“Delilah!” The teaching Spinner finally notices my absence.
“Go.” Sarah lets her head hang again, dark hair creating a wall around her.
I join the other Maidens and get a sharp glare from the teaching Spinner. She glances at the splint on my finger and perhaps decides I’m not due for punishment again quite yet. At least that’s what I hope is going on in her mind.
“Eve.” She gestures for the girl to step forward. “You’ll be our first to demonstrate.”
Eve moves to the front of the classroom and turns to face the rest of the Maidens. Her eyes downcast, she doesn’t move as the Spinner attaches a metal pincher to each nipple. A chain runs between them and dangles down toward her belly button.
“These are on the lowest setting.” The Spinner gestures as if she’s a model on The Price is Right. “I would recommend they stay on that level if you’re just, I don’t know, trying to please a man by looking the part. The pain is minimal. But—” She pulls on the chain, and Eve exhales roughly. “The mechanism works by pulling here. Each pull will squeeze tighter. Now, plenty of men enjoy this done on their own nipples. It’s up to you to follow his lead, look into his heart, and discern what types of activities he enjoys.”
“What if I don’t want a man?” A strawberry blonde at the back of the class, her voice soft as silk, speaks up.
The Spinner drops the chain. “Who said that?”
The girl, her chin high despite the tremble in her hands, steps forward. “I didn’t sign up for this. I don’t want this. I want to go home.”
My heart sinks into the acid vat of my stomach. The first few days, there were several outbursts like this. Girls who actually thought this was a safe place. But they died down after the beatings. The Spinners’ batons could do wonders for any Maiden doubting her role at the Cloister.
“Get back in line, Sharon.”
“No.” She crosses her arms over her bare stomach. “I want to go home. Let me go.”
The Spinner pulls her baton free. “You need to reconsider.”
“No.” She darts to the wall and grabs a cane.
The other Maidens back away from her.
I stand, transfixed. This little slip of a girl, one who’d never so much as pinged on my radar, is ready to fight for her freedom.
“Abigail!” The Spinner calls. “Lock the door.”
The old Spinner looks up from her work on Sarah. “What in the world is going on?”
“Do it!”
She hustles to the door and pulls out a key ring from a skirt pocket.
Sharon swings the cane back and forth, warding off the Spinner. “Let me go!”
“You are safe here, Sharon. You are loved.” Menace laces each word from the Spinner’s mouth.
“Fuck you! I’m not some whore you can train and sell to whatever sadistic freak pays the Prophet!”
The air leaves the room as Sharon shouts the truth to the rafters.
“Those are lies whispered in your ear by the devil, child.” The Spinner tries to move closer, but Sharon keeps swinging. “The Prophet loves, cherishes, treats you as holy above all other women.”
Abigail is still fumbling at the door as Sharon backs to it, the cane swishing with each of her steps.
Wings unfurl in my heart, the tips brushing against each chamber. Hope. I can’t escape, but maybe Sharon can.
I stand next to Sarah who watches the scene with wide eyes.
“Sharon, this is your last chance to accept the Prophet’s teachings. Don’t follow Satan down his familiar path. Don’t let the filthy world twist your—”
“Shut up!” Sharon screams and shoves Abigail away, the keyring skittering across the wood floor. She wrenches the door open, then glances at the keys.
Get them. I would throw them to her if I could, but I’d have to get past the Spinner to do it.
She swings again, not running, knowing she needs that set of keys if she has any chance of making it.
“The keys,” Sarah hisses.
Sharon lunges for them, right as the Spinner swings her baton, missing Sharon as she snatches the keys. The Spinner is thrown off balance and crashes to the floor.
“Run!” a host of voices cry. Mine among them.
She turns for the door, takes two heady steps toward freedom, and then Mary rushes forward and grabs a handful of Sharon’s hair. With a vicious yank, she rips her down onto her back, the flat smack of skin on the hard floor ugly and painful. The cane flies from her grip and lands in the hall.
I squeeze Sarah’s hand, having taken it at some point during the scene. The Spinner scrambles back to her feet and rushes to Sharon as other Spinners enter the room and surround the rest of the Maidens.
What ensues is a beating that makes my knees weak, and I struggle to keep from retching. Sharon’s cries and screams echo throughout the Cloister, but the Spinners guarding us show no emotion, though some of them join in at intervals. They grant Sharon no mercy, and eventually drag her away.