CHAPTER 40 “CORDELIA”

©️ Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the DEEP ONE

No word from Father. No glimpse of him at the morning or
evening services. His throne sat empty, his absence looming larger;than his presence ever could. But I knew better than to show any form of unease. I made sure my appearances were spotless. I attended every service.

I smiled when needed. I sat on the “Mother Eve” throne with poise, even though my insides were knots of fear and questions. When a few bowed and greeted me, I nodded back, lips curved in a soft smile that never touched my eyes. Inside, I was breaking, The ordained saints ministered in his stead. Their voices rose in chants, in twisted interpretations of scripture that exalted man above God.

I watched in horror as passages were pulled apart,
sewn back together with threads of lies. Every line glorified Father as divine, untouchable. It was like watching men serve poison in golden chalices …and the people drank deeply. Every so often, my eyes found his.

The boy. My butchery saviour. I still didn’t know his name. Once, I used to call him the pity-eyed boy, but that was before he dragged me away from the slaughter. Now he was more. The one who reminded me …with the smallest flicker of his gaze… that I wasn’t insane. I tried to read his eyes. Some days it felt like a warning.

Other times, like encouragement. It was almost like he was speaking words across the room without moving his lips. But what? I didn’t know. I wanted to reach him. I longed to whisper a single question: What next? How do we escape this madness? But there was no way. No room. Not with all eyes on me.

Not with the hawk-eyed PA – the Butchery Savior’s brother …always lurking like a shadow. That man’s face was carved in stone, never smiling, never blinking too long. If my butchery saviour was mercy, his brother was death. By the second evening, just as the service ended and I was walking
towards my apartment, the PA’s shadow fell across me.

He bowed stiffly, but his eyes were daggers. “Mother,” he said flatly. “Father has asked that you move into the
quarters. You can come with me.” For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Different emotions rushed through me like a flood: Joy…because I had succeeded. My words had pierced through.

He had finally invited me in. Fear… because I knew what that meant. No privacy. No hiding. No breathing without being watched. Dread …because if I stepped fully into his quarters, I would see more than my eyes should ever see. More secrets. More horrors. And what if I wasn’t strong enough to bear them?

Then another thought struck me, sharper than all the rest: the
food. Since the revelation at the butchery, I had refused the Fold’s meals, hiding behind piety. I told them I was fasting from meat, seeking deeper consecration. They believed it, or at least, no one questioned me aloud. But in Father’s quarters?

Would I be able to avoid it? Would I be forced to swallow their death disguised as food?
My stomach turned violently at the thought. I swallowed hard, trying to calm my racing heart. And then I felt it. Eyes. Watching me.

My body stiffened. Slowly, carefully, I turned my head. From across the compound, at the far window of Father’s quarters, I saw it … the faintest movement. The curtain shifted, then drew back swiftly, as though whoever was behind it didn’t want to be seen.

My blood ran cold. “Who was that?” I whispered under my breath. But no one answered. Only the PA’s unblinking eyes bored into mine.

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