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Crimson paints the concrete floor below me. I might even think it looks pretty if it weren’t from the blood seeping out of my head wound, my hair matted to my forehead. The ground is cold against my cheek, soothing the colorful ache spreading across my face.

My limbs are heavy, weighed down to the point where I think I might be paralyzed. I wiggle a toe just to check and pain shoots up my legs and into my spine, but at least I can still move.

My eyes stay glued to the mess I’m making, watching the puddle grow. I feel woozy and if I weren’t already plastered to the ground, I’m sure I would faint. The movement in the corner of my eye doesn’t go unnoticed. A new pair of feet replacing Bordeaux’s, halting in front of me.

The hem of Father’s red cloak drags through the blood as he crouches down, his boney fingers rubbing my back as if to sooth me.

“How long has it been, my child? How long will you refuse to accept Satan as our savior? How much more can you take, boy?” He asks solemnly.

I swallow, metal tinging my tongue, my lips wet with my own bodily fluid.

“We do things here in the name of Satan. We are only carrying out his vision, his will. So, your refusal to participate in your quests to become a devote follower will only hurt you, no one else.” He warns.

Quests.

Those so-called quests are abductions, similar to what happened to me.

The Church of Satan rarely recruits willing participants, so we force it on unsuspecting victims. We get them to see the right way to live.

We normalize lectures from the Satanic Bible, relating them to our everyday lives and people slowly start to believe that the Family is not so bad.

Everyone wants to believe that their sins aren’t actually sins at all, but choices any normal human would make.

Those so-called quests are sexual preparations.

Learning Father’s likes and dislikes, perfecting them as if I were him, just to teach the girls that come of age.

I can’t even bring myself to look at another girl, the thought of finding excitement in their eyes causes a hatred so vicious, it eats me alive from the inside.

Those so-called quests are punishments doled out to those that miss worship or step out of line. Beatings so brutal the little food left inside of me ends up on the floor.

I don’t even remember which quest it was that I refused, landing me in this very place between life and death.

Every single person here is brainwashed, absorbing each word that slithers out of Father’s lips like they’re starving for it.

They’ve been manipulated to believe that every choice they’ve ever made in life will land them in hell, but what’s better than hell if you’re friends with the devil?

So, now they live to be told that they’re accepted for their devious tendencies, so much so that they’re willing to do anything to stay in a place they think they belong, but I don’t belong here.

The only place I belong now is in the hands of death, somewhere dark and empty, without anyone or anything. Just me alone and at peace, but it seems that’s too much to ask for.

“Well, maybe next time.” He pats my head, a thunderous ache reverberating against my skull.

I close my eyes as he leaves me to succumb to the cold, harsh darkness.