Humiliation burned my cheeks.
Josiah' s words echoed, "Eleanor is pure! She will bear the Harbinger!"
The commune murmured agreement.
I knew the truth.
Abigail, my "Blighted" child, was the true Harbinger.
Eleanor' s "blessed" Daniel was my stolen son.
This knowledge was a stone in my gut.
The ceremony continued.
Josiah praised Eleanor' s light, her purity.
He painted me as a shadow, a risk.
His new choice was clear.
Eleanor, radiant in her stolen glory, accepted the Locket.
She looked at me, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
My father, a Community Elder, looked troubled.
He knew parts of the prophecy, the Old Sage' s words about me.
But Josiah' s power was absolute now.
The High Elder had spoken.
The choice was made.
Eleanor was the chosen one.
I was the outcast.