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I’m here, and I want him back.

He watches me, his gaze fixed on mine. After a moment, he leans down, and kisses me softly. “This isn’t over, firefly,” he murmurs. “Not even close.” Then he disappears behind the beaded curtain.

Following her blindly.

I lie for a few minutes as I try to calm my heart. I run my hands between my legs, and when I bring my hand up, I gasp as blood drips down my fingers.

TALIA

My lungs inhale dirt as a masked figure looms over me, and I come to my senses. I slowly open my eyes as a pile of dirt hits my face, and I breathe more of it into my lungs, coughing it out. My arms are buried beneath a thin layer of dirt as I watch the masked man peer down at me, then gathers more dirt in his shovel and throws it on me. This time it lands on my chest.

I panic as realize I am no longer in my bed, but a dark hole, and the man who carried me here after knocking me out is throwing dirt on me.

A shallow grave.

The last real memory was crying myself to sleep as the news of my affair with Father Malcom spread around town. I told my father I was in love with him and showed him the mark on my thigh. He recoiled when he saw it and turned his back on me, disrespecting me in front of his friends, calling me a whore. Saying no daughter of his would let herself become a sacrifice. I didn’t know what he meant. Father Malcolm, of course, said that I threw myself at him and denied the very real affair we’d had for months. He claimed I couldn’t control my lustful thoughts about him, and the devil has taken hold of me. He prayed for me in front of the entire parish, then blessed me.

I woke up to the devil in my room. Cold and unforgiving hands gripped my neck and sucked the air out of my lungs, and everything went dark. I woke up here in what I can only presume is a shallow grave.

The masked man throws another shovelful of dirt over my body. “Please,” I beg. “Don’t do this. I’m sorry for what I did. I will repent for my sins. Please don’t do this.” The masked man doesn’t respond, he just throws shovel after shovel of dirt on me, ignoring my pleas.

Eventually, I stop crying and listen to the metal scraping the earth in a rhythmic beat before one pile hits my chest and neck. He does this repeatedly. I twist and turn, but the hole I’m in is too small, and my limbs are tethered. Slowly I become immersed in the earth.

“Please,” I sob again, the dirt now covering my arms and legs, but he doesn’t relent. I now, however, hear hushed whispers above and suddenly realize there are more than one of them. Two more figures, less imposing than the first, now appear above me.

Females—by the way they move.

Three masked faces peer down at me. “Do you know how dark it is in hell?” one of them asks—a voice so familiar. I don’t answer because I can’t breathe, not with how the dirt on my chest is crushing me. “Because you’re about to find out.”

Whoever they are, they orchestrated this. Another shovel of dirt piles over my midsection. My eyes move to the young girl hiding behind her mask, and the little cross hanging from her neck. The one identifiable marker on her.

She throws a pile of dirt over my face.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

I focus my attention on the stars and sky above them. On the moon that hides just behind a cloud illuminating the night sky. As long as I can see the moon, I’m going to be okay. It means I’m still alive. The moon has never seemed so bright.

Despair begins to well up inside me. The demon in my mind takes hold, and my thoughts spiral down into darkness. The last glimmer of hope seems to fade away.

“My name is Talia Vital.”

“Talia Vital.”

“Talia Vital.”

I repeat my name until my mind goes blank and memories of my life flood back. My name is Talia Vital. I’m sixteen, and I’m about to be buried alive.

I sit holding my cup of tea and lose myself in that memory, as I often do. It wasn’t long after that moment that the earth crumbled and I got sucked up from death by the arms of my brother. When I arose, I was shut off. The core of who I was died that day. I still have to remind myself that I am Tala Vital and not the devil himself.

Tommy walks upstairs from the basement. It’s adorable how much Tommy sweats when he’s nervous. He thinks I care that he wants to fuck both me and his little sacrifice, but I simply can’t be bothered with such trivial things as matters of the heart.

Not when I have everything the way I want it. I had to remind myself of that this week as I’ve noticed Tommy drift further away from me. The pain in my heart was excruciating at first, reminding me of who I used to be, and more than once, I considered unleashing the hell fury inside my soul.

Then I’d be in prison or thrown into an asylum. And honestly, I’m too smart and successful to end up in a room with white walls—and Diana’s too precious to slaughter.