Stay calm. You're trained for this,I remind myself, fighting the nausea rolling in my belly.
Three figures emerge. Men almost as tall as Brax, shirtless, with bodies carved from ritualistic brutality. Their masks are white. Something red, resembling blood, is splattered over their masks and skin.
The crowd inhales as one organism, resembling a predator scenting fresh carnage. Then the deep-toned male groans mix into theoooommms.
My throat closes. This isn't what they told me Brax's initiation would be.
The men take positions flanking the stage, their breathing slow and synchronized. Their splattered red barely covers the slashes, burns, and marks of previous rites endured and survived.
Behind them, another figure appears. A naked woman, except for a chain around her waist and cuffed wrists, gracefully floats across the stage on her toes. It's an effortless illusion that defies the laws of the human body. She keeps her head bowed. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulders.
In her hands, she carries a thick, stiff, scarlet leather V. Gold chains hang from its ends, clinking rhythmically as she steps across the platform.
The sight of it turns my stomach. My skin prickles with cold terror despite the room's heat.
The Scarlet Letter.
I've never seen one, only heard the whispered rumors.
V is for me.
I'll forever be marked.
I swallow bile rising up my chest.
The Ritual of the Scarlet Hour is used only as a punishment. It's to test, break, and stain you for life.
Brax stiffens beside me. He growls under his breath, "What the fuck is going on?"
My hand snaps out before I can think, fingers pressing against his thigh, warning him to stay silent. I softly hiss, "Shut up."
Another loud groan vibrates beneath us. The stone floor shifts. A fourth pedestal rises from the center of the stage, polished in a black mirror with similar red splatters over it.
The judges lift their gavels and strike them in perfect unison.
The crowd explodes with more energy, their chants more frantic.
The judge who sentenced me orders Brax, "Step upon your pedestal."
Brax blurts out, "Like hell I'm?—"
I move in front of him before he finishes. I press my hand hard against his chest.
His heart slams against my palm, a violent rhythm matching my own. He leers down at me.
I plead, "Please. Do it. If you want us to see tomorrow, just do it."
His chest rises again. His breath comes out as harsh as his words. "You have to be kidding me?"
My voice cracks. "I'm not. Please."
Something flickers behind his eyes. He shakes his head. "This is insane."
"It will be worse if you resist," I beg, pushing him gently. "Just step onto the pedestal."
His breath shudders. Then he mutters a curse and caves, taking his place.
Men circle him the second his bare feet meet the black stone. Thick ropes lower from the vaulted ceiling, swaying slightly in the heated air.
