What we do know is that in the decades since the Hearth started, barely anyone has ever left. It is rare for a cult to remain stable for so many years. A decade ago, after complaints of curious people trying to sneak onto the grounds, the government constructed a large artificial swamp around the perimeter, making the former site of Muir Woods technically an island. With several thousand members, the commune is largely self-sufficient, but must order in some supplies from outside. Within the grounds, people will occasionally disappear, and no one knows where they have gone. Some claim that Mana-ma kills them herself, though again, is this only sensationalism?

“The swamp is artificial?” Taema asked.

“That’s the question you ask after reading that?” I said, incredulous. “This thing accused Mana-ma of being a murderer!”

“That’s just another rumor. People don’t go missing. They die of natural causes and rejoin the Cycle.” She sounded so matter-of-fact, so certain, and I was jealous of her.

“I don’t get it, either. People die out there, too, don’t they?” I couldn’t help but think: what if they didn’t? What if out there people lived forever? Did I want that?

We looked through other links about the Hearth, but none of them seemed as close to the truth as that first one. People writing about us wondered how the Hearth was funded, for our “tawdry wares” and “paltry produce” weren’t nearly enough to keep us going. Talk about rude. We worked as hard as the others on those stupid quilts and things, and I wouldn’t call them tawdry. We helped pick the mushrooms from the greenhouse and send them to the mainland, and it wasn’t easy picking for hours on end.

They said that Mana-ma brainwashed us all, twisting our minds to her will, forcing us with drugs until we knew nothing different. I looked at Taema out of the corner of my eye. How nervous she was even being near the tablet, yet unable to look away. I should have believed the Impure technology was evil, too. Why didn’t I?

Other sites said that everyone within the Hearth was there because they were twisted and ugly, with missing limbs and scars and other blemishes. I thought of my friends and family, me and my sister. None of us were ugly, were we? Physical beauty was not something we really dwelt on in the Hearth. It wasn’t important, as God made us all perfect and we had to only trust in His judgment and continue trying to be the best people we could in this world.

I searched for “flesh parlor” next. They showed before and after photographs of people who had changed their faces. In the after pictures, it was as if they’d erased what truly made them look like … themselves. It was all generic, with no defining characteristics.