Prologue

Nine years earlier, a lost place in Missouri, the United States...

"Please, no," I whimpered once again. My pleas are useless and pathetic, I know. It won't work, I know.

It never worked before, and I doubt it will start now, but fear prevents me from being silent.

Thick tears trail down my face until they reach the hard metal against which my chest is pressed.

Lying here, I feel the moisture beginning to soak through my blouse, an eloquent mixture of tears and saliva.

With my back to my torturer, I am just waiting for the pain I know will come.

"Do you know the reason for this, Amaya?" A sob escapes from my lips when I hear Sister Ruth's voice, but I nod.

I can no longer feel the side of my face from being pressed hard against the cold, stiff metal of the table.

I see my reflection in the small puddle of water, mocking me by showing my weakness.

"I know," I reply, and I immediately regret stammering. It isn't good, and the sisters don't like it.

My ten-year-old body is trembling with fear and cold, and my heart is beating fast in my breast.

"Why, Amaya?" I take a deep breath and force myself not to falter in my speech again.

"Because I was disobedient. I stole the book from the library," I whisper, not believing a word that comes out of my mouth.

I only want to read, I want to scream, and I want to know the end of Rapunzel's story. Of course, I stay still.

Saying anything would only make the punishment worse.

I hear the sound of the whip behind me and close my eyes tightly. The anticipation of the pain ahead makes my legs tremble more than they already do.

I am sure that if I had not been bent over under the table, I would not have been able to support my weight.

"Stealing is a very grave sin, and you must be punished. You understand that, don't you, Amaya?" I nod again as I hear his words.

With my eyes still closed, I can only feel the tears flowing more and more.

"That's good." Sister Ruth's voice is soft and gentle, a big contrast to her actions.

Of all the sisters in the orphanage, she is the most cruel. And she always appears in my nightmares.

While the other sisters always give mean smiles and show what they want, Ruth pretends to wish the best for everyone. This makes her more frightening.

As calm as her voice is, her green eyes frighten all the children here, including me.

Her green eyes are empty of any emotion, which always scares me.

Before I can breathe, the whip lands on my back, causing me to let out a scream that scratches my throat.

It isn't the first time I have been punished, and I doubt it will be the last, but the customer doesn't make it hurt any less, and the pain seems even worse with each stroke.

I can feel the skin of my back opening in cuts, and soon I also feel the damp heat of the blood dripping down to the table and the floor at my feet.

I clench my small hands into fists, and my eyes tighten. My back is burning.

"What do you say, Amaya?"

"Thank you, ma'am," I murmur in an almost inaudible whisper. That's what the Sisters always demand, I say.

The whip falls again, and I scream again, tears still flowing.

Once again, it drops. And again. Again.

Each time is worse than the last, with each blow hurting twice as much.

I want it to end soon. I pray that God will make it end quickly, but I doubt He will listen to me.

After all, in his view, I am a sinner and deserve my punishment.

I am not much of a prayer person, at least not outside the times scheduled by the orphanage.

But I always find myself talking to Him during these times.

Part of me still hopes that He hears what I am saying. That He will forgive my sins.

Maybe I'm just being a pathetic little ten-year-old girl, but the feeling is there.

At some point, hours or maybe minutes later, my vocal cords grow tired of screaming for help.

With my throat burning, I have a few stray breaths left, and soon I lose my voice.

I can no longer scream, so I lie there silently, crying. Yes, the damn tears never stop falling.

Eventually, my vision dims, and I feel reality slipping through my fingers. I am grateful for this.

When I was ten years old, and my life was already a living hell, I begged for anything that could take me away for a few hours, even darkness.

Even the danger of unconsciousness, the unknowable dreams.

I felt like smiling when I was too unconscious to feel any pain. But, unfortunately, my lips did not obey me, and even if they did, it would only be a passing happiness.

That was not my last punishment.

Not even close.