneath the smooth surface, her eyes were empty.
' It's been nine whole years..'
Nine years since the night the world burned, since her parents’ screams echoed into silence. She had grown inside this golden cage, her laughter buried under marble and fear. Every smile, every word, rehearsed. Every breath, borrowed.
Her thoughts swam darkly.
Is this my life now?!!
Is this how it ends?!!
Then — B O O M.
The sound split the air. A deep, metallic toll that shook the floorboards.
The maids froze.
The bell rang again — slow, deliberate, dreadful.
Their eyes widened. Without a word, they rushed to bolt the doors, draw the curtains, snuff out the candles. Panic moved through them like a shared heartbeat.
“What’s happening?” Tessa whispered.
Neither answered. One simply said, voice shaking, “Someone tried to run.”
Tessa’s chest tightened. The bell went on ringing — heavy, cruel, echoing across the island. She had heard it before, when she was younger. She had asked what it meant. Damien’s answer had been simple: “Punishment.”
The door burst open.
Guards filled the doorway, their black uniforms glinting with silver. “The Master requests your presence.”
Before she could speak, one seized her arm and pulled her into the corridor.
---
The halls were alive with whispers. Servants knelt against the walls, trembling, eyes fixed on the floor. Every step echoed like a heartbeat. Torches burned low, casting the marble in shades of red and gold.
Tessa’s heart pounded as they pushed her toward the courtyard. The air outside smelled of salt and iron.
She froze.
A crowd had gathered — women kneeling in neat rows, heads bowed. Torches flickered, painting their faces in trembling light. In the center of it all stood Damien, tall and immaculate in black, his eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.
At his feet, a woman knelt, bound and bruised. Her lips bled. Her dress was torn. She looked familiar — one of the older wives who used to braid Tessa’s hair when she was small.
The bell stopped. Silence dropped like a blade.
Damien turned slowly, his gaze sweeping the crowd before finding her. “Theresa,” he said, voice low but carrying. “Come here.”
Her body obeyed before her mind could refuse. She stepped forward, bare feet scraping against the stone.
Damien smiled faintly. “This island is paradise,” he said. “But paradise only endures when its children remember who rules it.”
He circled the woman like a predator. “Disobedience,” he continued, “is a disease. And diseases must be purged.”
He stopped before Tessa, his eyes softening with false affection. “You’ve grown beautifully, Theresa. I think it’s time you learned what keeps our world pure.”
He motioned to a guard, who stepped forward and placed a pistol in his hand.
Damien weighed it for a moment, then held it out to her.
“Take it.”
Tessa shook her head, stepping back. “Please, don’t make me—”
“Take it,” he said again, and his voice left no room for air.
Her trembling hand reached for the gun. It felt impossibly heavy.
The bound woman lifted her head, blood streaking her cheek. “She’s just a child,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Damien, please—”
“Silence.”
The word cracked through the air like a whip.
He turned back to Tessa, lowering his voice until only she could hear. “You are mine,” he said. “You breathe because I permit it. And tonight, you’ll prove it.”
Tessa’s heart hammered against her ribs. The world blurred. She could hear the sea, the wind, her own breath. Everything else dissolved.
Damien tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do it,” he whispered.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her fingers trembled on the trigger.
For one desperate heartbeat, she thought of her mother’s face — soft and kind. “Always choose kindness,” her mother used to say. But kindness didn’t exist here. Not anymore.
The gunshot shattered the night.
The woman’s body crumpled.
Tessa dropped the pistol, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. Her hands shook violently. She stared at the blood seeping across the stone, the color too bright, too real.
Damien knelt before her, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Good girl,” he murmured, his smile slow and satisfied.
He rose and looked to the guards. “Clean this up.”
Then he turned and walked away, his steps calm, measured — like a man leaving a prayer.
---
Back in her chamber, Tessa sat before her mirror again. The candlelight trembled. Her reflection stared back, beautiful as ever — and utterly unrecognizable.
Her lips parted. The words came out in a whisper.
“I killed her.”
Outside, the waves crashed against the cliffs, steady and endless. Somewhere on the island, another scream echoed.
Tessa didn’t flinch.
She touched her reflection’s cheek and whispered again, softer this time, like a promise or a curse:
“Something inside me died tonight.”
And deep down, she knew — whatever rose in its place would never fear him again.
---
Author’s Note:
Power corrupts. Fear molds. But sometimes, it’s trauma that forges the weapon. Tessa’s first taste of blood will not break her — it will reshape her.
- Writer
