THE C*CK WORSHIPER

The first thing I registered was the overwhelming scent of roses, thick and cloying, mixed with something dark and musky. My vision was hazy, my body heavy, and when I tried to move, my limbs felt strangely weak.

That's when I saw them: four women in sheer, white gowns, their faces veiled, their hands clasped. Panic shot through me. "Where am I? Who are you? What the fuck is going on?!"

No answer. Cold, firm hands gripped me, dragging me towards an enormous stone pool. My screams did nothing as they shoved me into the warm, rose-petal-strewn water, scrubbing and oiling my skin until it glistened. By the time they pulled me out, I was gasping, shaking.

One of them stepped forward, holding a golden blouse and skirt. "Follow the rules, or they will kill you," she said, her voice eerily calm.

My blood ran cold. "Who? Who will kill me?"

She didn't answer, only pushing the clothes toward me again. Swallowing hard, I took them, my fingers trembling. "What is this place? At least tell me your name."

A pause. Then, softly: "Amira."

"I don't remember anything," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "Not my name. Not how I got here. Nothing."

"If you want to live, do as you're told," Amira said firmly. "I'll explain after the ceremony."

Ceremony? I opened my mouth, but she handed me a veil. "Put it on." I had no choice. I covered my face, and they led me outside.