Helena sat on the rocking chair, her head lost in thought as she rocked back and forth. She did not want to continue to face this burden, but even this thought alone could be the death of her. She didn’t know when her God would be listening, and she knew he always listened. That was the way of her world.
Helena lived in a small village of a few hundred which was pretty isolated from the rest of the world. They traded with various other villages in the area, but mostly kept to themselves, their ways written in stone.
From an early age, as soon as they are able to comprehend it, the girls in the village were trained to please their God, an all-mighty being named Imus, who took care of them, and gave their village plenty of food, health, and prosperity. In exchange, Imus asked for the women’s suffering in return, specifically in regards to their feet.
From the age of eighteen onwards, women in the village were whipped each day by their husbands or fathers right at their soles, and would do so every evening from then on out. In addition, Imus chose a different bride every day to endure even more suffering - to stand all day in ballet heels without any food or water. The more the women suffered, the happier their God was.
Everyone in the village knew he was real. It was proven in the sheer fact that natural disasters avoided their village all together, and crops seemed to still flourish during the winter, when they were not supposed to. There were a few days in the past where the bridal ceremony was not completed to Imus’ exact will, and the consequences were so deadly they were only spoken in hushed whispers, or told to scare the little girls into compliance to their future fate.
Helena, just like the rest of them, has accepted this fate, and at the age of twenty four, has been lucky not to be chosen as Imus’ bride. Every day she worried it would finally be her turn, and everyday Imus turned his eye and picked someone else. She didn’t know how much longer she had in the safety of her home with Samuel, but she knew her day would come. No woman in the village was ever not chosen for the task of pleasing Imus.
Helena was pale with long blonde locks that were brown at the tips and curled by her breasts. She had thin eyebrows and piercing hazel eyes, and had married her husband at a very young age, similar to other girls in the village.
She didn’t think Samuel got any pleasure in whipping her feet every night. He did it simply because he had to, and treated it as part of his chores rather than anything else. He never massaged or cared for her after, though, as both of them had assumed Imus would not be pleased with this, and Helena was forced to take care of the aftermath every night on her own, before going to bed with her husband.
Like all the other women of the village, she kept her toenails long. It was necessary to please Imus, because the longer the toenails, the harsher the pain for when she was chosen to be his bride. It seemed it had had a negative impact on her even now, though, because she was certain her big left toe had been infected the last few days, and she wasn’t quite sure why.
Last evening’s whipping was the worst she had ever felt on her toes. Samuel had reluctantly picked up a leather flogger, and aimed it at both her feet over and over again. She closed her eyes and had tried to breathe through it like she always did, but each stroke on her new wound made her cry out in shock and lose her composure. Her husband had known how much she was suffering, but still he continued on, making her watch as she suffered more bruises throughout her feet. Every step she took the next day would remind her of who she belonged to - the God Imus, and his will would always be what she would have to expect.
Samuel had gone to sleep after the whipping, and she had sat in the living room, staring at her damaged feet, feeling like they would never be pristine and perfect again. She gently touched the marks he had placed on her and hissed, the tears now reforming on her eyes.
She didn’t understand how the rest of the village could take this, and not wonder if there was something else they could do to please him. If they ran away all together, would he chase them? Forever tormenting them until he got what he wanted?
These thoughts alone were sacrilege, but on days like this, when she couldn’t remember what it was like to stand on her own without feeling a sting, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more in this world.
It was now the next morning, and Samuel was nice enough to prepare breakfast on his own without her. Maybe he knew she was in pain, and didn’t know how long she would be able to stand without needing support. She sat next to him, watching him eat as her mind wandered.
The women in the village were not allowed to eat before the choosing ceremony. It was to make sure they were at their weakest point before they were chosen by Imus to be his bride for the day, and why the whipping must happen every evening before bed, so the brides were as fresh as possible to feel the worst pain.
Helena wondered if she would be chosen today. She was apprehensive every day, but today it seemed like her nerves were completely shot. She knew Imus liked to pick the weakest woman to feed on, because she felt the most pain, and with her swollen and infected toe, she would by far be the best pick.
She voiced this to Samuel, almost whispering, despite knowing the God would be listening either way. He stuffed another mouthful in his mouth and said, “you should be honoured to be chosen, Helena,” He took her hand in his, “you’re twenty four now. The other villagers have been wondering when it would be your turn. It’s quite unusual for Imus to wait for so long before taking a woman for the first time. I’ve heard talks that there’s something wrong with you our God dislikes. Doesn’t that worry you, Helena?”
Helena internalised this for a moment, they had never spoken about this before, and she had no idea her husband felt ashamed that she hadn’t been picked by the God quite yet. If she were being honest with herself, she would have rathered to be never chosen to endure such pain, and live the rest of her life ostracised by the village. She had to think of Samuel, though, and the rest of her family. He was right, she’s never thought of it that way. Maybe today will finally be her day.
She couldn’t help but feel a little wounded, though. Her husband’s pride in her was fully based on being chosen by their God, rather than her worth as a person. He considered her pain as part of the sacrifice, and maybe it was just a result of his upbringing. She had to voice her thoughts, to understand how he could possibly think of her this way, “do I need to remind you what had happened to some of the other women that have been chosen? How some took weeks to recover? My friend Alicia had two broken toes, and they never healed the same way.” The more the images flashed in her mind, the more her voice quivered. The women barely spoke of what happened when they were locked up in there, but she could imagine nothing could be worse.
He pulled her into his embrace, and patted her long hair, which was still not combed from her restless slumber the night before, “I know you’re worried, Helena. I can see it on your face every morning before another bride is chosen. I have promised time and time again that I will take care of you if you were ever chosen. We’re allowed to do so, it’s different from the daily whippings.”
She bit her lip, “I just don’t want the healing process to go badly…”
“Need I remind you that many of the women were able to speak to Imus during the process? They could hear his voice in their heads… and have forever been deemed as the chosen in the village. It’s a great feat, and I know you’ll be one that he adores.”
She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t want to speak to the God. The idea of doing so seemed to make this situation so much worse.
He began cleaning up his breakfast, and it seemed the conversation was over. Like every day before this since she had turned eighteen, Helena went to prepare herself for the ceremony, as one of the potentially chosen ones. Imus had declared, sometime long ago, that his favourite colour was blue. From then on, her and the other women have dressed the same way - a short blue skirt they are taught to sew themselves from a young age, a lighter blue pantyhose, and blue makeup on their faces. In fact, most of the women barely wore any other colour makeup except for blue.
Helena brushed the eyeshadow onto her eyelids, and extended her lashes to as long as she possibly could, then completed the look with long black eyeliner that winged out at the ends and sparkly lip gloss that was tinted blue. She made most of the concoctions herself, and was pretty proud of how she had gotten them perfect over the years. Maybe this wasn’t something Imus cared about, though, since he still never chose her.
She finished her outfit with a simple white blouse and sandals, a personal choice on her part and informed her husband she was ready to go.
He was used to her outfit at this point, and didn’t give her a second look before they headed to the temple.
Most of the village was within walking distance, and it didn’t take very long for them to get there, nodding to a few of the other villages along the way. He eventually dropped her off, and gave her a hug and a supportive smile before heading to his own duties. “I hope he chooses you today, Helena,” he whispered in her ear before departing.
She looked up at the temple for what felt like the millionth time in her life. It was right in the centre of the village, and was built solely to pay homage to Imus. Its unadorned facade, devoid of windows, made the temple mysterious in itself, as no one could enter it unless they were one of the women of age to be chosen by Imus. The entrance, intricately carved with depictions of Imus’ myths, hinted at his strength and power. The temple stood tall amongst the village, its blue heavily shadowing the paths and houses littered throughout, none with such a vibrant blue as the temple itself.
Legends told of who built the temple, and how the rest of the village situated itself around it, and has prospered ever since. All of this was depicted around the walls, and even Helena had to admit it was all very impressive.
At exactly eight o'clock, two women walked forwards and pulled apart the heavy stone doors and entered with two lanterns in their hands, giving the room a soft glow. Inside, the women were greeted by something they saw every single day, the current bride Laura standing while swaying from side to side, naked besides her blue skirt, pantyhose, and long ballet heels - a symbol of the chosen wife. Her makeup streamed down her face in the shape of tears.
She stood on one foot only, an act only performed by the bravest of them, and Helena knew she had done this all night for the sake of the village and Imus. She felt ashamed and embarrassed, knowing she would never perform such an act. She had cuffs on either side of her wrists, and she was suspended to the ceiling, making sure she wouldn’t move throughout the day and night. The women were not allowed to speak, but the elderly moved forwards and gave her a silent kiss on the forehead, a sign of their appreciation for her sacrifice.
Despite the lack of illumination, a soft, ambient glow emanated from flickering candle flames, casting dancing shadows across the stone surfaces. The air was thick with a solemn hush, amplifying the sound of the women’s steps towards Laura. Smooth, worn stone floors beneath their shoes carried a sense of history and devotion towards Imus, as had been done for what felt like centuries.
Laura was the only one who could speak, but could barely get words out in the midst of her pain. She stuttered at the women, specifically her mother and grandmother, telling them of salvation, pain, and broken toes. They nodded and supported her, pulling her off the hook to rest on the ground and helping her remove her ballet pumps.
It was time for the selection process to start. The process was simple. There was a single wooden die, and it would be passed on from women to women. The one with the highest roll would be the new bride. In the case of a draw, the winners would roll the single die again.
It was well known that there had never been a draw, because Imus was the one who really chose his bride. He dictated the fate of the rolls, which was why every woman rolled a one except for the chosen woman, who would always roll a six. This alone would convince anyone of Imus’s existence.
Helena moved to the last spot, as she sometimes did when she felt apprehensive about the whole process. Today was the worst she’s ever felt about it, and she had the urge to run rather than to roll the die.
One by one the women rolled the die, each one looking down at their one before passing it onto the next. The entire process was completely silent other than the shuffling of feet and the sound of the wooden die against the cold stone floor. With each roll, Helena panicked more and more, until it was finally her turn, and the outcome seemed to be set in stone.
She took the die from the girl before her, and with shaky hands, let it fall to the ground. Her heart stopped when she saw it - the definitive six staring at her, taunting her.
She didn’t have the time to fully comprehend it, though, because as soon as it was rolled, some of the older women approached, grabbing her and swiftly removing her blouse and sandals. She felt cold and empty, and could feel nothing except for pure and utter fear.
They dragged her and pushed her down on her knees in front of Laura, and it was now her turn to scream a prayer, to thank Imus for everything he had done for the village.
The words that were ingrained in her since she could speak were jumbled in her head, and Helena could barely think straight as she began reciting it, knowing everyone was watching her. Her words spluttered out, and she couldn’t find it in herself to scream it out loud. Instead, she whispered it under her breath, hoping no one could hear the pure fear in her heart. She only got through a single sentence before she felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up to see her own mother shake her head, telling her she had to speak louder.
Obedient, just like the rest of them, she began to chant louder and louder, though didn’t feel as if she were even herself any longer. She felt as if she was watching herself from afar, just another woman being sacrificed to Imus that day. No, there was no way it could actually be her.
“Thank you, Laura, for your sacrifice as a bridge to Imus, and thank you Imus, for choosing me as your next bride. You have given me the ability to care for my people, and for that I am not worthy. I swear to you, my only true God, that I will put myself in as much pain as I can possibly endure to make our village worthy of your care.” This was repeated three times, and something so ingrained in each of them she barely had to think of the words.
Laura was no longer allowed to speak now that the torch had been passed, and only watched her with wide eyes, like she was no longer part of her own body, either.
Pleased with her screamed prayers, the other women lifted her up and dragged her to the other corner of the room, where she was faced with a collection of ballet heels. All were pointed downwards and blue, with heels that were nearly as high Helena’s forearm.
The village women were not allowed to wear heels to practise, and she had never once worn anything resembling one in her life. Her heart pounded harder and harder, and she wondered again what the consequences would be if she ran. Would they chase her down and force her to endure even worse? Would they punish her family? Her husband? Her younger sister? Would Imus strike down on the village like he did before? She had to be strong for all of them, and be just as strong as all the other women had been before. Gods, why was she so weak?
She had never been close to the ballet heels before, and could now see they all had steel soles with no padding, clearly to inflict the maximum amount of pain possible. The material was leather that was hand-died, and she wondered how many women had worn the same pair before her.
She tried to go forwards to pick a pair that seemed to be her size, but the women shook their heads, and one picked up a pair that was clearly way too small for her. There were three types of ballet heels to choose from - ballet oxford pumps, ankle boots or normal pumps without any support for her ankles. She had gone for the first, and could see that some of them were shaking their heads, judging her for not being brave enough to face something even harsher. It was her first time though, couldn’t they understand that? Maybe next time, and she begged anyone that was listening that there wouldn’t be a second time, she would go for the worse option.
They pushed her onto the floor, as there was nothing in the room for her to sit on, and instead of letting her put them on herself like a grown woman, the elderly women of the village began shoving her feet into the tiny ballet oxford pumps without any mercy. They ignored each of her cries of pain and the tears already running down her eyes as they bent her feet in ways that shouldn’t even be possible. Her long toenails were pushed into her flesh, threatening to break at any second, and her ankles were bent at an extreme angle. The steel sole was cold, just like the rest of the room, and she felt as if she would never feel warm again.
The worst part was when they forced her infected toe in, causing the blister to rupture as she winced and screamed. The women seemed to be very pleased when it happened, knowing it would make Imus very happy. That was why she was chosen that day, afterall.
With her feet fully inside the shoes and Helena panting from the pain, they tied her ankle straps, making sure they were as tight as they could possibly be as they pierced her flesh. Again, before Helena could even form a single coherent thought, they pulled her along, dragging her along the ground as she was once again in front of Laura. They undid Laura’s cuffs and forced them onto Helena’s wrists, a tight leather band the same material and colour as her ballet heels.
A few of them lifted Helana onto the hook like she was a pig left for slaughter, and as soon as Helana felt the weight of her body on the floor, she gasped in shock. She would’ve fallen immediately if it weren’t for the hook helping her up. Her toes were bent to their very tips, and she could feel them crush against each other as they tried their hardest to hold her entire body up. She wasn’t a heavy woman, but she felt as if she weighed the world at that very moment.
The pain was absolutely unbelievable, so much worse so, since she had never worn heels before. The thin heel that was supposed to help wasn’t doing anything of the sorts, and her face was set at a permanent look of pain as she had to re-teach herself how to breathe.
The women in the room didn’t seem to care, though. In fact, they were overjoyed by how much pain she was in. They lined up for the last time, each of them giving her a kiss on the forehead, and Helena had to watch as two of them carried the weakened Laura, who had been completely silent since they had walked in that morning. Helena knew they would be bringing her to a group breakfast, and giving her as much care as they could - bandaging her foot, and making sure the broken bones were set back in place. She wished so badly it was her the next morning, being supported by the rest of the women instead of having to face the rest of the day and night on her own.
She knew she would go insane in here, to be alone, not knowing the time, completely sealed from the rest of society in the worst pain she had ever experienced. She could only say a meagre, “please…” before the women filed out just as quickly as they had filed in, none of them giving her a second look before leaving the temple, probably all pleased they were not the ones chosen for the day. She didn’t know what she was begging for exactly, but she had hoped someone would have some sort of mercy, and would sacrifice themselves for Imus instead.
With the very last woman out of the room, two of them pulled the heavy stone doors shut, and Helena watched as all of the lights were extinguished from the room, forcing her alone in her thoughts, and the pain so much worse now that she could no longer see or hear anything except for her still rapid heartbeat.
She begged Imus to not speak to her that day. She didn’t want his company, and wanted to be alone with her thoughts. If only Samuel were here, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.
How would he react if they told him she was finally chosen? She knew he would be overjoyed.
With her ankles threatening to break, and her toes screaming out for mercy, Helena shook alone in the darkness, praying for morning to come as soon as possible.
She stood there with the time ticking onwards and onwards. She had hoped she would be able to hear the sounds of activities outside, since there were usually plenty this time of day around the temple, but she realised she was really completely isolated.
This must’ve all been part of the plan, to make the chosen wife feel as lonesome as possible, perhaps to have a direct pathway to communicate with Imus.
It didn’t seem like he wanted to talk to her though, maybe because she chose the ‘easy’ way out by not choosing the ballet pumps without support for her ankles.
Her legs continued to quiver under the strain of standing on heels for the first time, and yet she could not fall with the hook securing her in place. She felt as if she was at the point of madness, like she had no idea if she’d been at the temple for a few seconds, or perhaps years.
She had her head hung low between her shoulders when she heard whispers surrounding her. It was so low at first she had assumed she was imagining it, but the more she tried to focus, the more urgent they became, and she eventually opened her eyes and looked up, trying to see if there was anyone there - then realised immediately she was still bathed in the darkness.
“Helena…” a distinct male voice repeated over and over, until she had the courage to whisper a simple ‘yes?’ in response.
“Helena…” the voice repeated in a more insistent volume.
“Imus?” She dared to ask.
“I know what you think of me… I know how you must despise me…” the voice continued.
Helena couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She hadn’t really believed in Imus until this very moment, though perhaps it was still all in her head from delirium. “I don’t despise you.”
“Do not lie to me, Helena.”
“I just don’t understand why you enjoy the suffering of women in the tribe,” she replied honestly, though feared the worst from him - how much more could he possibly do to her?
“Gods have reasons behind their actions that are not always clear to the humans we care for.” Helena couldn’t help but doubt this statement, but didn’t think there was much she could do about it.
The best she could do was to ask him what was really on her mind while he was still here talking to her, “why have you waited so long to choose me as a wife? Is it because I’m a non-believer?”
“I can read what’s deep inside of you, Helena, and I know you’re a believer. I am also aware of how long I’ve waited to pick upon you.” Helena waited, feeling like he had more to say, “I know you’re strong, Helena, despite what you may think, and I believe you’re brave enough to take a special role for me, one I have never offered another before.”
Helena was sceptical, as she always was. What if he said the same to all the other women, and this was some sort of a test? “It is not a test. I am offering you greatness if you choose to stay with me a second night, but you must follow my exact orders, and not question me when I bend you to my will. I will give you a few minutes to think on this, Helena.”
Before she could ask him any questions, she felt herself wrapped in darkness once more, and the fear heightened to such a state she could no longer think straight. She tried to focus on her breathing, anything she could do to calm herself down.
When he was back like he promised just a few moments later, she had made her choice.
Imus seemed indifferent when she told him her decision, though she was pretty sure he already read the decision in her mind before she spoke it out loud. “What would you like me to do first, Imus?” She asked, wondering if he had something in mind immediately.
“Stand on one leg, just as the previous bride did,” he commanded.
She knew she had agreed to do anything he wished of her, and proceeded to stand on one leg without saying a single word. She could feel the difference almost immediately. The strain was almost unbearable, and her leg began to shake as she tried her hardest to point her toes in a way that would hurt the least. Tears began welling up in her face once more, and her other leg was desperate to fall to the ground. Helena. You can do it. You can do it. She repeated the command over and over in her head, trying to focus on anything other than the sheer pain of it.
When she eventually cracked and dropped her other leg, she could feel Imus’s disappointment without him having to say a single word, “lift that leg up, Helena. I don’t want to have to tell you again.” She had only a second of relief before lifting it back up. There was no way she could do this. It was impossible.
Again, she repeated her mantra over and over, hoping for some sort of salvation.
She managed to spend another hour on a single foot, though it was so painful the pain was almost numb, like it didn’t even belong to her anymore. Finally pleased and knowing she was at her limit, Imus commanded her to change legs.
This went on for six more hours, with her switching between legs every two hours or so, though Helena herself had no idea how much time had passed.
When he finally spoke to her again, he had something far worse planned for her, “Helena, I want you to jump on your right leg until all the bones on your right foot are broken.”
Her eyes widened, she couldn’t believe what he was asking of her… this was… this would destroy her. Again, she knew she would have to keep her promise, and with a single apprehensive gasp, she began jumping on her right leg, thankfully the one that wasn’t currently infected. She began screaming with the first jump. She could feel all her leg bones threaten to collapse underneath her, and yet she told herself she couldn’t stop. Again and again she jumped, until she could feel each of her toes crack and break one by one. She felt herself on the edge of numbness once more, with the pain so harsh that her body had to do something to keep her conscious.
Imus encouraged her a few times, telling her that it was almost over, and that she had pleased him more than she could imagine. His words spurred her on until she finally felt herself lose consciousness from the pain.
When she woke up, still unable to tell how much time had passed, she heard a commotion right outside. Imus had allowed her to listen while the other women in the village frantically tried to open the door, and discovered quickly that it was sealed to them. They had called on Helena’s husband, and she could hear his voice outside calling for her name with tears streaming down her face, though she knew it would be fruitless for her to respond if she even had a voice left to respond with.
She could still feel her broken toes, still felt her body begging her for relief, and yet she knew what he would request for next - for her to do the same with the swollen infected foot. By the time the second sunrise appeared upon the village sky, Helena had gotten to the point where all ten toes were broken, and she wondered if they would ever mend to the same again.
She didn’t think the agony could get worse, but Imus had one final plan for her. She felt a tight metal band wrap itself around her middle toe on her right leg, squeezing down so much that it felt as if it was cutting off her blood supply. Of course, with the toe itself broken, it made it so, so much worse. She could feel herself lose consciousness again, but this time she held on, knowing it was almost time for it to end.
Salvation came when the doors swung open, and she saw the women hurry in, looking even more weary than usual. They seemed to be eager to ask her about her experience being the first woman in the temple for two nights in a row, but none were allowed to speak.
Helena tried to croak out single words, but they came out as unintelligible syllables, and she gave up, deciding she would have more time to explain when she gathered the energy to. They had pulled off her shoes and spotted the metallic ring, a combination of Imus’s blue and a shimmering gold pigment. The women clearly wondered where it came from, but none dared to ask in his presence.
After watching the ceremony for choosing the next bride, Helena was pulled along out of the temple, but not before she looked back and thought, “thank you, Imus. For helping me understand everything, and for understanding the bravery in my heart.”
She was bandaged up, disinfected, and fed as much food as she could take in, but she still refused to speak about her experience, even to her own husband.
Two days later, Helena woke up feeling better than she had been in the past few days. She hadn’t gotten up other than necessary, and had been pleased with her husband’s dotting of her, like he promised. The ring was completely unremovable, and she knew it would be the symbol of a permanent connection between herself and Imus. It was clear Imus deemed it necessary for her to be reminded who she belonged to for the rest of her life, but had made the healing process proceed better than usual to assist her in her now official role as priestess. She was sure her feet would eventually fully recover except for her ring, which she stared at quite fondly despite the pain.
Feeling confident to finally speak of her experience, she emerged from her home at last, ready to tell them as much as she could about her new role as the first crowned priestess in their new remoulded society.