by  Pauline Yates

Mother heats the blade in the fire, but it’s the flap of monstrous wings that strikes fear into my heart.

“Will it hurt?” I whisper, scrutinizing her scarred face.

“Better to suffer a searing blade than endure the agony of being raped by a Fallen and bearing its unholy offspring. Did the Elder’s son tarnish your purity?”

“Yes. He was kind.”

“Pray his seed will also deter them. Hold still.”

She brands my cheek with the blade, ruining the beauty the Fallen desire. Biting my lip, I pray for a son so I won’t have to deface a daughter, too.

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates lives in Queensland, Australia. She writes dark stories and loves bright sunrises.

https://linktr.ee/paulineyates