Captive{ated}

Nineteen: Sweetness

Going out and sitting by the lake was one of my favorite things to do. There was more than one night where we fell asleep out at the water's edge. Unfortunately, however, that was put to an end when winter brutally arrived. When it became cold, it came quickly and silently, a deadly assassin. The snow followed soon after that. I had never been a fan of winter, but as far north as we were, it was more bitter than I was used to. Luckily, you had stockpiled firewood before the worst of the snow came in, because once it fell, it was impossible to go far.

I remember waking one morning to find frost covering the windows, snow about knee high outside. The storm came in overnight, swift and hushed as it coated the earth in its freezing glory. Snow and ice crystals glazed all the branches in the trees, hanging down like ornaments. When the sun caught them at the right angle, they glistened.

You walked in on me staring at the scene in awe. My mouth must have been agape as you laughed. "I hope you get used to the sight," you said. "It'll be like this for months."

Winter in the Village was a very unpredictable time of year. There would be days when no one would dare step outside, too cold to brave the weather for more than a couple minutes. Then there would be days where children would bundle up and dig holes, throw snow balls, and make angels in the snow, though they called them stars instead. Some mornings we would wake up trapped in our house until you were able to shovel the way out, and others, we could walk along already dug paths in a heavy cloak for warmth.

Of course, this weather didn't stop religious gatherings from happening. We would bundle up in nothing more than cloaks, mittens, and snow shoes, quickly walking towards the church. I walked as fast as the uneven snow would allow, dreading my destination yet wanting to get there as soon as possible at the same time. I didn't want to learn more about the religion of this town, but it was unavoidable no matter how much I tuned your father out.

I learned that the settlers of the Village came just as the pilgrims did: to escape religious persecution. At one point the religion was a form of ancient Paganism, but times were a hard when they first arrived, so they began to look for ways to please the Gods that weren't as innocent as offerings of vegetables and prayers. When this happened it evolved into a religion much more sinister, and with it, came the Prophet. The first Prophet proclaimed that he was the voice of the Gods. His word was final. When he said the Gods demanded that sacrifice would be necessary for their survival, the Villagers didn't argue or even question it.

Especially when they saw results.

The Prophet was just short of being a God himself, it seemed, and it only made your father more intimidating. He wanted me to read the religious texts to learn more and assimilate further, but I refused. I refused to accept it no matter how much you believed it and begged me to comply. It was the one way I could go against this religion as a silent strike.

Unfortunately, the cold weather did not stop the sacrifices either. Your people needed the moon, and that was how they brought it back. I would sit so silently and stoically in the front row each time it would be time for the ritual. I would never offer you my hand when it was time to raise them, never look at the victim again since the first time it scarred me. 

But I could still see their blood taint the purity of the snow. 

The only reason I sat obediently was because your father's words from before had scared me into submission. You promised his threats were empty, but no amount of reassurance from you could convince me otherwise. I made myself sick as I sat there and let those people die. Their screams haunted my nightmares. They chilled me more than the freezing temperatures ever could and were a constant reminder of just how evil the Village was.