Beth immediately regretted her outburst, she thought she must look a fright standing in the middle of the auditorium with no make-up and her hair in disarray as she had pulled at it in a slight panic. With everyone's judgmental eyes on her, she burst out laughing as she knew she had to be in some sort of hidden camera prank show that had gone too far.

"I think it's obvious I don't belong here," she laughed between hysterical hyperventilating. "So I'm just going to go."

She started to make her way away from her seat and walk over the women who were still sitting there dumbfounded that someone would want to leave.

"Excuse me…excuse me…sorry…I just need to…thank you," she tripped a few times over people, trying to be polite as possible as she made her get away. Most were happy to attempt to move to accommodate her, but the seating wasn't really meant to have a ragged teenager hastily try to make her escape.

Once she was free from the seating, she went straight to the first door that looked like it could be an exit, hoping that she wouldn't just keep her going back into a room she was trying to leave. Several women in crimson robes and upside-down pentagrams embroidered in silver tried to body block her. Beth did a hairpin turn, avoiding them and almost at a run tried to find the next nearest exit. They quickly caught up to her, and brandished small daggers at her; she stopped dead in her tracks. She was surrounded and tried to think of what to do.

This is a nightmare, you need to wake up…or maybe try to create an exit. Anything can happen in a dream. Lucid dreaming, totally a thing. Door, door appear…door materialize.

But no matter how much she willed for an exit to appear, nothing would happen and the Satanists closed in on her.

"How dare you blaspheme the Dark Prince, the Most Unholy One; He who will bring the End Times. You are blessed to have even been born for Him," one of them hissed, enraged that someone would be so disrespectful when others would have literally killed to have even the chance to be considered. She reached out to grab the frightened teen, Beth struggled and still tried to escape. Her black scrubs tore and she stumbled to the ground.

Although the Acolyte was normally light on her feet, she inexplicable fell onto her athamé, screeching in pain. Her ruby red blood seamlessly soaked her robe.

"What is the meaning of this?!" a deep male voice intoned, wondering what the disruption was to the orientation of the Bride Program. Everyone had stopped, the women in red had bowed their heads and so did the Brides. Beth looked up to see an imposing figure of a towering man in black, his beard neatly groomed and his features shadowed by the hood he wore.

"One of the…Brides…is trying to escape, Your Dark Holiness" the Acolyte all but spit out, disgusted that such a thing would occur and getting slightly light headed from the blood loss.

"I see," the Black Pope realized who the girl was, he should have suspected something like this happening. He gazed down at the lost Bride, who had wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth as she whispered,

"Wake up, you need to wake up."

"I assure you Ms. Baxter, you are not dreaming."

"No, this is most definitely a nightmare," she told the man in black with tear stains marring her features. "Because I'm surrounded by beauty queens and two dudebros with penis shaped haircuts just told me we're all potential brides for Satan…"

"The Son of Satan," he corrected her.

"Right, the Son of Satan. How does that not sound totally insane to you? How could this be real life? I'm not supposed to be here."

Anton could feel sympathy for the girl, perhaps in another life she was meant to live out her mundane life and have it all end with the others once the Apocalypse commenced. But the girl had been born for greater things, and she must see that she had a purpose. What that purpose was, he did not know and that was up to their Lord in the flesh to decide.

"Come with me, I will explain everything," others gasped at his generosity, most had assumed the girl would simply be killed or kicked out. They had agreed with her, she clearly did not belong.

Beth thought the dream could not get any weirder, but she figured she would wake up eventually and at the very least, the man didn't have a knife on him. She took his outstretched hand and he lifted her to her feet. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as they made their way out of auditorium. They passed by floor to ceiling glass windows that showed a vast open green space. A few miles across the green acres stood a Châteauesque-style mansion.

Mansion seemed too small of a description, but castle and estate weren't quite right either. She completely forgot she was following some man in a black robe, she stopped to admire the architecture.

"Wow, that has to be at least two-hundred thousand square feet. It's bigger than even the Biltmore," she told him although he had not asked. "Where are we? I thought I knew all the Gilded Age mansions…is the Son of Satan a Vanderbilt?"

"No, come Bethany."

She didn't want to go with him, she would rather admire the mansion until she woke up. But she could sense that his patience was running out and she didn't feel like steering the dream back into a nightmare. She followed him to an office, instead of the stark white minimalist aesthetic that the rest of the building had—his office reminded her of a horror movie. The walls were painted a deep ochre, with black wrought iron candelabra looming over them from the ceiling. There weren't any actual electrical lights, there were only candles that gave them illumination.

Well this is a creepy windowless office…that I walked into with a strange man. I'm not very smart in dreams it seems.

"You're not in a dream."

"Right."

He sat behind an onyx desk, cleared of everything with the exception of a stack of parchment—not paper, but actual parchment—and two candlesticks.

If he offers you candy, run.

"Sit Ms. Baxter," he ordered, and she obeyed. It was a high-backed satin black chair that looked like it was owned by the Adams Family, it was more comfortable than she thought it would be. She was not expecting the sudden thwack of a riding crop he had hidden in his desk hitting her arm.

"Ow! What the fuck, man…?"

"I really don't want to waste anymore time to convince you that you're not in a dream. I understand it is most unusual here, especially with Mutt and Jeff running the program."

"Mutt and Jeff?"

Anton sighed, understanding her disbelief. He would have preferred not to have ever been in the company of the two most idiotic followers who had sold their soul, but if his Lord Satan found them worthy then he would trust his master had His reasons.

He very nearly missed it when one of the candles from the chandelier above his desk had come loose and came flying down towards his head. Thankfully he had moved just enough that it just hit his shoulder. The heavy black candle just rolled away, he wondered how it could have been dislodged and looked at the girl in front of him, an inquisitive quirk to his brow.

Beth slumped into the chair, rubbing her still smarting arm and not really paying attention to Anton. The reality of where she was starting to sink in, but she still wasn't totally convinced.

"If this isn't a dream, why couldn't I escape? I went out of a room to just go back into it."

"The building is special, it has magic imbued within it's foundation and walls to not allow anyone to go where they should not."

OK, clearly I'm not dreaming as that hit hurt like hell but they want to keep fucking with me. It's probably the drugs, they hadn't worn off. I still feel a bit woozy.

"Where's my mom?"

"She is safe."

Beth didn't know if she could trust him, but given she was a prisoner and had no idea where she was, she didn't have much choice.

"I do apologize for than the…less than hospitable accommodations you have received so far. I am Anton LaVey, the Black Pope of the Church of Satan," if he was put out that she seemed totally unaware of who he was, he didn't let it show. "The Anti-Christ has come and we have gathered all the known Brides that are of age. Of the thousands that were conceived, only a couple of hundred have made it to adulthood. Fewer were able to pass the fertility test."

"OK, that's your weird Handmaid's Tale deal. Like cool, follow your truth. What does this have to do with me?"

"Seventeen years ago, your mother was a devout follower of our Lord Satan. She was quickly making her way up the ranks, in a few months she had surpassed Acolyte and was a Bishop. We had high hopes that perhaps one day she could have been a Cardinal, maybe even a Pope."

"Not Popette or Mitéra?"

"Funny…although I kind of like Mitéra…anyway the point is, Mia Baxter had undergone the Ritual of Obscura Notitia…"

"Black information?"

"Dark Conception…it's an older meaning for notitia…you know Latin?"

"I took four years of it…I thought it would help me with the SATs. It worked by the way, I got a perfect score on the verbal for the practice test."

"Impressive."

"Thanks, I worked really hard. I have plans to go to Berkeley, so you can see how marrying Satan Jr. isn't part of my dream board."

"I highly doubt you would ever be picked."

Ouch

Although deep down she did not want to get married into this insane cult, it still kind of smarted that she was rejected from the start.

"Despite your mother's conviction and fervor, for reasons unknown she had decided to abscond with you and left the Church, hiding you for years. You were not raised to be the traditional Bride. As such, you have not been raised in our ways. You do not have the advantage of years of training and grooming. There are 99 other women who He has to choose from that are far more appropriate."

"Then why keep me here? I have friends and a life, people will miss me."

"Regardless of your upbringing, you were born for Him. It is ultimately up to Him to dismiss you, and until He does, you will participate in the Selection Ball. As for your 'life,' you are an ordinary teen with no real outstanding qualities. Born to a single mother in a small Arizona suburb, whatever fuss that may be made about you will not last long. Even if it did, we have ways of making people not care."

"What happens when I'm not chosen, am I going to die?"

It was a fair question, as human sacrifice was a widely practiced ritual in order to sell one's soul.

"No, a person born of Obscura Notitia is not a proper sacrifice. With the time, resources, and potential—it'd be a waste to kill them off if they can be useful."

"Person?"

"Not everyone who submitted to the Ritual had birthed a daughter. The male children are raised separately, to be soldiers for His Son."

"Why can't the Anti-Christ have a husband?"

"He is foretold to have a sons to rule after his thousand year reign, when the world is remade in His image."

What does that have to do with anything? Whatever, I don't even care.

She decided not to argue, it wasn't like the Black Pope was the one to talk about LGBT rights and fighting heteronomativity. She really didn't want to get into whatever "prophecies" this cult may have, there was no rationalizing with insane people.

"OK, I'm not chosen…what happens to me next?"

"We find a place for you, within the Church or the Cooperative."

"The Cooperative?"

"It is the secular arm of Satan's Kingdom. They make and control the money and influence the governments of the world."

"Wait…so there is a vast secret network of billionaires working in conjunction that control the world for the end of Man?"

"Of course."

"Well I feel dumb…I have a couple of apologies to make…anyway. So I go to this ball, I get passed over, then you find me a place in the Cooperative? Could this place be in architecture?"

"Possibly, we always need capable and smart people as part of our vast network. We can get you into any school that you want. Although depending on His actual plan for the Apocalypse, you may have to learn from within the Sanctuary or be assigned a specific task."

OK, maybe this cult isn't so bad if they're willing to pay for school. My mother could have chosen worse cults and I just need to buy time to get away from these crazy assholes.

"Would I need to sign a book? Sell my soul?"

"You don't have a soul. It's why we can't sacrifice you."

Beth scoffed, offended he would say such a thing.

I have a soul, jerk.

"You will be escorted to one of the guest houses to get ready. You will have access to appropriate formal wear, make-up artists, and hair dressers. We have to at least make you look presentable. I suggest you keep a low profile, while I may tolerate your lack of manners, the Son of Satan has the power to obliterate you from existence."

OK, so these people may not "sacrifice" me but they still may kill me. Wear a dress, smile, and get out of the way. That's easy. Need to take this insanity one day at a time. This place is huge, no way can they keep tabs on me. The drugs will have worn off and I can get out of the building…I just need to find my mother…then wring her neck.

Beth found herself in a "guest house" not too far from the main mansion. It had the same Châteauesque elevation, just on a smaller scale. The guest house would have been considered a mansion where she was from, it had to have at least five bedrooms, and predicted that each room had its own en suite. She couldn't fathom what kind of guests they catered to that needed their own actual house to themselves.

There were a dozen or so Brides in the house already, in varying stages of getting ready. She could feel their inquisitive eyes on her, wondering what she was doing there and why they would even bother. She was easily the youngest person there, and she wondered what the cut off for what they assumed was "of age."

I'm only seventeen. What kind of creepy weirdo wants to marry a seventeen year old?

She clung to the desperate hope that Anton was right, that she would easily be passed over. The dudebros had said the Anti-Christ could potentially chose more than one wife, but so many to choose from she still felt she was rather safe. Her only worry was that He would choose them all, not willing to settle for anything less than everything he could potentially want.

Then there was also the facts she had no idea what He even looked like. She had no idea how long it took to plan an Apocalypse, and the program had been going on since the beginning of the last century.

He's probably old as fuck.

She couldn't help but think of all the old white men that occupied seats in government, they all acted like they wanted the world to burn. Or someone like Warren Jeffs, a disgusting leader that used religion to justify his pedophilia.

Beth was led into a parlor by a cadre of assistances in plain black slacks and black oxford shirts. They quickly explained they were there to do her hair and make-up and sat her down in a barber chair with a vanity next to it. If she didn't know any better, it felt like she was getting ready for Senior Prom. The workers around her were far less intimidating without ceremonial robes, and she felt like maybe she could relax for a second.

"I am Dylan, the lead beautician. We are here to make sure each Bride looks and feels beautiful on her special day," he crooned, honored to be part of such an occasion. When he had sold his soul to open his own boutique and full service salon, he had hoped he would be one of the lucky ones to be called on to serve the Dark Lord's future Bride. If he played his cards right, he could be the exclusive hair dresser for the Queen of Hell. While he didn't think the girl currently in his chair would be the one, his pride would not let him do anything other than his best. He had already worked on others, all with years of experience of looking their best. He had heard a rumor of a so called "Lost Bride," it was all the others would talk about. They had gossiped about a rough looking teenager that had freaked out during orientation. No one knew why for sure, but some had spread the word that the girl's mother had run away from the Church and raised her daughter as a normal girl.

Of course no potential Bride could be left unaccounted for, they were lucky to find her in time and he had his work cut out for him.

"So my dear," he oozed charm, wanting her to relax because he could not work with a tear stained wreck. "What are we thinking? French twist? Corkscrew curls and a tiara? High and tight updo?"

All of that sounded boring to Beth, and since this was all free and it sounded like he had to do whatever she wanted,

"I was thinking a mix between Lagertha and Daenerys, intricate braids at the crown and romance waves with the rest of my hair down."

He raised a surprised eyebrow, he never thought a Bride would ask for such a thing. Most hadn't been allowed to watch mainstream television, most thinking it was a distraction from their education on being the perfect Satanic wife. Excitement bubbled in his chest as it would be a challenge and he rarely ever got to do braids.

He was also a huge Game of Thrones fan,

"Well, you are full of surprises, aren't you? And what is your dress like?"

"I don't have a dress, I had no idea I would be going to Satanic Prom."

Dylan giggled at her joke, liking the girl.

"Well, we have an unlimited amount of money and resources, so you just tell papa Dylan what you like and we'll get you set up."

"I have no idea about dress styles, so I'm not going to know the proper terms…but here is how I want it to feel."

The rest of the attendants had gathered around, the girl had piqued their curiosity. She was certainly the most interesting Bride they had worked with so far.

"I want it flowy, deep pink or fuchsia…like the dawn. So, think dawn faery…" she took a minute to think of all that she wanted. "Targaryen…in Dorne."

"I know exactly what you want, we'll get started on that. But first you need a facial, stat…and several other treatments, darlin' you are a mess."

Beth tried not to feel insulted that he thought she needed a bunch of work, but in fairness she was going up against a bunch of Stepford Wives. She figured she should just let it all happen,

It's not like I actually want to be picked. I just need to get through this "Selection Ball" and then I can either figure out how to escape or hell—heh that's a good pun—I may even take advantage of any schooling they'll pay for.

For the next couple of hours, she submitted to being their doll. She let them dress her, play with her hair, and at the end the product was rather impressive.

"Swish, swish," Beth played with her dress, liking how the light material flowed around her. She was so enamored with her outfit that she didn't really hear anything her attendants had said.

"Beth," Dylan tried to get her attention for the third time.

Almost being yelled at, she finally looked at him.

"Stay still, I need to put these pins in," he instructed her, holding bejeweled hairpins that he wanted to set into her long raven hair. Once he was done fussing, he stood back and admired his handywork.

While her dress colour pallet was a riot of pink and orange, her pitch-black hair reminded him of an inky black night sky. While most of the other women had wanted some sort of head dress such as crowns and tiaras, he wanted hers to be less ostentatious but still lavish. The pins in her hair were diamond starbursts, a dozen scattered among her tresses.

The other Brides were raised to be Queens, but Beth was Ēostre reborn.

"Swish, swish," she swung her head to and fro, liking how her hair bounced.

"Do not do that!" Dylan yelled, aghast that she would treat his artwork in such a careless manner.

Beth immediately stopped, properly chided and felt like maybe she ought to sit in a corner.

"I'm sorry," he immediately apologized when she looked like a puppy that had been kicked. "But you look beautiful, we wouldn't want all this hard work to be wasted before the Most Unholy One got a chance to see you."

"Right…" she tried to remain neutral, wanting to change topics.

Another attendant had come into the room and whispered into Dylan's ear. He nodded,

"You have about an hour before the ball, there is a special guest that wants to meet you in one of the rooms upstairs. Louis will escort you."

Beth thought that was a bit odd, but felt like she didn't have much choice and followed the woman to the second floor. She was led to a bedroom with a massive four poster bed and heavy drapes.

What can I use as a weapon?

She looked around the room, hoping it wasn't some weird trap for whomever they felt was the "Anti-Christ" to rape and kill her. It was a rather convoluted plan to have her go through hours of makeup and hair, but she thought it could be a more messed up version of The Most Dangerous Game.

She wondered if the lamp on the side table would be too heavy for her to utilize as weapon.

"Beth?" an unsure voice questioned behind her. She recognized it and immediately turned around.

It was her mother, safe and sound. She ran to her, so relieved to see her safe and hugged her tight. Mia cried in relief, so happy to see her daughter wasn't hurt. Beth held onto her mother tight, comforted by her familiar scent.

They broke apart, she looked over her mother to double check that she was OK. Once she was satisfied that no harm had come to her mother,

"Mom, what the fuck?!" she yelled, anger replacing her happiness.