I was supposed to be free of this room—with its blinds that never close all the way, the drawings I did with a stolen pen on the wall above my ugly Spartan bed. With the particleboard desk, shitty chair, and cross hanging by the door. I knew it would hurt to come back, but I want to slam my fist into the mirror until pieces of glass jut out of my knuckles. I want to tear myself apart so I don’t have to see myself like this.

Breathe.

Dad told me that I am a man, and nobody can take that from me. I am a man no matter what Mom makes me wear. Besides, guys in the ALC wore skirts and dresses sometimes, and they were still men. It doesn’t make me a girl. It doesn’t make me a girl. Besides, nobody wears masks inside the walls of New Nazareth, so everyone will see my razor-sharp, jumbled mess of teeth and rotting flesh. I could pull out one of my fingernails and not feel a thing. When people look at me, the first thing they’ll think is monster, is Seraph, not girl.

But I’m wearing the white dress from my engagement ceremony, from my unveiling as Seraph’s host. It hugs my waist and lays embroidery across my chest as if demanding that you look. My hair is too long, reaching the nape of my neck, and my name is Esther again. Within the walls of New Nazareth I am a girl, and God—God—I don’t know if I can do this.

I deserve this. I have to repent for the mistakes I’ve made. I want to destroy everything I see, but it’s just easier if I don’t fight back. I need to save my strength for the absolution, and I deserve it, don’t I? If it’s happening, I must deserve it, right?

Repent ye therefore, that your sins may be blotted out…

“Just,” I say. “Don’t say anything to Mom.”

“It isn’t right,” Theo whispers. “I love you.”

No, he doesn’t. He burned the ALC. He killed my people. He did this to me. I want to bludgeon his head against the cinderblock walls until his skull comes apart in my hands, seeping brain and shards of bone between my fingers.

I have to pretend I want to be home.

I say, “I love you too.”