Bullshit.
I wasn’t stupid, though. Confrontation was what put me in this prayer closet. Confrontation wouldn’t get me out. “Yes, Mrs. Dalton,” I said humbly. “May I…may I have some bread with my water? Please?”
“Elder Nelson said you must fast through your prayers.”
I glowered at her through the door. “I understand, I do, but I feel faint. And I want to stay awake through the night in prayer. One slice of breath would give me the strength?—”
“Your newfound religious fervor will grant you the strength you need.” Mrs. Dalton was not fooled. “I have informed your mother where you are. For shame, Lilith. Have you no heart? Your mother is grieving her child right now, and you have the gall to do this to her?”
Shame settled over me. I hated that Mrs. Dalton was right. I should be a better daughter.
Someone quietly cleared their throat in the corridor. “Mrs. Dalton, what time should I bring more water?”
My heart leapt. Silence! Would she help me?
“Tomorrow morning. The penitent gets water three times a day.”
My stomach fell to my boots. Was it already evening? Why hadn’t Castiel broken free yet?
“Will I need keys?” Silence’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“No.” The feet moved, shoving a tray with a cup and bowl full of water through the hole.
I grabbed it and pulled it the rest of the way in, suddenly parched. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it didn’t feel full.
“I’d turn that lamp off if I were you,” Mrs. Dalton called out. “When the oil’s out, it’s out. We only replenish it weekly.”
Who had been in the prayer closet last? I couldn’t remember, had never wanted to know. Was it one of Reynold boys? How much oil had he used? I had no idea if it had been refilled since then.
Furious Mrs. Dalton had given good advice I should follow, I whispered curse words under my breath as I reached over and turned the flame out.
Despite my exhaustion, I wasn’t able to sleep much. I curled in a ball on the floor, but tossed and turned most of the night because the hard flooring hurt my hips. And my mind raced. Castiel. Where is Castiel?
Castiel
I dreamed of pain and darkness. I flung my consciousness out, trying to find something solid to pull myself back to reality with. The smell of rot swelled around me, making it difficult to breathe.
Why does everything hurt so much?
My insides felt like they were on fire. I hadn’t experienced this much pain…ever. Not even when I was wounded in battle against the Gar. I’d been pierced by three arrows and showered with brackish water. This far outstripped that pain.
My eyes opened, but I kept my body still in case anyone was watching me. Everything was in deep shadow. Humans would have trouble seeing through the darkness.
Skies, it hurt to breathe. I took stock of everything.
I seemed to be in some sort of cellar. How much time had passed? My hands were chained in iron shackles, bound around some sort of support pillar. The walls and ground were packed earth. The scent of molding turnips and potatoes wafted from one corner of the room. A barrel smelling of saltwater stood in the opposite corner. Rickety, rotting wooden steps led up to a door—likely locked—that let only a thin sliver of light through the crack at the bottom.
My wings drooped on the ground, feathers torn and filthy. My throat felt like acid had eaten holes through the soft, inner tissue.
Black and green mold crawled up all corners of the room, and chunks of mortar between stones had fallen away—the foundation of the church slowly collapsing in on itself. The mold was suffocating the life out of anything down here, a parasitic symbol of everything that happened above ground.
I pulled at my bonds, grimacing at the pain rippling through me with movement. I felt so weak, so utterly human. The ayim in my body moved sluggishly toward my internal wounds, but was doing very little to heal me.
I didn’t have sunlight, and I couldn’t heal properly without it. Seraphim had great healing abilities due to our ayim, but for some reason in this world we needed the sun to keep it strong. These fucking elders had no idea, but sticking me in the cellar was the smartest thing they could’ve done.
Footsteps echoed outside the door, and I straightened. It sent burning pain down my esophagus and stomach, and I bit back a groan of pain.
The door opened, light spilling in. Elder Nelson’s silhouette filled the doorway.
