Faith unravels bead by bead.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
Adele pleaded, voice fragile, breathless, like some broken thing calling out for a god who would not come. Her knees dug into the stone beneath her, gravel biting deep, marking her flesh as if to remind her—pain is the only prayer that will be answered tonight.
“Louder.”
The command was honey-laced, smooth but blunt, the words curling like smoke from Mistress’s lips. A sharp jerk of the rosary wrapped around Adele’s throat followed, stealing her breath, her voice, her very existence for a single, agonizing moment.
She gasped, choking, fingers twitching as though she might reach for the beads had she been free. But she was not free. She was bound, trembling, reduced to nothing but knees on stone and a prayer on her lips.
A small whimper slipped free as she obeyed.
“H-Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee—”
Another tug. Tighter.
A strangled squeal escaped her lips, a pitiful sound swallowed by Mistress’s amusement.
Adele’s vision blurred, tears balancing on the edge of her lashes, her weight pressing deeper into the stones beneath her. The pain made her dizzy, the humiliation worse.
She forced herself to continue, her voice raw, cracking at the edges.
“H-Hail Mary, full of grace, the L-Lord is with thee...”
She hesitated—just for a breath—before locking eyes with her tormentor.
Mistress watched, unblinking, unreadable. Amused, perhaps. Bored, even. A flicker of resentment curled at the edges of her smirk.
For a moment, it was silent.
Then—Adele swallowed the knot in her throat and spoke again.
“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”
The words rippled through the chamber, each syllable echoing, bouncing back at her, turning her own voice into a mockery of itself. This was not a prayer. This was humiliation.