Content warning: Child abuse

AAAAAAAAH!

A blood curling scream broke through the slumbering home. "It hurts! It hurts!" screeching sobs startled the mother awake; the moon sat high in the sky surrounded by twinkling stars. The sun would rest for several more hours, but this luxury would elude the mother.

After several seconds of groggy confusion, the mother blinked her eyes until they adjusted to the moonlit room. The nasal snores of her undisturbed husband accompanied the growing chill in the frosty night air. She sat up and listened, the screaming settled but the sobs of her youngest persisted. The mother rolled from the bed, head pounding as the sleep was forced away much too soon to feel rested, she slid her bare feet into cozy slippers made from the wool of their finest sheep. The floorboards creaked under her soft steps, for a split second the mother thought she should glance back at her husband. But his snoring continued, a ghastly throaty sound full of mucus. She'd tuck her annoyance away until after soothing her youngest back from whatever nightmare befell her.

The house was small, far too small for the family of six. Two stories high, with only two completed bedrooms and a smaller closeted room. This closeted room was big enough to fit a small bed, perhaps some personal belongings, it even had a window the father built when he learned his wife was once again pregnant. The mother walked down the hall, her older children should still be asleep, even as soundly as her husband. A small creak startled her, "Sweetheart," she settled her midnight nerves and turned to look at the second youngest "Did your sister wake you up?"

The young boy, barely two years the elder to the youngest was red cheeked and pouting "She's so loud, I can't sleep."

The mother shared a soft smile and crouched down eye level with the eight-year-old "We need to be understanding, these nightmares will pass in time. Go lay down, I'll come in and tuck you in after I check on your sister." This only appeased the boy enough for him to turn around in a huff and go back into the cramped bedroom that he shared with his older sister. The oldest of the siblings slept on a tattered mattress on the first floor, the only walls providing privacy were the four that built the frame of the house.

With the child back in his room the mother stood, the stretch of her back was greeted with a satisfying crack. The mom listened outside the door of the closeted room; the crying had quieted down to a muffled sniffle. The mother concluded that her youngest daughter was awake and has chosen to suffer alone. "Sweetie," she spoke calmly as she inched the door open "I'm coming in."

"I'm sorry mommy," the little girl cried, wiping at her sniffling nose. "I didn't mean to wake everyone up." Now met with the obstacle of speaking the smothering sobs tried to break free, the little girl's breathing quaked and her voice squeaked. "I'm so," she panted unable to catch her breath "I'm so so,"

The mother, with her heart being struck by a hammer fell to her knees beside the mattress sitting on the floor "Ssshh." She pulled her daughter into a tight embrace and stroked the back of her hair tangled head "You don't need to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong." Tears soaked through the thin fabric of the mother's nightgown. The little girl tried to hold her breath, thinking if she couldn't catch it then she didn't need it at all. While the attempt was valiant, it proved futile as her small lungs burned and her mouth opened wide gulping in the air like it was cool water on a toasty summer day. "What did you dream?"

The little girl continued to sniffle, disturbed by the feeling of mucus clogging her throat. It took several minutes before she was able to vocalize the torment engulfing her mind "It hurts. My heart, it feels broken."

Shocked the mother stared down at her daughter "Did you dream that your heart stopped beating?"

The little girl shook her head "No. I didn't dream anything. Mommy fix it," she began to cry the salty tears stung her swollen eyelids "it hurts, someone is stomping on it over and over."

Guilt filled the mother; she didn't know how to fix this. She didn't even know what this was. All she could do was cradle her daughter in her arms and whisper soothing words of love. The pain in her own heart thudded against her ribcage, her stomach twisted into thickening vines, but the discomfort was ignored as she rocked her distressed child. At first the young girl wiggled uncomfortably, mimicking the suppressed discomfort of the mother. Her toes curled; her tiny fingers scraped at her stomach but most of all her already aching heart felt as if it'd plummeted into the depths of the ocean. As a six-year-old Marlo had no mechanisms to cope with this severe discomfort, she had no words to express how she felt. All she could do was cry.

And cry she did.

Marlo and her mother spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, sharing the weight of the tears until there were none left.

**

"Good morning, Margret," the kind woman next door smiled in greeting.

Margret feigned a smile, dark bags loomed under her dulled eyes "Good morning, Elda." Their small house rested on a neglected street in an even smaller town. There were several other small houses-built side by side and across from one another, none of which were any bigger. The young children ran about happily, basking in the warmth of the morning autumn sun. All but Marlo, who sat on the stone steps fiddling with a small pink bow tied to her burlap doll's murky yellow-yarn hair. "The summer heat won't let up, hard to imagine it's already Fall," Margret wiped sweat from her brow and continued to clip the overgrowth of the small flower bed.

Elda nodded in agreement "Indeed, we should pray for some rain, if only to relieve our husbands of this brutal heat." Elda was no wealthier than anyone else on the street, but she maintained an air about her that Marlo quite liked. She resembled an elegant lady with her coppery orange hair tied back into a sleek bun, strands of silver stood out against the sun. Her supple skin was tinged light pink from blush, a luxury Margret thought was frivolous. She wasn't a tall woman, but her back was straight, chin perfectly parallel to the ground and eyes set with determined focus. Marlo watched the two women converse, she understood the discomforts of blistering heart and that her daddy worked as a laborer outside, but not much else.

However, it wasn't the conversation that held Marlo's interest. Nor was it the elegant appearance of the lady she admired. "Why do you smile, when you're not happy?" It was an innocent question, especially coming from a child. Children were often blunt with their words, still learning to navigate the delicate web of emotional cues and polite conversation.

Horror struck Margret's face as the women looked over at the child with her eyes set on Elda. "Marlo, why would you ask such a question?" Margret demanded, before turning her focus back to Elda. Elda's satin, honey-soaked smile vanished leaving her lips gaped in a manner unbefitting of her delicate features. "I'm so sorry, Elda."

"But mommy," Marlo was confused "her heart." She placed a hand over her own chest feeling the relentless breaking. As if her heart was only being repaired to be shattered once again "It hurts. It hu-"tears streamed down Marlo's cheeks and her breathing shallowed "I don't... Mommy, why does it hurt?" Margret flew to her daughter's side and picked her up into her arms.

"I'm sorry Elda, she didn't sleep well," Elda's words died the moment she saw Elda's blubbering face. Tears streaked the pink blush, "Elda..."

"My husband," Elda started weakly "he's having an affair." Her bottom lip quivered as the tears flowed freely "He says he's in love with another woman and won't have anything to do with the girls and I." Snot gooped at her nostrils, sliding down over her lips "God, Margret what am I going to do." It was like a floodgate, the moment the doors broke open the rampant waters couldn't be stopped.

Margret was left in a paralyzing shock. Her heart ached for her friend, but she was unable to muster any words of comfort. What would Elda do? She was a homemaker; she could take on a job as a house maid but what of her children? They were too young to be left home alone, but very few would spare the time and resources to care for them in her absence. Marlo reached out from her mother's arms; the tears had stopped leaving the streak stains down her cheeks. Marlo reached for Elda with a nearly comical seriousness, the women certainly would have gotten a nice chuckle if the moment hadn't been so heavy. Stepping in closer to Elda, Marlo waited until her fingertips were within reach before she leapt herself out of her mom's arms and into Elda.

Marlo didn't say any words of comfort but as she clung to Elda something strange occurred. All the torment and suffering staining Elda's heart began to wash away. A warmth more radiant than the sun itself heated her blood. The sticky breeze carried a scent of wildflowers, with afternotes of salty musk from the far away ocean. Elda's crying halted as the sorrows drained and began to be replaced with the warmth of her favorite sensations. Marlo's touch was healing, suddenly the dread Elda felt was nothing more than a whisper on the wind. She was elated, without her cheating husband to cause her all this grief she could start anew. Raise her daughter's to be strong and independent woman with promising futures. There was no reason to feel down, nothing to fear, she would survive and be much happier for it.

"An angel," Elda mused while holding Marlo close. Marlo said nothing, she weakly smiled though her eyes lowered from exhaustion.

**

Three years later...

Word of the Divine blessed little girl spread like wildfire during a summer drought. People would travel from all parts of the Kingdom to have all their grief, hatred, and frustrations cleansed. Everyone wanted to feel the warmth of Heaven in their veins, a clarity that even the Pope of God couldn't achieve through prayer. The once small poverty-stricken town had become a bustling city of wealth. The residents were quick to join the exploitations of the little girl, they even built a small shrine at the center of their growing city. A small area of honor, where the little girl could showcase her divine gifts for all to see.

Day after day Marlo would be paraded to the shrine. Strangers would grope at her like a pack of starved street cats. Every night Marlo would cry to her mother, begging to not have to go back. As Marlo begged, Margret's heart broke but her husband wouldn't allow it. Since his youngest daughter became a Saint, it was her duty to spread the divine touch and to honor her family. At nine years old, Marlo understood the greed in her father's heart all too well.

He hardly believed in God, and only begun to attend church when Marlo's name was prefixed by Saint. When he looked at her bone splintering chills would course through her entire body, he feels no love nor affection towards her. No, not at all, though Marlo was certain he'd never felt these things towards her. She was nothing more than a cash cow of convenience. Due to her status as Saint Marlo, the girl blessed with a healing touch and the appearance of an angel in flesh, the family now resided in a lavish mansion. With more space than they knew what to do with. They worried for nothing; their bellies filled to the brim every day.

It was quite the life.

"Please don't make me go," Marlo dug her heels into the waxed floorboards and leaned her entire body backwards. Tears stained her meticulously kept porcelain complexion "I hate it there. I don't want to go!"

Margret pulled her by the wrist, forcing the nine-year-old's tiny doll-like body to move forward against objections "I know Sweetie, but it's your duty."

"No!" Marlo's screech vibrated through the mansion. The house maids new better than to spare a glance at the spectacle, instead they quickened their cleaning. "I hate it! I hate those people! I hate God! He's cursed me!" the nine-year-old continued to scream at a piercing shriek.

"Don't say such things!" Margret released the thin wrist, they both dropped to the ground "Don't ever say that out loud," Margret warned in hushed tones.

"I'm cursed! Cursed! Those men don't want to be healed! They don't! Pigs! They're all p-"

Margret slapped her hand over Marlo's mouth, sweat beaded across her forehead.

"What the fuck is all this shouting?" A man with a sun wrinkled face and dressed in the finest linens walked into the room. His temperament already peeked as his harsh gaze fell on his daughter and wife creating a scene in the middle of the foyer. "Is she misbehaving again?"

"No," Margret quickly responded and stood up attempting to pull the little Saint up with her. Marlo remained obstinate, dropping her weight like an anchor. Crashing on the floor Marlo began thrashing her arms and legs in a furry. "Marlo," Margret's ginger voice cracked "Please. You need to get up."

"Leave," Jeremy demanded "I'll handle the girl."

"But Honey, she still needs to be bathed and dressed."

Jeremey looked at his wife and then back at the child throwing a tantrum on his pristine polished floor. His nose wrinkled; the lines of his mouth turned down in utter disgust "You clearly are unable to handle this girl. Go." Margret uttered broken words, the heat of sweat coating her body caused the room to spin. "I won't repeat myself." With this statement Margret spared one last pitiful glance towards the little Saint before slinking away into the crevices of their large home.

Marlo continued to scream, banging her legs and arms on the floor. Relishing in the side glances of the servants, the embarrassment was thrilling, in this moment she was a normal child. Void of perfection, the image of the little saint shattered like her innocence. "Does it please you to embarrass me," Jeremey scowled, his voice was cold, but Marlo stopped in her assault of the floor.

Her entire body trembled as hostility slithered under her skin. Marlo sat up "I'm sorry, Daddy." The resentments only increased as Marlo uttered those words. In truth, Jeremey didn't seek apologies, nor did he desire a well-behaved Saint. "Daddy..." Marlo dropped her head to stare at the floor. She knew all too well it was her value that saved her skin from the whip.

"Get up," Jeremey demanded. "You have a flock to tend to."

"I won't go," Marlo trembled making her defiance less than effective. "Those people are sick; they make my skin crawl. I feel their eyes on me, their hands... Wanting more." Marlo understood the dark side of human nature much more than any nine-year-old should. In the last year she understood the hungry eyes feasting on her adolescent body, the way their hands linger over her flesh as if fighting against a temptation most sinister.

Jeremey scoffed, he stood in front of his daughter and grabbed a handful of tangled ebony hair "Listen closely," he yanked her up to her feet. Marlo whimpered, clenching her jaw, and bit the inside of her cheek until blood dripped over her tongue. "If the flock desires your body, then you give it. You take their offerings with a smile and then open yourself completely."

Hatred. Sheer, unadulterated hatred.

It was like a blade slicing through her ribs, striking her heart with precision. Her palms sweltered and stomach cramped from a rising heat that burned her throat. Marlo gritted her teeth, Jeremey tightened his grip on her hair, strands ripped out at the scalp peeling the tiniest bits of skin. "Aaaaaah!" Marlo screeched in her father's face, unable to contain the hatred spilling from her father and into her own heart. "You bastard!" Marlo lashed out her arm contacting Jeremy's throat. Her tiny hand was hardly big enough to wrap around the thickness of his throat, but her tiny fingernails left irritating red claw marks.

"You little bitch," Jeremey seethed as he dragged her by the hair through the home until they reached the backyard. In the backyard, Ivan (the oldest of the children) was diligently chopping wood. Samuel (the second youngest) played obediently with his older sister, Rachel, the apple of their father's eye. If any of his children was deserving of Sainthood it should have been bestowed upon Rachel, well that was what Jeremey believed anyway. It would be a lie if Marlo didn't also wish for this to be the case, then she could slumber with the bugs burrowed under the ground peacefully.

"Ivan!" Jeremey bellowed, all three siblings stopped and stared as Marlo flailed her arms and dug her heels into the dirt like a feral creature. "Grab the hose! This little Saint needs to be cleaned for her flock."

Ivan hesitated, but only for a handful of seconds before dropping the ax and running to the shed to grab the hose. With haste he attached it to the nozzle and ran the length to where his father and banshee sister stood. "No!" Marlo cried out "I'll behave! I'll behave!"

"Undress," Jeremey released the fist full of hair. Marlo stumbled on her feet not daring to rub the sores throbbing against her scalp. Marlo looked up at her dad, then around the yard at her siblings. Rachel snickered enjoying this spectacle, behind that sugary smile and large doll-eyes was a truth only herself and Marlo were privy to. Disdain. Jealousy. And mockery. Rachel never cared for her baby sister, even when they lived in that too small house. Seeing her baby sister rise as a Saint only enlarged the rift between them, every night Rachel prayed for Marlo's demise. For the little saint to vanish, to rid themselves of her grotesque existence.

This wasn't an unfamiliar experience to Marlo. She had two options, undress and allow her body to be cleaned by the bruising water pressure spewed from the hose or continue to resist. The latter would have the same results, except she would be forcibly stripped and then sprayed with the hose. The first option spared her the tiniest bit of grief. Marlo slipped the muddied cotton gown from her body. "Ivan, clean your sister thoroughly."

Ivan's jaw twitched, in the seconds of hesitation that hardly lasted longer than a blink Marlo could feel an apology emitting from her oldest brother. But in the end his qualms didn't matter much, he would turn the hose on and point it at her without an extra second of hesitation. Welts formed against her skin under the pressure of the water, the heat from the summer sun boiled the water leaving her pearly skin tinted pink. "Make sure to get the rats nest on top of her head." Ivan nodded and got in closer, Marlo winced but maintained her composure under the mocking gazes of her family. The water showered over her head, flattening the frizzy, tangled nest at the top of her head. She bit down on her lip, brushing out her hair would be hell within itself.

**

With the humiliation of being bathed and dressed completed, Marlo, with her spirits sunken, was wisped away to the Shrine built in her honor. Patrons lined up on the streets to catch a glimpse of the angelic little girl. Marlo remained silent as she walked beside her parents, only sparing a forced smile and small waves to the flock. The shrine built in her honor was built in the center of the city square, an area once reserved for barn animals who were mercilessly dislocated in her name. A shame, Marlo missed the days she could chase after the chickens and roll in mud with the pigs.

It would be fair to say the structure was quite beautiful, the outer walls are built from birch, the eyes still intact staring out into the crowd from all sides. Almost like a promise that all is seen by the Almighty. Marlo wished it could be considered a warning, or perhaps it was the grand design that her body belongs to everybody but herself. It was a small building, only big enough to fit two people comfortably, intimate and privet. Incense fills the room creating a rosemary haze, that irritates her eyes and makes her nose runny. A cross crafted of pure gold and embedded with dazzling jewels rests on the wall above where Marlo perches. It was as tacky as it was beautiful, something of such value could have been sold and fed hundreds of families for the entire year.

Marlo sat in the small room alone, the last moment of reprieve before the onslaught of emotionally terminal believers began their parade. She glared at the cross above her head, perhaps she could turn it upside down, maybe the Devil would seek pity and save her. Or. Perhaps not.

"Saint Marlo," a man in his early twenties stepped into the room. His eyes were hardly able to open due to inflammation. Red veins scorched the whites of his eyes. He looked ghastly, with pale green skin and flesh that clung to his bones. The young man fell to his knees before the child Saint "Please, help me." Marlo stared at the lump on the floor. It was gracious of him to ask; however, it wasn't her right to deny. It was as her father said, accept all offerings.

"What do you offer?"

The young man sat up "I don't have much," he produced a small pouch that clinked with coins "this is all I have." Marlo held out her hand, this might have been where she thanked the man for his contribution and some graceful words of God's love, but honestly, she couldn't muster the words in her smothering heart. "My wife has recently passed away. The grief is unbearable, I can't look at our daughter without crying. I worry this sadness will turn to hatred."

Marlo nodded; grief illuminated around this man. Weighing heavily on the hazy air "Take my hand," Marlo placed the pouch to the side. It could very well have been a pouch full of rocks from the river for all she cared. She held out her hand once again, the man crawled closer and cupped her tiny hand in his meaty, callused hands. He bowed his head and pressed the combined hands to his forehead. Marlo learned early on that contact was all that was needed to absorb another's emotions, it was the city's priest that mystified this ritual with the condition of prayer.

"We rest underneath your mighty wings of love. We dwell within your gentle heart. We know there is healing in your touch. Through the sufferings of Christ, we can ask for restoration. And trust in your goodness. You are our Lord, our savior, our healer, and our friend. We dwell within your gentle embrace. Amen."

"Amen," the man echoed.

A soft summer breeze rolling off gentle waves thawed the sorrows of the man. The grief and the benign hatred flowed through his body. Pooling at his fingertips it entered Marlo. The chill froze her insides, slowed her organs, and caged her heart within its icy embrace. Marlo chewed the inside of her cheek, reopening scar tissue and freeing the hot coppery taste of sorrows. It consumed her soul, her existence faded, death reached toward her and on Christ's name Marlo wanted to embrace the sweetness the reaper had to offer.

She wouldn't. It was nothing more than a sweet dream among the nightmares of the waking world. As the man praised the young saint her ears were deaf, uninterested as her soul readjusted to the sensations of loss. Heartbreak and a little bit of love. This man loved his wife with his entire being, it was wrenching, if Marlo was permitted a single wish. It would be to never fall in love.

The hours dragged on, one by one people came and went. Each with their own sob story, their own blighted emotions to rid themselves of. Each desiring the rejuvenation offered by the healing touch of their Saint. With each miracle a new weight pressed down on Marlo, a new emotion to navigate, a new memory to stain her young soul.

A blessing.

A Miracle.

No.

This was Hell.

**

Seven years later...

"She's, our daughter!" Margret shouted at her husband.

It was well past midnight and the house slumbered, except for Marlo who learned to seek refuge in the shadows of the night.

The shadows tight embrace obscuring her from the view of the Heavens was welcomed. In the late hours she was no longer Saint Marlo, vessel of God's divine healing. She wasn't the proper, quiet daughter of the Penty family. She didn't have to be confined to the halls of the drearily lavish mansion, nor the disgustingly intimate room filled with rosemary smoke. In the shadows she was mistress of the dark. Beguiler of the forgotten and guardian of the loss.

That evening as she twirled through the flourishing flower garden, relishing the tickle of damp grass against the soles of her feet she could hear her mother's watery voice bellow. During the hours of light, Marlo held no desires towards curiosity. She'd sooner tune the noise around her out, say the prayer she didn't believe in and try to keep the days as calm as possible. During the night though, the stars whispered devilish delights into her ears and the wind pulled her towards the voices. Ducking low Marlo crept her way through the loosened soil under her father's study. The rough texture of brick scraped over her palms, her lips wiggled playfully suppressing a giggle at the pretentiousness of a man demanding a study to be filled high with books he would never open, and a desk fashioned from the nicest wood to fill his ego with importance.

"He will pay handsomely for her hand," Jeremey continued unfazed by his wife's hysterical behavior.

Marget slammed her fists on the desk "No! Absolutely not! Marlo can't be bought, she's, our daughter!"

"She is a Saint, and Saints will go where they are demanded. If the King wants that girl, then he will have her. If we deny him then his men will come and seize her anyways, leaving us without a single coin."

"You'd sell her then!" Marlo was stunned by the intensity in her mother's voice, it'd been many years since Margret extended a loving hand.

"That's enough!" Jeremey raised his voice "You would pretend to be a loving mother to a girl you haven't so much as looked at in seven years. The King will pay a large sum, enough to settle our daughter's dowry, enough to send Samuel abroad for his research, and to spoil our grandchildren. You'd squander this gift for that girl?"

The room went silent, Marlo slipped away into the night. Truthfully it didn't matter much to her. Her fate had been sealed at the young age of six. Now ten years later, it didn't matter much who's hand held her chains. Dirt slid between her toes, the warm breeze caressed her skin, even the moon radiated down on her, revealing silver tinsel throughout her silken ebony locks. The pale-yellow nightgown twirled around her legs, lifting slightly under the air currents to reveal her long slender legs.

Marlo hummed a song she'd learned from a vagabond; the woman had been charming in a devious sort of way. She wandered the city blissfully unbothered by the scornful looks and spit targeted at her for tarnished the Saint's streets with her black magic. The woman had been fascinating, with many stories to tell. Some her own, some belonging to others, all thrilling. For the first time since Marlo was a child, she found herself wishing to live such a carefree existence. To explore the continent, traverse the oceans and soak in all the knowledge the Earth has to offer. Such fantasies would only weaken her soul to the emotions of others.

"Halt," a deep voice disturbed the chirping crickets. Marlo paused in her personal ballet and squinted. Her face warmed under the man's lit torch; the flames danced in the engulfing darkness of her obsidian eyes. "Who are you."

Marlo shrugged "I am the queen of crickets and you've interrupted our performance."

The man arched an eyebrow, the same flickering flame glowed against his face. Stubble covered his razor-sharp jawline, a deep scar traveled from his cheek over the bridge of his nose. The rest of his face remained hidden in the shadows. "And who are you preforming for?"

"The moon," Marlo stretched out her arms as if getting ready to embrace someone and looked up toward the sky with a bright smile. "The stars, and the creatures trapsing among the shadows." She lowered her head only enough to look up at the stranger "Even you, if you hadn't rudely interrupted."

"Then by all means," the man stepped back and motioned to the grassy field "Continue. Let me determine what to do with you by your performance."

"Do with me," Marlo tilted her head and cupped her hands behind her back "If my dance pleases you, will you parade me around your camp? Bring me to lands far and wide, gain a hefty profit of the backs of my hardworking crickets?"

The stranger laughed; the baritone sound rippled through Marlo's heart causing a tempting discomfort. "Maybe I will spread your name far and wide so all can come and witness this bizarre serenade from the moon maiden and her crickets."

"You'd need my name if you were to do that."

"Go on."

"Hmm," Marlo tiptoed backwards "A name is a mighty powerful thing. I don't know if you should hold so much power."

The man shifted his waist to reveal the blade attached to his hip "I don't need your name to hold power."

"A blade proves nothing. You could slay me down only to reveal my wrath as Queen of the crickets. They'd turn to locusts, devouring everything in their path seeking retribution."

"A terrible fate," the stranger mused. "Then a trade?"

"Hmm," Marlo swirled around.

"A name for a name."

"You're name?"

"Who else?"

"Well..."

"I'm Sagan," the stranger held out his hand.

Marlo looked at the hand but didn't take it "Emory," she smiled silently thanking the vagabond woman for borrowing her name.