Outlawed Desires

ASHER:

As I was about to fasten the last two buttons on my shirt, rolling my shoulders in the process to shake off the lingering stiffness of sleep, I heard it before I saw it. Muffled shouting. Hurried footsteps pounded against the worn wooden floors of the apartment, a relentless drumbeat heralding an impending storm. Then came the telltale crack—something, or someone, hitting the ground.

It was happening again. The thought struck before I could push it away. My fingers stilled mid-motion, my breath caught in my throat. The steady rhythm of my morning routine shattered, replaced by an unshakable certainty of what was coming next. The Council of Purity—another of their so-called cleansings.

A cold dread slithered through my veins. I didn't want to watch this time. I didn't want to be part of it. But in Eldermire, you either watched, or you became the watched. And suspicion? That was as good as a death sentence.

The air in my apartment hung heavy, almost suffocating. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the rest of the buttons, each one slipping through my fingers before I forced them into place. I reached for the doorknob and hesitated. My heart pounded so violently I feared it might give me away before I even stepped outside. I didn't want to see what was about to happen. But I had to. The choice was never mine.

I stepped into the brightly lit hallway, where electric lights cast a harsh, almost sterile glow on the cracked walls. The scent of damp wood and old paint clung to the air, mixing with something else now—something metallic. Something that made my stomach twist. The floorboards groaned beneath my hesitant steps, each one an accusation.

The noise grew louder with each step I took, emanating from just down the corridor. My feet moved on their own, drawing me toward the chaos even as every nerve in my body screamed to turn back. But I couldn't. If I didn't show my face, people would wonder. They would question. And in this city, questions were dangerous.

As I rounded the corner, a chill gripped my stomach when I saw them—Kenny and Cheney. Nausea threatened to overtake me.

They were being dragged from their apartment, their bare skin catching the cold, indifferent glow of the hallway lamps. Naked, exposed—stripped not just of clothing, but of dignity. Why couldn't they at least let them dress first? Their skin was marred with bruises, evidence of the violence already inflicted.

Cheney, broader in build with wavy auburn hair, had striking green eyes that burned with rage, his jaw clenched as if holding back curses. A deep bruise darkened his cheek, and his chest heaved with restrained fury. Kenny, leaner with sharp features, had jet-black hair that hung messily over his forehead, partially obscuring his piercing gray eyes. His lip was split, a trickle of blood staining his chin. His hands were bound behind his back, the rope biting into his skin, turning it an angry red.

The jeering crowd had already begun to gather like vultures, eager to feast on the spectacle. Their faces contorted in delight, they spat and cursed at them. At the center of it all, standing like robed specters of judgment, were the members of the Council of Purity.

Draped in pristine white, their garments seemed untouched by the filth of the streets, as if they floated above it. Embroidered across their chests was the sigil of Eldermire—a silver flame encased in a ring of thorns, a symbol of their so-called righteousness. Their faces were carved from stone, expressions sculpted in disgust, as if the very act of looking at Kenny and Cheney burned them.

Kenny and Cheney were "roommates"—or so they wanted everyone to believe. They had tried to be careful, playing their roles and pretending to be nothing more than friends sharing a space. But I had seen the truth in their stolen glances and lingering touches when they thought no one was watching. It seems I wasn't the only one who had noticed. Someone must have reported them.

Kenny's gaze found mine; his eyes were wide, terrified, and pleading.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. What could I possibly do? If I so much as flinched, if I let even a hint of defiance slip onto my face, I would be next. I was just as trapped as they were. Just as helpless. My body betrayed me, my feet propelling me forward—not to help, but to join the others. To blend in, following the crowd.

By the time we reached the city square, it was already alive with dark, twisted excitement, a hunger for the spectacle to come. My skin crawled. The cobblestone ground was slick with the remnants of last night's rain, but that did nothing to dull the frenzy.

Voices rose in a cruel chorus, spewing venom and hurling insults.

Someone threw a stone. It struck Kenny in the shoulder, and he stumbled. Cheney tried to steady him, only to be ripped away by the enforcers.

Another stone hit Kenny's ribs, the sickening thud drowned by the rising chorus of insults.

"Abominations!"

"Monsters!"

"Demons!"

"Burn them!"

My stomach twisted as bile crept up my throat. How could they not see the hypocrisy? The evil in their own eyes as they condemned two innocent men whose only crime was love? The real monsters weren't the ones standing before them, trembling and bare.

They were the ones in the crowd, the ones screaming, the ones who watched.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. The pain was grounding, a reminder to stay still and quiet. If they saw the rage simmering beneath my skin, if they caught even a glimpse of my horror—I would be next.

So I stood there, silent, watching. Just like everyone else.

The crowd suddenly settled into an uneasy hush as Mayor Donovan Hayes stepped forward. He was tall, his broad shoulders imposing. His hair, once dark and vibrant, had turned gray, giving him an even more authoritative presence. He was like an iron grip on the throat of Eldermire—cold, unyielding, merciless.

His gaze swept across the square before locking onto the two figures kneeling in the dirt before him.

Kenny and Cheney. Their bodies were trembling, their faces streaked with dirt, blood, and tears. The enforcers, clad in black uniforms, stood behind them like silent reapers, their faces hidden beneath their hoods. The Council of Purity stood behind the mayor, having fulfilled their duty in bringing the sinners to justice.

Now, it was time for the enforcers to take over in watching over the sinners.

"Sinners!" Mayor Hayes spat. "Their crime is an insult to our city's purity! They have defied the natural order!" His voice rang across the square like a death knell.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, growing louder, swelling like a tide preparing to crash. Voices collided like waves, screaming curses and condemnations. Some spat, others threw whatever they had in their hands—rotten fruit, stones. Kenny flinched as an apple core struck his temple, but he didn't make a sound. Cheney, however, was sobbing, his pleas barely audible beneath the crowd's fury.

"These abominations," the Mayor continued, his voice thick with disgust, "were caught defiling their bodies, betraying the sacred laws that keep Eldermire pure. And thanks to Cain here, a true and loyal son of our city, we were able to uncover their sickening secret."

Cain stepped forward, his smirk smug and triumphant. He basked in the Mayor's praise, standing taller, prouder. My stomach churned. Cain had been their friend. I had seen him with Kenny and Cheney countless times—laughing, drinking, they had trusted him. But he had sold them out.

In this Eldermire, even your closest ally could turn on you in an instant. Family, friends—none of it mattered. Only survival.

Kenny and Cheney's pleas grew more desperate. Cheney fell forward, pressing his forehead against the dirt as he begged, his voice raw. "Please," he gasped, "punish me, not him. This was my fault, all of it. Kenny didn't—he didn't—"

Kenny shook his head fiercely, eyes wide with panic. "Stop it, Cheney," he hissed, his hands still bound behind his back. "Don't..."

But Cheney wouldn't stop. His voice cracked as he continued, "He didn't want this, it was me, it was all me. Pl—"

The Mayor sneered. "Pathetic."

I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat. My vision blurred at the edges. The world felt like it was tipping, spinning. I wanted to vomit. To scream. To run.

They hadn't done anything wrong. They had just loved each other. But in Eldermire, some love was a crime.

"Some desires are outlawed." The words had been drilled into our minds since childhood. And this? This was the punishment for such desires.

The Mayor grabbed Cheney by the hair, yanking his head back so he was forced to watch. Cheney let out a strangled cry, his body going rigid with terror. "You will witness your lover's punishment. You will watch as his sins are purged from his flesh."

Elder Sutherland, one of the Mayor's most devout councilmen, stepped forward, his thin, wiry fingers raised in decree. "Let the people cleanse this filth!"

A roar erupted from the crowd.

"No! Please! Please, stop!" Cheney screamed, thrashing against the Mayor's hold. "Don't—!"