about bonnie ꕤ due to not much contact with the outside world until her escape, bonnie is very naive but finds it hard to trust people. she finds it hard to connect with people as she doesn't know who she can and can't trust, she's very suspicious of people who try to get close to her. due to the cult and the need of their girls to be "pure," she is still a virgin and hasn't even had her first kiss and she has never had a relationship. she's very guarded and stand offish with people until she gets to know them and that's when she finally lets her guard down and let's people know the real her.when bonnie isn't at work, she enjoys reading, music, watching movies and tv shows, all the things she didn't get to do while still in the sanctuary. she doesn't leave her apartment much unless she has to go to work, grocery shopping or to grab anything else she needs.

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byi ✦  there will be sensitive topics portrayed so if that’s something you don’t want to see, don’t follow. owner of multiple accounts so won’t always be active here. literate & descriptive writer so i will not respond to one liners or anything shorter than at least 1 paragraph.dni ✿  i’m 21+ so don’t follow if you are under that age. dni if you’re anti lgbtq+, trump supporter, sexist, zionist.

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Bonnie doesn’t remember the exact day she was born only the day she was claimed. That’s how they phrased it in The Sanctuary.Elara Mirren wasn’t her first name. That one was given to her by The Shepherd during a ceremony she barely remembers, all she remembered was the cold water, a hand pressed too hard against her head, voices chanting in a language she never fully understood. Before that she belonged to her mother, after that she belonged to him.Children weren’t raised in families there, not really. They were raised in groups, monitored constantly, corrected constantly, affection was conditional, love was obedience and punishment was a lesson.They called it “correction,” but Bonnie learned early that correction meant isolation, darkness, silence stretched so long it made her hallucinate. Sometimes it meant standing for hours without moving, sometimes it meant worse, things no one spoke about, but everyone understood.The Shepherd believed girls were vessels, pure only if they remained untouched by thought, by doubt, by themselves. So they were taught to shrink, to lower their eyes and to speak only when spoken to, Bonnie failed at that.She noticed too much, the way The Shepherd’s “chosen” girls stopped speaking entirely after private meetings, the way blood sometimes stained the hems of white dresses, the way her mother stopped looking at her one day like something in her had been switched off.The first time Bonnie was locked away, she was 13. Her crime? asking where the missing girls went.They left her in a wooden room with no windows, light and sound except her own breathing and eventually, the things her mind created to fill the silence. She learned how quickly a person could break when there was nothing to hold onto.When they let her out, she didn’t ask questions anymore but she didn’t stop thinking.By 16, she understood the truth in fragments. The Sanctuary wasn’t protecting them, it was containing them. The outside world wasn’t evil, it was just… free and freedom was the one thing The Shepherd couldn’t allow.The moment that broke her wasn’t her own suffering, it was watching another girl dragged away, hands bound, screaming until her voice gave out after being accused of trying to leave. Bonnie was forced to watch, forced to learn.That night, something in her shifted from fear into something colder, something determined.Her escape wasn’t brave, it was desperate. She stole what she could over weeks, rotting food, a coat that didn’t belong to her, a small blade she hid in her sleeve. She memorised guard patterns, listened through walls, mapped the edges of a place she’d never been allowed to explore.And when a storm hit loud enough to mask the world, she ran. She expected shouting, footsteps and hands grabbing her, but there was nothing. That silence followed her for miles.They found her days later on the side of a motorway, barely conscious, covered in cuts and dirt, her voice gone from disuse. She didn’t speak for weeks after. When people asked her name, she gave them nothing, so she chose a new one instead, Bonnie Voss.Now that she has escaped, she exists more than she lives.She rents a small, dim apartment in a city that overwhelms her senses, noise, light, people who get too close without meaning to. She works night shifts at a convenience store, where the quiet hours feel safer, where she can watch without being watched, at least that’s what she tells herself.She doesn’t sleep properly, when she does, it’s shallow, full of dreams where she’s back in that windowless room or worse, dreams where she never left at all. She keeps the lights on, always, darkness still feels like punishment.Every mirror in her apartment is covered, every door is locked twice, sometimes three times. She’s mapped out every exit in every place she frequents. She notices patterns in strangers, the same coat twice, the same car driving past too slowly, she tells herself she’s being irrational.But she also knows what The Sanctuary is capable of, people don’t leave, not really.Sometimes, she thinks she sees them, a figure standing too still across the street, a face in the reflection of a shop window that disappears when she turns, a man lingering too long in the aisles during her shift, watching without buying anything.Once, she found a symbol scratched faintly into her doorframe, not deep, not obvious but enough, enough to send her spiralling back into that same breathless fear she thought she’d outrun.She’s tried to build something resembling a normal life. She’s learning things, slowly. How to use technology, hold conversations without scanning for hidden meaning and to exist without asking permission.But trust doesn’t come easily when your entire life was built on lies. She doesn’t let people get close, not really, there’s always distance, always an exit plan.Because a part of her is still waiting waiting for the knock at the door, waiting for The Shepherd’s voice to slip back into her life like it never left, reminding her that she was never meant to be free.

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