Cult

1: Initiation Ω

I am their virgin sacrifice.

They scar my skin with black symbols.

They drench my body with blood.

I am trapped, tortured, forced to submit my body—

unless I wish to be punished...

Welcome to The Cult.

Twitter: @/Atlantis094

Cover art: @/With_Love69

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Chapter 1

I am in a cellar. Beads of sweat gloss over my auburn brows. I scream and scream, but to no avail. The taught tape plastered over my whimpering lips muffles my voice. I squint out at the cellar; it is unbearably dark, as though a veil of black has cloaked the room, weighing down on me like a block of cinder.

A petite woman with pale blonde hair walks toward me. She grins, pressing a cigarette to her small mouth. Smoke escapes her lips in circular clouds. 

"You must be Katarina," the woman purrs. Her voice is smooth and rich, like honey. But how does she know my name?

The woman steps closer to me, taking a long drag out of her revolting cigarette. Her blood red lips curl as she eyes me with her sleek grey eyes. I shift in my seat, wishing I could adjust the strap of my bra and tug down at the slit on my dress so that it covers my knees. This is no time to be worried about modesty, but I can't help the habits my all girls Catholic academy instilled in me for the past 18 years.

"My name is V and I want to take good care of you," the woman tells me. I want to scream at her for what she has done and what she plans to do, but the tape over my lips silences me.

V snickers. There is an air of confidence about her, but I cannot tell if I am impressed or pissed or both. Probably both.

Shadows of other figures cross the cellar.  A tall brunette figure walks into the room briskly and clears his throat. Smoke surrounds the shadowy figure’s head of wild brunette hair. His sharp jaw is gritted. I squint at his eyes. They are pale, like green storm clouds.

He laughs harshly. V turns to the new figure and smiles curtly.  “You’re late, Styles,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

“I was busy,” Styles rolls his eyes. He doesn’t seem as intimidated by V as the others, and yet, I know that V must hold the authority. 

Styles shrugs his broad shoulders, but his eyes scan my figure casually. Suddenly, I feel even more exposed. There is something about Styles’ eyes that look deeper than my flesh; it feels as though he can see my fear. 

I squint at his face, but the only thing I can decipher is the harsh contour of his jaw and his round eyes.

“Is this the girl?” Styles asks in a deep, hoarse accent. He sounds annoyed, maybe even disgusted. Even so, he strides closer to me. His long, lean legs, clad in torn black jeans, take steady steps.

V smirks. “Yes.” She turns to me, locking her eyes on mine. "Begin the initation."

What?

Styles walks toward me and I can’t help but feel my heart weighing down in the pit of my stomach. His stature is intimidating, but it’s the vibrance of his eyes that truly terrifies, yet also fascinate me.

The man fixates his glowing eyes on my body. I want to look away, to pretend that I’m in the comfort of my bed and my mother is downstairs, complaining about how poorly our housemaid washed her linens, and my father is in his office, reading the newspaper and sipping bland coffee.