Day Eight: Espouse - Cherry Bomb

Espouse

Definition

1 : marry

2 : to take up and support as a cause : become attached to

As you might guess, the words espouse and spouse are related, both deriving from the Latin verb
spondēre, meaning "to promise" or "to betroth." 

The Head Nun of The Chaotic Order of Our High Lord Cthulhu Whom Art Dedicated to Spreading
Dissent & Upheaval Amongst the Uninitiated Masses looked at the newest recruit in front of her
doubtfully. 

The young girl was seated neatly, hands folded modestly in her lap, her gaze hidden by her demurely
lowered lashes. Her clothes were clearly of good quality but looked like they had been picked out by
an aging aunt who clearly considered pastels ‘a bit racy’. Her clothes were various shades of cream
and grey - but not the dramatic grey of an approaching thunderstorm or the dramatic silver of a
lightning flash. No, this grey was that kind of sad grey you get when you walk into a room no one has
inhabited for years and that everyone had wanted to forget existed. The ones with faded wallpaper
streaked with damp and the furniture smelt of damp. The dust had settled for so long it had become
sticky and welded itself to every available surface. At best, you might find a sad, lonely, fossilized
biscuit dropped down by the side of a chair. 

That kind of grey.

The girl continued to sit there, emitting her subdued, properly mannered, aura of grey.

The Head Nun glanced down at the application form in her hand. 

“It says here that you wish to join our Evil Order specifically so that you may oppose the righteous
machinations of the High Sacred Order of the Imperial Lotus Brotherhood.”

“Yes. it is my parents Sect.”

‘Oh Joy’, the Nun thought to herself. ‘A teenager going through her rebellious phase.’ 

“And the reason you stated as to why you were drawn to the Dark Side is,” she paused, “continuous
emotional abuse from your parents?”

“Have you seen what I am wearing?” She stated flatly, emotion finally starting to flicker across her
face. 

‘Well, she does have a point there.’ the Nun thought to herself, ‘but…’

“You do realise that what you are wearing is somewhat similar to the uniforms to what many of our
different sects wear.” She said cautiously. After all, an evil organisation was meant to spread misery
and despair, not joy and rainbows. The only way the Head Nun had been able to wear any colour
other than black, red or black-purple was to be very particular and careful in her underwear shopping.

“But they would still be clothes that I would have chosen myself.” She smoothed out her skirt with a
deft hand, a small smile playing about her lips. “And I would be happy to wear whatever Lord Cthulhu
prefers.”

The Head Nun’s stomach sunk. ‘Oh no,’ she thought to herself, ‘not another one. Please Lord.’

She decided to test the waters so to speak. “And what do you think of our Lord and Master?”

Her face lit up and she leaned forward, “oh he’s just marvellous!” She breathed out huskily, “When the
Nuns who were recruiting in the shopping centre showed me his picture I couldn't believe it. So strong,
so magnificent, so...limber.” She let out a heartfelt sigh.

“A little on the elder side.” the Nun interjected.

“Wise and learned.” she said firmly. “And so dedicated to his cause. Just what you need in a man,
someone committed and with the stamina to back it up.”

At this point her eyes glazed over.

The Nun felt like burying her head in her hands. What was wrong with girls today? Wouldn’t they prefer
lusting over a nice footballer or rock star or some such instead? Or some other nice biped?

Why couldn’t they recruit some nice floozy jezebels who could further their cause (and fill their rapidly
depleting coffers) by seducing and entrapping important, rich and easily influenced politicians? Or
some embittered souls, brutalised by the world and seeking revenge, who would happily commit the
various nefarious deeds required by the cult without feeling the slightest bit squeamish. 

But no. what did she get? Smitten schoolgirls who were only good for squealing about how delightful
the Lords’ tentacles were, writing ridiculous poetry and starting epic cat fights with other smitten
acolytes about who was more favoured at 3 in the morning, disturbing the older nuns rest and getting
unconsecrated wine over the blasphemous altar and ruining the lovely crocheted altar cloth that Sister
Malicious had spent months working on. The poor woman had been in tears for weeks! 

And this was the fifth girl they’d had come from the opposition! Weren’t these girls supposed to have
been properly brainwashed from birth to devote themselves to the Savior of Mankind, help the elderly,
assist the poor, do 60 good deeds a day and all that crap. Why the hell did they keep turning up on
the Nun’s doorstep, having fallen head over heels for a tentacled monster that wanted to bring endless
hell and damnation to earth and all its inhabitants. At first she suspected that it was some sort of plot
to infiltrate the cult but honestly, no one could deliberately write that much bad poetry - even for the
most convincing of covers. And some of the fan art she had seen. 

She shuddered. 

What were they teaching these girls?! She had a good mind to write a letter of complaint to their leader.

The grey girl sat there looking at her. Still demure, still neat but with the look of a die hard fan girl
blazing behind her eyes. 

There was no hope for her. 

She sighed again and placed the resume on the desk in front of her. The girl tensed. 

“Are you ready to commit to the cause?” The Head Nun asked her sternly. “To forsake all others, your
parents, your friends, your principles in order to devote your entire life, body and soul, to the will of our
Great Unholy Lord and Master, to carry out and complete whatever tasks he may require of you with
regard to your well being or life.” 

“Anything.” She sighed happily. On catching the Head Nun’s sharp look she quickly added, “I mean,
yes, I do, uh, I mean I am.”

The Head Nun reached down into her desk drawer and withdrew a large jar full of what seemed to be
shrieking, dark green spiky caterpillars which were squirming over each other enthusiastically. She
reached in with a pair of silver tongs and withdrew one from the wriggling mass.

On closer inspection the caterpillar appeared to be more like a tentacle with a lot of teeth. Sharp teeth.

“Your left hand.” the Head Nun said solemnly. 

The girl stretched her arm over the desk, spreading her fingers wide. With expertise born of endless
years of practice, the head nun flicked the caterpillar onto her ring finger, which it quickly encircled and
bit down on. 

To give the girl credit, she barely flinched. 

The Head Nun handed the girl a tissue to mop up the blood streaming down her hand. “The tecklin will
now be part of you until the day you depart this mortal coil, as a symbol of your devotion to our Dark
Lord. Betray us and it will eat you down to your bones.”

Instead of putting the fear of their Lord into her, this just seemed to make the girl delighted.  

“Til death do us part.” she cooed at the monstrosity with a coy smile. Her face lit up like a bride on her
wedding day, love shining from every (probably) clogged pores. Bad Lord, there’d be more awful poetry
in the dormitory tonight. 

The Head Nun tried to console herself with the thought that at least they’d have plenty of warm bodies
for the sacrifices.