“Ambroossiinnee,” a sickeningly sweet voice crones. The call drills through the girl’s skull, vibrating her brain until all sense of control she had falters.

 “Ambrosine!” Angrier this time, the entity’s volume shatters reality itself. The world gives in; cracking and breaking. The girl sprints through the mangled debris of the church until she’s thrown onto her back. Before her consciousness fades, a shout violently rattles her soul.

“AMBROSINE!”

Her eyes close, and it all stops.

  Safe in bed, Amla jolts awake, sweat pouring off her. Every time this nightmare comes she knows only one thing after–the person, the thing behind the voice is coming for her. The dream began an annual ritual of torture 5 years ago, when Amla’s father died. The Five–the holy deities of her world–enforce a limit and time on everything, on everyone. People are assigned a Path, one of the things included on it being a date of death. If you try to disrupt the natural order, or death simply does not come, it will be enforced.

The dark of the night sky creeps through barred windows. On a luxurious couch sit three huddled people–a family, waiting for the worst to pass. The young girl, Amla, silently prays to 

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The Five–the hope of saving her father implanted in her mind. As the strokes of midnight finally ring the family looks around the room and each other in a perplexed state of fear. Eerie silence lingers for a mere five minutes until they come. Cardinals, once friends of the family, tie the girls up and emotionlessly beat Amla’s father. Over and over, the sounds of his brutal murder play in awful harmony with her mother’s sobs. With each cry goes another piece of her heart. Maybe out of compassion, Amla is blindfolded as one of the members brings out their dagger. The cardinal whispers something unintelligible as his knife comes in contact with the father’s chest. 

Brushing off the memory of her father’s death, Amla trudges into her daily routine. As she approaches the bathroom sink a sorry sight looks at her through the mirror. Exhausted sunken eyes make the seventeen year old staring back seem a lot older. Her frizzy curls are matted to her neck with sweat–not helping the tired look she has. With a sigh Amla’s shaky hands turn the cold water knob, splashing the cold liquid on her face. She grabs a towel off the top of the dirty laundry pile she didn’t manage to do yet, and ignores its smell as she dries her face. A noise from her home’s only bedroom catches Amla’s attention. She reluctantly goes to the noise–knowing it can only mean her mother’s awake.

“Mama,” she says in a soothing voice, something almost condescending about her tone. Gray curls poke out from a lump of sheets–the only indication of the frail woman being in the bed. 

Just 36, Miriam Atiyeh has all but completely shut down. Leaving her daughter alone to struggle through life without her father. If it’s a good day Amla’s mother may even talk, but most of the time she’s just a husk of a person. Won’t eat, can’t sleep–has already gone gray. Amla tries to pretend she’s fine, but there’s a part of her that resents her mother for her condition. Why 

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should Miriam get to hide away in her head while life still goes on, leaving her daughter in the real world? No matter, it’s hard to not love your mother. So one day at a time Amla lives on–trying to keep her mother safe and sound as she does.

“Oh Mama,” she groans, rolling the woman out of soiled sheets. “Nothing I can do to change it now. I’ll get you some water.” Amla throws the bedding in the pile of dirty laundry, making a mental note it definitely has to be done today now. Washing her hands she fills a cup of water and forces herself to walk up the stairs. Her mom is still sat on the ground where Amla left her, staring at something no one else can see.

Amla walks her to the bath and has Miriam sit in the tub as the water runs. “Drink.” She commands, forcing the cup to her mother’s lips. As the water reaches the halfway mark Amla stop it, taking position at the side of the tub with a bar of soap. As she scrubs her mother she lets her mind wander to what life will be like once Miriam dies. While she’s not ready for her mother to be gone as well as her father, it’ll make life easier.

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She can get a job at the church–she already has one but one that really matters. Like her father’s did. She can actually sleep in some days, and take care of herself for once in her life. No more wearing dirty clothes for a week at a time, or not having time to eat for a few days in a row. Guilt wracks her mind as she thinks of the possibilities of life after her mother has passed. And she truly isn’t thinking of it because she wants her to die, but purely because her mother’s death date is rapidly approaching.

Once Amla realized it was just over two weeks away she went into panic mode. She’s had a few days to think about it now–and to come to terms with it. The initial reaction was total fear. Without her mother, Amla has nobody. Nothing. At least everyone else at least has a Path–something that gives them the outline of who they’re meant to be–but Amla doesn’t even have that. While Amla hates the entire operation involving people’s Paths, since she has to have one she wishes hers was more than the two words reading, ‘Become Ambrosine’. She’s often 

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wondered why it would only be two words. For a while she assumed it was a mistake, just a glitch in the system. The issue is that there’s no way it could be a glitch because Paths are created by The Five. Despite her hardships, Amla still believes in her gods and accepts them with undying devotion–perhaps a tribute to her father.

Amla’s father was the Pope–he had access to the entire church, including the Palace. Only the Pope was allowed in the Palace, as it’s the only place in the universe where you can speak to The Five. If you believe in them at least. Amla plans to follow in the footsteps of her father, trying to work her way up until she can speak with her gods and abolish Paths completely. 

Miriam shivers–launching Amla’s thoughts back to the present. “Sorry Mama I let the water run cold,” she says guiltily. “How about we get you warmed up.” Lacking a towel, she wraps her mother in a robe and slippers, careful to not get the hardwood floors wet. Amla squeezes her mother’s shoulders while rifling through the older woman’s closet. Grabbing a shirt Amla speaks, “Let’s get ready for the day then Mama.”

Like everyday Amla works, she gets her mother set up in her wheelchair and walks to the church. First stop is dropping her mother off with Valerie–Miriam’s caretaker and one of the Heads of Church, or HoC. Valerie holds herself as if she’s the greatest person who graced the Earth, but Amla often feels that she’s just a glorified initiate. 

“Well if it isn't Amla Mae!” the overly cheery caretaker says, holding Amla by her sides and air kisses both sides of her face.

Amla forces a smile and holds back her eye roll as she replies her greeting, “Good morning Valerie, it’s nice to see your joyful face for a third day in a row.” The other woman lets out an over the top and very fake laugh, turning away. Amla watches Valerie push her mother’s chair and shudders, grateful that she won’t have to see them for another 8 hours. She straightens her outfit and pushes open the doors to the church.

The main reason Amla works in the church is to get closer to the Pope, and hopefully gain access to the Palace. The new Pope is a former Cardinal; now retired and has no goals or milestones on his Path. He’s kind despite his ruthless past, but Amla doesn’t dare trust him. She wants his position. She doesn’t have anything on her Path either so why can’t she? But if the gods had wanted her to be Pope she knows they would’ve made it happen. That’s why she accepts it and works hard to be in favor of the Five. Amla has a plan; get into the Palace by the Pope’s blessing, befriend the High Priestess, convince the Five she’s the best ruler for humanity and will serve them well. She knows it seems a bit far-fetched but she might as well try. She has almost no family, no friends, no life at all really. Whenever she has doubts she just asks herself: What is there to lose?

Amla is stationed in the archives, sorting the millions of old scrolls and texts. It’s one the least favored duties in the rotation for initiates, but it’s Amla’s favourite. No one likes it because initiates have the lowest salary and the most time consuming job is archive duty. You sit and sort in an ancient basement for hours, finally allowed to leave at the stroke of nine. Amla, however, is fascinated by the origins of her belief. The stories of how the world was when it was ruled solely by Alric, or Number One of her Five gods. Most of the people in the church don’t even know the deities' names, but Amla has spent so many hours of overtime in the archive vaults. She knows all of the origins, all the lore, all the stories that may or may not be true. She likes to think they are all facts, but deep down she knows not every tale was reality. But today, Amla is searching for answers. It’s the fourth year of her having the same nightmare, one where she’s called “Ambrosine”. And it’s the nineteenth year of her Path saying “Become Ambrosine”. Of course, she’s not sure what it even means or if Ambrosine is another being entirely but this year she’s decided to figure it out. If she can’t enter the Palace for answers, she might as well try here.

Another initiate calls down the stairs, looking for a certain girl. “Amla, are you still down there?” 

Annoyed at the interruption and the lack of answers she found during the shift, Amla answers with a slight bite in her tone, “What?”

“It’s almost midnight now,” the initiate responds, unaffected by Amla’s rudeness.

“Oh,” she answers, “I’ll be right up.” Amla begins to pack up her things, but she hears something.

“Ambrosine…” calls so softly that Amla isn’t quite sure if she imagined it. She waits for a second, to see if she hears it again, but she doesn’t. She brushes it off as her mind playing tricks, but hastens to hurry up the stairs anyways. Reaching the door she looks back, and swears she hears the call one more time.

Amla hurries through halls, desperate to get home to her mother–as long as Valerie took the initiative to bring her there. Amla has an eerie feeling in her chest, because hearing the voice in real life and not just a dream hasn’t happened before. She finally feels a sense of calm as she pushes out the church’s doors, the cool air of the night washing over. In her relief she doesn’t even notice the shadow flitting past, or the looming figure behind her. Before she can even scream, she’s been accosted. Whatever being tha has her covers her mouth with a cloth, dragging Amla away. Amla makes out a cloaked figure grasping her, but that’s all she can tell before she loses the battle of staying awake.