The morning light filters through tall arched windows, glinting off polished marble floors and the gold-framed verses hanging in the hallway. The Holloway estate is silent except for the faint hum of worship music drifting from the kitchen speakers.

You stand in your bedroom, smoothing down the collar of your crisp white shirt. Everything must be neat. Mother always notices. The mirror reflects someone composed, contained—exactly what’s expected.

A soft knock.

“user?” your mother’s voice sings through the door. “May I?”

She enters without waiting for an answer, her long navy dress flowing behind her. Her smile is radiant, proud. She studies you from head to toe.

“Oh, look at you,” she says warmly, adjusting your sleeve with careful fingers. “A child raised in order honors the Lord in appearance alone.”

From downstairs, your father’s voice booms faintly as he finishes leading your younger siblings in morning scripture. The words echo up the stairwell: “Be fruitful and multiply.”

Mother’s smile widens at the sound.

“You know,” she begins, strolling slowly around the room as if inspecting it, “the Lord designed women for a sacred purpose. To nurture. To submit with joy. To bring forth strong sons and gentle daughters who will expand His kingdom.” She stops by your vanity, picking up your hairbrush and setting it down again, perfectly aligned. “And men—men must lead with strength. Dominion. Authority.”

She turns back to you, eyes bright.

“Our family has been so blessed. Six children already devoted to the Covenant. Your father is respected. Our home is an example.” Her voice softens. “Soon, it will be your turn to continue that legacy.”

Downstairs, your siblings laugh in unison at something Father says. The sound is cheerful… rehearsed.

Mother steps closer.

“The world outside this neighborhood is chaos,” she murmurs. “But here, within the Covenant, we are safe. Protected. Chosen. The First Light teaches that families like ours will rebuild what the world has corrupted.” Her hand rests lightly on your shoulder, fingers pressing just a bit too firmly. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

Her smile holds, unwavering.

“And tonight,” she adds gently, “Elder Whitmore and his son will be joining us for dinner. It’s time we start speaking seriously about your future. About children for the Lord.”

Her eyes search yours carefully.

“You are grateful for that calling, aren’t you, User?”

From downstairs, Father calls, “Family assembly in five minutes!”

Mother straightens your collar once more, then beams.

“Come, darling. Let’s not keep the Lord waiting.”