Author's Note: After reading numerous books on polygamist cults in the United States, I decided it would be fun to use Damon and Elena! Damon is a naturally dominant character, just like many of the men in these places. Elena on the other hand is rebellious and a perfect contradictory character because girls are supposed to be submissive, which Elena certainly is not.

*Warning: This story contains dark themes of abuse and rape

"There's something in every atheist, itching to believe, and something in every believer, itching to doubt." ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

I wish I could say that I am not sinner. No one knows that deep down I see fault everywhere I go, everywhere I look, every person I encounter. Something in the depths of my soul knows this community is an illusion, a figment of a some man's sick imagination. A man that preys on the innocuous minds of a people, using religion to justify it. Welcome to my home, made up of 1500 members...a polygamous society...or should I say cult.

It's surprising that people are unaware that polygamy still exists in the United States of all places in the 21st century. I guess we've been pretty good at hiding our way of life. It's a compound hidden deep within the outskirts of society in the state of Utah. Do these people outside of this place know that the only way to join God in his celestial kingdom is for a man to have multiple wives? Do they know that this is the way God wants us to live? Maybe our Prophet is just good at lying, but it's all I've ever known. I was taught to fear the outside world, to conform to the doctrines of this way of life, and I try to, I really do.

One sunny summer day only two years ago, I looked in the mirror, a rare occurrence I must admit. It is seen as a selfish act to fawn over oneself, but I've never been very good at following the rules. When I looked into the reflection, I first noticed how long my hair was, the end of my braid just hovering above my rear end. I returned my gaze back to the mirror and realized that no skin showed on my body except for my hands and face. The dress reaches my ankles, the puffy sleeves encompassing my arms down to my are simple pastels-nothing that overpowers the Lord. I looked plain, just as I was supposed to, and I frowned.

"Elena, Mary needs to be changed again," shouted my Mother from downstairs.

I could hear my eight younger siblings screaming and running through the house. I quickly smoothed out a wrinkle in my dress and swiftly exited my room. I could already hear my mother's annoyed voice awaiting its turn to lecture me. Everyone found their time to berate me. Even my older brother Jeremy believed he could control me because I was a girl and he was a 'man'. My Father, Mikael, never disagreed with him, no one in the community ever did. Girls always obeyed men, regardless of age.

What is interesting about my household is that Miranda is only one of the three mothers I have. Though she gave birth to me, all of my father's wives are considered my mothers. I must obey all of them. Altogether, I have ten siblings, many of them under the age of nine, but Jeremy is older by three years. He is still young enough as a man to stay at home to work in the family business.

"Can we just leave now? I just want to get this day over with," I whined while I finished putting Mary's shoes on.

"When your father is ready, we will leave," My Mother responded calmly.

"Of course, how could I be so selfish," I retorted almost sarcastically.

We waited for my father, his other wife following behind. She was finishing braiding her hair, but her face was full of so much fear. I could still see where the tears had marked her pale cheeks. What had he done to her? I pulled my eyes away, seeing my father's piercing stare.

"Elena, take Mary. Let's go," He hissed at me, opening the front door.

The church was not far down the street of the gated compound. My dress dragged along the dirt road, Mary clinging to my hip. I saw the other members of the church pouring in and I let out a long sigh. It was going to be a long day.

The church service lasted multiple hours and I couldn't stop thinking about how badly I just wanted to go home. I bounced Mary on my knee to quiet her cries, but she would not relent.

I felt my father grab her arm roughly. She let out a harsh scream and he slapped her hard.

"Shut up, Mary" He hissed, and I winced from his overpowering tone.

I pulled her gently back into my arms while she silently cried. My father was not a patient man, and he always felt like he was being watched by The Elders. I remember overhearing him speaking with one of the wives about being watched by them. That would explain why his disciplines were always so harsh. He was preparing his daughters to be submissive and humble wives. Women were to obey men, no questions asked.

My mother sat silently on his other side, her head bowed. She was such a good wife, never questioning anyone or anything, especially my father. I'm not sure why I came out so differently. I was rebellious, strong headed, and inquisitive-all the things I shouldn't be.

My mind was suddenly snapped from its trance as a wave of 'Amens' filled the church. I finally realized my father was angrily staring at me, evidently fed up about something. I looked around to try to figure out what was wrong and then it hit me.

"Excuse me, sir," I whispered, standing up, so that my family could shuffle out of the church pew, many of the children slamming their little shoes on my toes as they passed.

I glanced over at my mother. She was smiling and laughing with one her sister wives. I took a deep sigh and begged the Lord to get me out of there. Even cleaning bathrooms seemed like more fun than this. Mary was becoming unruly in my hold and I set her down so that she could run over to one of my father's wives.

That's when I felt eyes watching me. I felt a chill up my spine and I turned my attention toward the gaze. Our eyes met suddenly and I felt my heart stopped. It was Mosiah Barlow...The Prophet. Our leader. He smirked in a friendly manner but there was something evil hidden beneath it. I could feel its darkness penetrate me, my heart beginning to pound inside my ribcage.

During dinner that night, I served the meal, listening to dozens of voices asking me for this and that. I was getting a headache, but I pressed on. Jeremy glared at me for a good ten minutes and I could feel my throat grow taut. He was always pointing out my flaws. I couldn't deny the fact that he was certainly my father's son.

"Elena, why are your top two buttons undone?" Jeremy asked, cocking his head to the side.

I ignored his observation, my cheeks growing red in embarrassment. I hated that the fabric of the dress was so tight around my neck. I had thought nothing of it when I unbuttoned it slightly. I scooped some mashed potatoes onto my Father's plate and before I could even move, he snatched my wrist in his grip. He turned me so that he could see my chest.

"You should be ashamed. You're never going to get a husband if you behave like this. Disgraceful," He hissed, ripping the bowl from my hands and slamming it down onto the table.

He began to tug on my wrist toward the first floor bathroom, shoving me inside.

"You do not leave this bathroom until I say so. When I come back, you better look like a model Christian woman." The door shut with a bang and I shuddered.

I heard my fathers shoes stop suddenly just feet from the bathroom and I pressed my ear up to the door to listen.

"Mikael, someone's at the door," Someone explained and I heard his feet pound against the wood floors toward the front entrance.

"Good Evening Mosiah," My father said politely seconds later.

It was the Prophet, the man that had stared me down after church earlier. I felt my stomach clench suddenly. I peeled the door open enough that I could see through the crack. The bathroom was a straight shot toward the front door and I could see the two men clearly.

"I'm here to discuss the future of your eldest daughter. The Lord has spoken, Mikael. I believe it would be best if we discussed this with Elena's birth mother as well," The blue eyed man spoke softly.

"Of course," He confirmed, "Miranda, come here."

My mother came promptly to his side like an obedient dog and my father cleared his throat.

"Please, come in. We can talk over here." He gestured toward the living area and out of my sight.

I had to know what they were saying, but I couldn't get out of the bathroom without one of the other children ratting me out, but I was willing to risk it. I slipped the door open silently, looked both ways and bolted toward the living room. It was a separate room and there was a small wall I could hide behind without being caught. I was huffing for air when I finally reached the safety of the beige wall, gripping it with my fingers. I stuck my head ever-so-slightly around the structure and saw the three adults congregated on the furniture.

"Damon Salvatore is a highly respected man of this community. His father worked hard to protect this establishment during that infamous series of investigations back in the 1990s. Damon has agreed with the Lord's decision and will be very pleased with the addition," The Prophet told my parents.

I felt my knees go weak and I stifled a whimper. The addition of what? Who was this man and what did he want? I could barely breathe, but I bolted for the staircase, not caring that I would get lectured later for leaving the bathroom. Nothing was going to stop me. I quietly shut the door to my bedroom, and the tears began to flow... and they didn't stop.