I've been on here for a while, but I've decided to completely revamp. I'm working on some stuff, but nothing is ready. I'll be editing this post with more information/masterlist as I get closer. Also talk to me if ya want.
Summary: A new story begins. Or well, we’re caught up in the middle of it as the Mother’s Dove has a tendency to wonder off. It’s okay though, it’s only a new era of your imprisonment.
TW: religious setting, cult, domestic abuse, SFW but 18+, If I missed anything let me know
Note: Hello! I’m a huge nerd for this genre. I’m not certain how this will do, but I thought I’d try my hand outside of fics and do my own thing. (Not that I’m not still obsessed over fanfics.)
Above the lush groves of cottonwood and aspens, that have already begun to turn from the verdant green to the golds and oranges of Autumn, the sparrow flies. It looks down upon the unharvested fields littering the countryside. Up and up through the woods and farmland the little bird flutters. The land turns from fertile soil to craggy rock as the sheer mountains that protect the valley come into view of the dear sparrow. Its little wings beat and it breaks the tree line as a screeching hawk dives. Clutching the sparrow in the blink of an eye, the hawk is of no consequence to those driving the silver van. The hawk crests the ridge, finally gaining your attention as you sit in the van. Wedged between two armed men, she has no fear on her face. No anger. Just a dull, melancholic boredom settled on her features. The ramblings of the bearded man in the front passenger seat have long been spoken on deaf ears as she watches the hawk soar.
“Honestly, I cannot comprehend why you do this. Why you…” He stops himself from speaking glancing at the other men in the car. “Why you keep running off. You have everything, half the valley would gladly take your place.” The your attention snaps away from the hawk to the bearded man. Gray streaks his beard and at his temples. Wrinkles make cavernous lines on his handsome face. Not an old man, stress has aged him beyond his years. He is dressed like the three other men in the car, dark tactical gear with flashes of silver. However, upon his chest a patch featuring a silver raven denotes his station.
“Can we please save the lecture, Amos? You know the Mother is going to go all hellfire and brimstone on me once we return.” Her lips are pursed into a thin line as she nibbles on the inside of her cheek. She no longer holds Amos’ gaze, as the puttering of the vehicle's engine fills the cabin.
Knowing stares follow the vehicle as they pass farm after farm. The workers stop their work to watch the van, a vehicle unmistakable to them. Not like their beat up pickups. It was practically a tour of the valley, but not enough to shame you. Once the vehicle stops her head is high despite the crowd that has gathered. Exiting the van, A large white church with a steeple stands before her, as do the fifty or so members of the parish. They part for you and Amos entering the building. The inside is grand, the nave can hold about a hundred people and the wall behind the stage is a stained glass window that features the Mother on her knees before the Granter, a being of smoke and feathers. A hand carved lectern is centered on the main aisle. Amon brings her down to the stage where the Mother stands waiting. A broad smile on her face and piercing eyes that burn holes into you. She has donned her robes for this particular chewing out. The black material shines in the light of the church, adding to her sharp beauty.
“Thank you for returning my Dove, brother Amon. You may attend to your other duties.” The Mother dismisses the man, her gaze never leaving you, whose head is high and is staring back at the Mother. Amon bids her farewell before hurrying out of the church. “Now for you.” Her eyes break from you as she paces the stage, standing a few feet above you. A sharp slap reverberated in the echoing halls of the perish. The Mother had knelt down with such speed and fury that she had nearly knocked you off your feet. While you regain your balance, she began to pace the stage. “It was a shock to hear that you remembered to call Amon once you were done with your little romp around the valley. Have you finally accepted your place within His flock?” She glances at you. The Mother is talking more at you than to you. “No, that’s not it. So, why do you stray?” You roll your eyes.
“I have yet to answer that question, what makes you think I will now?” The Mother’s smile falters, her voice slowly raises in response.
“Hope. Hope that you will accept your place. Hope that you will obey. Hope that you will accept this parish’s love. His love.” She raises her hand to the stained glass behind her, then to her chest. Her voice barely a whisper. “My love. You have scorned me.” She is crouched now, a gentle hand strokes your face as she smiles with tears in her eyes. This is not the Matron Mother of the Granter’s flock, the steely eyed fraud that controls Lilith’s Bend. The woman has shed her outer layer, a sight only you and the Granter have seen. Now, before you is Cecily Dawn the daughter of a preacher who ran off at fifteen and over the next thirty years has carved out her place in the world. It is a sight that melts your heart, ever so slightly. After all, that is the woman you fell in love with, the woman you married.
