Daughter of Anubis

Prelude: Lady Magic's Chosen Mother & Anubis's Daughter

A-n: guys I've rewritten this so it will be longer than what just have read before the updated version.
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Helia close her red eyes, but she cannot escape the way the fog sits against her albino white skin, nor forget the way it obscures all that is within it. She wasn't sure if the horrors her mind is conjuring are worse than the ones she was about to face.

Unlike a natural fog, this is dry and hot. It smells like smoke, tastes like ash, and settles on her gauzy ceremonial dress, dulling the vibrant red of the fabric.

When she look, solid particles drift to the carpet of ash on the ground. Even without seeing them, she can still feel them feather light on her skin.

The air is thick and starved of oxygen, and the ash tickles her throat, makes her cough. She can breathe, but the quality of the air from her elevated place gives her a pounding headache. With her arms lashed to the limbs of the Y-shaped cross, her diaphragm cramps, making it harder to fill her lungs anyway.

The way her own weight causes the bindings to cut into her skin can't be helped, no matter how she tries to shift her position. The tiny plank upon which she stand is barely large enough for her feet to balance, and it wobbles. A sharp pain has settled into the balls of her feet for bearing her weight so unnaturally when she tries to relieve her wrists of the strain.

She'd given up her faith in the methods of judgement long before she even fell victim to it. She had seen firsthand how selective the leaders of the Ancient Order are in following the tenets of the true religion.

She wasn't perfect by any means, but she had tried to stay humble and grounded to the tenets of the faith. Meanwhile, Priestess Miriam took it upon herself to reinterpret the Word of Lady Magic to elevate herself above accountability.

Helia did her best to embody temperance, but Miriam's anger in being questioned or disobeyed was fierce.

She maintained a chaste life, but it was Brother Michael, her second, whose sore riddled hands were far too familiar with her when he knew no one was around to witness; and after Helia's sentencing was given, he didn't even bother hiding his lascivious tendencies toward her.

Who cares? She was a heretic now, less than human.

She stopped praying to Lady Magic, for she never answered. She did nothing when the leaders of the Ancient Order allowed corruption in their hearts, nor when the congregation followed like sheep, eager to justify their sin.

Instead, she began to pray to someone else, someone she have only seen in her dreams, appearing just as depicted in the painting within the chapel.

She prayed to Him now. But it's difficult to concentrate.

She was hearing things. The eerie silence that came with the fog gives way to sounds. Animal noises as if made by human throats, distorted and in torment. They come from the void of falling grey which surrounds her. Muffled, distant, yet of indeterminate location for how sound gets caught in the air. Her heart lurches behind her ribs and she open her eyes despite her fear, blinking away the accumulated particles from her eyelashes.

The features of the town above ground, buildings on the other side of the church square are not visible anymore through the fog. But there is something else. Shadows appear in the flaky mist. From them emanate torturous groans which resonate to her core. Chilling voices, a combination of human and... something else.

The demons are coming.

At least she don't feel like crying. If she dies, it will be with dignity, as much as she can muster to the very last minute. The shaking, though is outside of your control. Exhaustion and fear rattles her guts, cramps her ribs, sends shockwaves up her spine until her teeth chatter.