No More Sacrifices: A Rebirth

The screams of the "Proving" ceremony were the first thing I heard when I woke up.

My eyes shot open, and the scent of pine, sweat, and something metallic filled my lungs.

I was back in this godforsaken survivalist compound, mysteriously transported from my office job.

A hand grabbed my arm, and it was Gabrielle Chadwick, or Gabby, her terrified eyes pleading.

"Molly, help me! Please! They're going to hurt me!"

This was the ritual where young men would strike unmarried women with leather belts, and the one enduring the most blows was deemed "most desired."

In my past life, I shielded Gabby, taking every blow for her, believing I was protecting a friend.

My sacrifice made me the "most honored," granting me first choice of a partner, and I chose Caleb Scott, the compound leader' s son.

But my life with Caleb was a private hell of control and brutality, while Gabby, seething with resentment for what she thought was her rightful place, pretended to be my friend.

She eventually got her revenge, pushing me off a cliff during a foraging trip.

Now, reborn at the start of that same horrifying ceremony, Gabby was playing the same part, her hand clamping my arm, her voice a desperate plea for me to be her shield again.

I looked at her, at the calculated fear in her eyes, remembering the sharp, final impact of falling.

Not this time.

The screams of the "Proving" ceremony were the first thing I heard when I woke up.

It was a sound I never thought I' d hear again, a brutal mix of male grunts and the sharp crack of leather belts against flesh. My eyes shot open, and the scent of pine, sweat, and something metallic filled my lungs.

I was back. Back in this godforsaken survivalist compound in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains.

A hand grabbed my arm, and I flinched.

"Molly, help me! Please! They're going to hurt me!"

It was Gabrielle Chadwick, or Gabby, as she was known here. Her big, terrified eyes were fixed on me, tears already streaming down her beautiful face. She was a master of the damsel in distress act, a performance I had fallen for in our previous life.

I remembered it all. The first time we arrived here, mysteriously transported from our office jobs in the city. The shock, the fear, and the horrifying "Gauntlet" ceremony.

It was a ritual for the community's young men to claim partners. They would strike the unmarried women with leather belts, and the woman who endured the most strikes was deemed the "most desired."

In my first life, I shielded Gabby. I took the blows meant for her, believing I was protecting a friend. My body was covered in welts, but my sacrifice made me the most "honored" woman. It gave me the first choice of a partner.

I chose Caleb Scott, the strong, ambitious son of the compound's leader, the Elder. He was the alpha, the one every woman wanted. Gabby, with fewer strikes to her name, was paired with the quiet carpenter, Andrew Wright.

My life with Caleb was a private hell. His "traditional values" were a cover for a controlling, brutish nature. Gabby, meanwhile, pretended to be my friend while seething with resentment. She believed I had stolen her rightful place.

She eventually got her revenge. During a foraging trip, she pushed me off a cliff.

Now, reborn at the start of that same horrifying ceremony, Gabby was playing the same part, her hand clutching my arm, her voice a desperate plea.

"Molly, please, you have to stand in front of me!"

I looked at her, at the calculated fear in her eyes. I remembered the feeling of falling, the sharp, final impact.

This time, there would be no sacrifice.

I yanked my arm free from Gabby's grasp.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Molly? What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I bent down, scooped up a handful of dirt, and smeared it across my face, matting my hair with grime. I tore a small rip in the sleeve of my simple tunic. Then, I shuffled to the very edge of the assembled women, trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Gabby stared at me, her expression shifting from pleading to disbelief, and then to a cold, hard understanding. She realized I wasn't going to be her shield.

A flicker of anger crossed her face before she quickly composed herself. If I wouldn't help her, she would embrace the horror. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and stepped forward, positioning herself in the center of the clearing. She smoothed her hair and arranged her tunic to accentuate her figure. She was ready to be the main attraction.

The Elder, Caleb's father, gave the signal. The young men, their faces flushed with a mix of lust and aggression, stepped forward, belts in hand.

The Gauntlet began.

The sickening crack of leather echoed through the trees. I watched from the sidelines as Gabby took the first strike. She cried out, a sound that was both pained and theatrical. It only seemed to excite the men more. One after another, they stepped up to mark her. Caleb was the first, his strike landing with a possessive force. He looked directly at her, a smirk on his face.

Gabby endured it all, her cries turning into a display of proud suffering. She was becoming what I had been in the last life: the most desired, the most coveted prize.

When it was over, she stood bruised and trembling, but triumphant. As the "most desired woman," she had the first pick.

"I choose Caleb," she announced, her voice ringing with victory.

Caleb stepped forward and pulled her to his side, a possessive arm around her waist. They were the new power couple, a perfect match of ambition and manipulation.

The pairings continued until only two people were left. Me, the dirty, overlooked woman at the edge of the crowd, and Andrew Wright, the quiet carpenter everyone ignored. The Elder announced our pairing as a matter of course. It was the leftovers being swept together.

Andrew approached me slowly, his eyes kind but hesitant. He didn't reach for me or treat me like property. He simply stood beside me, waiting.

Before we could leave, Gabby, leaning heavily on Caleb, made her way over to us.

"Well, Molly," she said, a cruel smile on her lips. "Look at you. Paired with him. I guess some people are just meant for the bottom. Enjoy your pathetic life in a mud hut."

I met her gaze, my expression unreadable. I remembered Caleb' s cold hands, his private rages, the dead look in his eyes.

"Pride comes before a fall, Gabby," I said, my voice low and steady. "Be careful you don't trip."

Her smile faltered. Caleb scowled and pulled her away.

Andrew looked at me, a question in his eyes. I gave him a small, reassuring nod.

"Let's go home," he said softly.

I followed him, leaving the noise and the brutality of the ceremony behind. He didn't lead me to a crude cabin or a mud hut as Gabby had sneered. He led me to the edge of the compound, to a massive oak tree.

Nestled high in its branches was a house. A real house, with walls of smooth, polished wood, a sturdy-looking roof, and a winding staircase built around the trunk. It was a treehouse, but not for a child. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship.

Inside, it was even more stunning. Hand-carved furniture, woven blankets in rich, earthy colors, and a jar of wildflowers sitting on a small table. The air smelled of sawdust and honey. It was a sanctuary.

I turned to Andrew, who was watching me nervously. He was more slender than the other men, his strength lying in his hands and his mind, not in brute force.

"You built this?" I asked, my voice filled with genuine awe.

He nodded, a shy smile touching his lips. "I like to work with wood. And I like being up high. It's quieter."

In that moment, I knew I had made the right choice. Let Gabby have her alpha. I would take the artist, the gentle soul.

As I settled into this peaceful new home, my mind drifted to the future. I remembered a key event from my past life. A few months from now, the Elder would die in a "hunting accident." An accident that was anything but. It was the event that allowed Caleb to seize total control of the compound, plunging it into an even darker era of his ruthless rule.

I looked around the beautiful treehouse, at the kind man who had built it.

Not this time, I vowed to myself. This time, I would stop it.