Kassandra Patti - The Chosen

THE CHOSEN

KASSANDRA PATTI

Copyright 2016 Kassandra Patti.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-7882-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7884-6 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7883-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016919331

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Trafford rev. 12/06/2016

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CONTENTS

For my grandfather, I promised you a book.

PROLOGUE

March 1742
London, England

She has not left her room, the young lady spoke softly, her English accent light, but present.

Demand she leaves at this very moment. The headmaster of the orphanage stomped his foot. He demanded answers, no excuses.

Sir, I am sorry, but I cannot go with your orders. I ask that you try to get her to leave. Without a word of agreement, she led him to the girls room.

The orphanage was spacious, but it did not take long for them to reach the single wooden door that hid the girl from the outside world.

Who is she? Mr. William Hodge asked, before he opened up the door. He needed to see what he was dealing with before he went in.

Her name is Sabine Clarke sir, a 13-year-old girl. She got back from her foster family 3 days ago. They told us she was impossible to handle. She shrugged, before she stepped back giving Mr. Hodge his space.

What has she been doing since she got back? He gave the young caregiver another look.

She has been sitting in front of that wardrobe, the one that the explorer donated to us. With that last few words, she bowed out of his company and retreated down the hall.

Mr. Hodge took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was dimly lit. Only the light from outside was illuminating the room.

His eyes travelled around the room. It was spotless. The bed was made, a small knapsack was lying at the foot of the bed as if it had been placed there and abandoned. His eyes continued to travel to the end of the room, where a small light haired girl sat staring at herself in the mirrors of a double-door wardrobe. The girl was thin and small for her given age of 13 years old. Her spine was visible through her shirt. Her dirty blonde hair was chopped short around her ears. He remembered when he first took her in. She was left on the steps of the orphanage. She was barely old enough to walk when her mother dropped her off. She was a troubled child; she must have been through some terrifying things for she trusted no one and feared everything.

Sabine Clarke, may I have your attention for just a moment. He waited patiently, his hand still on the doorknob.

You cannot have my attention. It is not for you to have. Her voice was small, but her English accent was thick. It had always been thicker than the other childrens.

Why is that even if it is for a single moment of your time?

My time is for no one. I will not spare an hour nor a mere few minutes. She never looked up at him. Her glazed eyes stared straight into the mirror.

He nodded and grunted, before he turned his attention to the mirror. It was a beauty, a masterpiece in the form of a piece of furniture. This wardrobe had one large mirror on each door. There were beautifully, delicate carvings on the frame and around the mirror. Travelling lower on the mirror were two knobs both shaped in the letter C. It was the letter of the Conqueror. He took what was not his. The wardrobe was finely carved and dealt with from top to bottom. Even the large wooden feet were curved and shiny.

Very well then, I shall see that no one is to disturb you until you are ready to share your time with us all. He nodded at her hoping to see a reaction, but nothing came. She stared, unblinkingly. Her sky blue eyes and blonde hair hid the tragic life of an orphaned girl, but the two thin lines on her cheeks hinted at her past, at the darkness within her.

The afternoon passed and not a word had been spoken of Sabine, no hushed whispers of concern, no angry comments of her disrespect, nothing. When the time for dinner rolled around for the children, Miss Ashford went to fetch Sabine. She would certainly spare a moment for dinner. Just as quickly as silence had descended upon the orphanage, chaos was quick to follow. Miss Ashfords screams were heard from the main dining hall. Staff flooded the room gasping at the horrors that they were now faced with.

Sabine Clarke had strung a rope in the wardrobe and hung herself. Her pale body swayed silently from the rope. Fears can be overpowered, but for poor, young Sabine Clarke, fear devoured her and spit her out. Fear had claimed many victims and she was just another notch on fears belt.

CHAPTER 1
WHITE WALLS

January 12, 2015

Acelia, you need to stay put.

M y arms were bound by leather straps, trapping my arms to my sides, but giving me enough slack to prop myself up on my elbows. My legs were in the same leather straps although they were pinned to the bed. My movement was restricted, but it still gave me slack to shake and wither away from the syringe in her hand. I gazed around; there was nothing to protect myself with, there was a pitcher of water on the counter top although that was out of reach, there was a makeshift stand holding up a curtain to divide the room. I looked back at her and the syringe. The poison they wanted to fill me with, to make me fall asleep for days and send me into a hazy frenzy where the hours melted into days and the days melted into weeks.

Her smile was tight, forced. She had on her signature glasses, the black rims framing her round face and extenuating her green eyes. If you didnt look past her fake charm and sweet smiles you would think she was a god sent, but I know better. I know who she is and what she does and it is nothing close to godly.

Your parents wouldnt be too happy to hear that you were giving me trouble now would they? The bitter words dripped from her mouth. She knew she had the upper hand, and she was showing me that she knew. It was a threat, a silent threat that she would carry out: behave or your parents wont get you out, they wont see any of your improvement.

I stared at her; I didnt avert my gaze from hers. Dr Cunningham was always throwing it in my face, my parents liked her more, they trusted what she said, everything, she said was taken with the utmost attention. Second guessing it was never an option. Never.

I mean they would be pretty pissed if they heard that, I looked down at my body, strapped to the bed like an animal in a lab. I looked back up at her, the idea that they strap us down like animals and poke and probe at us fuelled me. I spit in her face, some saliva slipping down the corner of my lip, trailing down my chin. Dr Cunningham cringed; her hand slowly removed my spit from her exposed arm. She gave me a hard look, her eyebrows furrowing.