To the Reader,
This book is not for everyone. It is raw. It is brutal. It is unflinching. And it was never meant to be polite.
TALIA is a work of fiction, but the darkness it exposes is all too real. It is a spiritual parable—set in a world where ancient powers still hunger, where innocence is traded for influence, and where the unborn are not forgotten but fought over. It is graphic not to glorify evil, but to show what evil truly is when it hides behind modern language and “enlightened” ideals.
This story walks the blood-soaked border between life and death, truth and deception, sacrifice and salvation.
There are depictions of ritual abuse, spiritual deception, and distorted motherhood. There is symbolism—Catholic, occult, prophetic—that is used deliberately to confront, unsettle, and awaken.
And if it shakes you, it’s doing its job.
To those who have experienced abortion personally, this book is not meant to condemn—it is meant to open up a sacred, if painful, conversation. One that has too often been silenced by shame or hijacked by politics. This is not a religious sermon. This is not a culture war grenade. This is storytelling as soul surgery.
The horror of Talia’s path is not a celebration—it is a cautionary tale of what happens when a culture forgets the sacredness of life, the gift of motherhood, and the reverence due to every soul—born and unborn.
You are invited to read with courage, not comfort. With discernment, not distraction.
And with the understanding that even in the darkest tales, redemption can rise.
This book may be banned. It may be misunderstood. It may be hated.
But may it also ignite something deeper than outrage. May it ignite remembrance—of who we are, what we've lost, and what we must reclaim.
Welcome to her legacy. Welcome to Talia
Chapter 1: Dew of God
The child arrived before the sun did.
Wrapped in a linen swaddling cloth, still wet with blood and winter dew, she was left on the frozen stone steps of the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage. The wind bit at the edges of the forest, and the trees, black and skeletal, whispered of things long buried. It was an hour before morning prayers, and the streets lay empty. No one saw. No one heard.
The child didn’t cry. She lay still, chest rising and falling like a shadow’s breath. In her tiny hand was a broken rosary, three beads missing, the crucifix stained with what looked like dried blood.
Sister Imelda, the youngest of the nuns, found her first. She was late to morning mass, an offense that she would normally regret. But today, as her bare feet crunched against the frost-covered stones, her heart skipped when she saw the child. Alone. Unclaimed. The silence between them was unnatural.
The girl’s eyes—large, dark, and unblinking—stared back at her. She didn’t look like a normal baby, the nun thought, her pulse quickening. It wasn’t fear that gripped her but something deeper—something ancient. As if the girl had already seen the dark corners of the world and understood them.
Sister Imelda knelt slowly, reaching out to touch the baby’s forehead. Cold, like marble. Cold, like stone. But alive. Alive with something that spoke without words.
She had no name. No parent to call. Only the rosary and the dark eyes that pierced her soul. Imelda looked around the quiet courtyard, but there was no one in sight.
“Talia,” the nun whispered, her lips trembling. “The dew of God, for you have come with the dawn.”
Talia, the child of morning, the dew that had been sent to cleanse. The name felt right on Imelda’s tongue—like a whisper in the night. She took the child in her arms, her heartbeat echoing in the stillness, and carried her inside, unaware of the shadow that would grow within her.
Talia grew within the walls of the orphanage, a place where the light of the sun barely pierced the thick stone, where the prayers echoed through the narrow halls. The other children, younger than her, stared as she passed by. They felt her strangeness, even as she knelt at the altar, hands clasped in prayer. Her eyes, always wide and searching, would glance up to the stained glass windows that bathed the church in shifting colors, hues of red and gold.
The sisters saw no evil in her, at least not openly. She performed her duties—helping to clean, to cook, to care for the others—without complaint. But there was something dark beneath her surface. Something that only those who dared to look closely could see. It wasn’t the innocence of a child; it was something older. Something that had already witnessed the cruelty of the world, though it hadn’t yet spoken.
She never asked about her origins. She knew nothing of the world beyond the stone walls of the orphanage and the narrow village beyond. But as the years passed, a thirst grew inside of her—an insatiable desire to know more. To see the world outside. To understand what lay beyond the iron gates that kept her locked in.
At fifteen, Talia ventured out for the first time in years. It wasn’t by chance. It was fate, like a call, leading her to the edge of the forest.
She had seen them—girls from the nearby town. Local girls, with their lanterns glowing dimly in the twilight, drifting through the trees like ghosts. They moved with purpose, quiet in their steps, shadows that flickered against the darkening sky.
She watched from the safety of the trees, her heart pounding in her chest as they gathered in a clearing. The girls, their faces pale and their eyes glinting with something strange, began to chant. Their voices—low, slow—echoed in the hollow air. Their movements were deliberate, rhythmic, like the turning of a clock, each tick a step closer to something she couldn’t quite grasp.
And then Talia saw her.
The pregnant girl.
Her belly was swollen, round with life. But the look on her face was anything but maternal. She stood in the center of the circle, her hands raised as if offering herself to the very darkness they invoked.
The ritual was ancient. Talia didn’t know how she knew, but she did. She felt it deep in her bones, vibrating through her. They called upon powers she couldn’t see but could feel—the air thick with energy, heavy with whispers.
The girl on the ground fell to her knees. The chanting grew louder, urgent. One of the girls approached, holding a knife, its blade glinting in the lantern light. The moment of sacrifice had arrived.
Talia’s breath caught in her throat. She should have fled. Should have run back to the safety of the orphanage. But something within her told her to stay. To watch. To witness.
The girl with the knife pressed the blade to the pregnant girl’s belly. The world seemed to stand still as the ritual began.
Talia didn’t understand it all, not then. But she felt something. Something alive. Something dark awakening inside her.
Over the next few weeks, she followed the girls again. And again. Each time, her curiosity grew. Her heart ached for something she couldn’t define. The power they spoke of, the rituals, the promises they whispered into the night—it all tugged at her, beckoning her like a siren’s call.
One day, while volunteering at the local library, she saw them again. The girls huddled together over dusty old books, searching for more occult knowledge. They saw her, too, and smiled.
"Looking for something, Talia?" one of them asked, her voice sweet, yet carrying an edge.
Talia stood still. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The girl’s eyes glinted with recognition, and without a word, they invited her to join them. And so, she did.
The hours blurred as Talia helped them find the books they wanted. She read them all—about ancient gods, sacrifices, rituals, and powers beyond comprehension.
And as she read, she began to change. Her eyes darkened. Her soul, once innocent, began to crack open like a tomb, revealing the shadows inside.
Chapter 2: The Red Forest
The forest was always silent at night. A stillness that pressed against the skin like a thick, unseen fog, filling the air with the scent of damp earth, pine needles, and something darker. Talia’s heart quickened each time she ventured out beyond the gates of the orphanage, though she was careful to stay hidden in the shadows, just out of sight.
It was the same forest—the one she had watched the girls disappear into so many times before. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, the air felt charged, as though something powerful lingered just beneath the surface, waiting to be awakened.
She had learned to avoid the paths the villagers walked. She knew that the deeper she went, the closer she came to the heart of the forest—where the rituals happened. Where the things she couldn’t explain took place. Where the truth hid in plain sight, shrouded in darkness and fear.
Tonight, Talia followed them again.
The girls. The ones with the lanterns. They moved like shadows between the trees, each step deliberate, each glance swept over their shoulders. But tonight, Talia was more than just a watcher. Tonight, she was a participant.
The forest opened up before them, the trees parting like silent sentinels, revealing a clearing bathed in an eerie, crimson glow. The ground beneath their feet was soft with moss, but Talia felt no comfort in it. No warmth. The air grew colder as they walked deeper, and her breath became visible in the chilling night.
The girls were waiting for her. The ritual had already begun.
She stepped forward, unseen, hidden behind the thick trunks of the ancient trees. Her pulse raced. Her throat tightened. The words of the chant echoed through the clearing, harsh and guttural, the sounds of an ancient language she couldn’t understand—but one that felt like it resonated with her very bones.
And there, in the center of the circle, was the pregnant girl again. The one who had been the focus of the ritual last time. Her eyes were wide, glazed over, as though she were already somewhere else, lost in the thrall of the ceremony. Her belly, swollen with life, looked even more pronounced now, as though it had grown overnight.
Talia couldn’t tear her gaze away from the girl. Her heart hammered against her chest, and something inside her stirred. There was power here. Raw, untamed power.
One of the girls, the one with the knife, stepped forward and raised it above the pregnant girl’s belly. Talia’s breath caught in her throat. The ritual had begun again, but this time, she could feel the energy surge through her, vibrating with intensity.
It wasn’t just about watching anymore. It was about becoming part of it. Joining them.
The girl with the knife cut into the pregnant girl’s flesh. The blood spilled onto the ground in thick, red ribbons, soaking into the soil. The others chanted louder now, their voices rising in intensity as they summoned something greater than themselves. The air pulsed with the weight of it.
Talia’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She could feel it. The power. The darkness. It was intoxicating.
The pregnant girl let out a sound—low, guttural, and painful—but it wasn’t a cry of fear. It was a cry of surrender. A cry of release. And then, as the last of the blood spilled, the pregnant girl’s body went still.
The girls around her knelt, their eyes wide, their faces lit by the flickering lanterns. And for the first time, Talia saw what they were all staring at.
The unborn child. It was there, lifeless but beautiful. A tiny, perfect form, suspended in time.
The girls’ chants turned to something softer, more reverent. Talia didn’t know why, but she stepped closer. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she crossed the threshold of the circle, moving toward the sacrifice that lay before them.
Her fingers trembled, but she didn’t stop. She had to be closer. She had to understand what this was. What it meant. What it had to do with her.
The girl who had been holding the knife, the one who had made the incision, turned to face Talia. Her eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something knowing.
“You wish to understand, don’t you?” the girl asked softly, her voice a whisper that seemed to vibrate in the air between them.
Talia nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her mouth felt dry, and her chest ached with something she couldn’t name.
The girl smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of kindness. It was a smile that saw through her, into the very heart of her being.
“This is not just a sacrifice, Talia.” The girl stepped closer, and Talia could smell the earth, the blood, the sweat of their ritual. “This is power. Ancient power. And it will be yours, if you choose it.”
Talia’s breath caught in her throat. She felt it. The pull. The dark, irresistible energy that hummed just beneath the surface, waiting for her to take it.
“What do you mean?” Talia finally found her voice, her words coming out like a breathless prayer.
The girl’s eyes gleamed with knowledge. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? That you were meant for something more.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle in the stillness between them. “You were never meant to be like them. The Sisters of Mercy—they shelter you, yes. They protect you. But they don’t know what you truly are.”
Talia’s heart hammered in her chest. What was she hearing? What was she feeling?
“You are the Dew of God, Talia. But you are also more. You are a vessel for the divine. The very blood of life flows through you. And when you accept it—when you offer yourself as the sacrifice—you will become something else entirely.”
The words crashed over her like a tidal wave. She felt her hands tremble, her body quake with the weight of them. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else entirely. But she felt it deep inside her. This was the moment. This was what she had been searching for.
What had always been inside her, hidden, waiting.
She could take it.
She could join them.
She could become ‘Mother’.
The girl smiled again, sensing the shift in Talia. And as the last of the blood was drained from the sacrificed child, the ritual reached its apex.
The power surged through Talia, sharp and brutal. And she knew, in that moment, that nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter 3: The Mission
Talia had always known what her purpose was, even if the world around her hadn’t yet caught up. From the moment she was taken in by the Sisters of Mercy, tucked away in the tranquil, whispering hills of New Norcia, she had been trained. The nuns had taught her many things—how to read, how to serve, how to hide the truths about herself that would never see the light of day. But there was always something more beneath the surface, something darker, something ancient.
At 18, she had come into her own, no longer just a ward of the orphanage, but a woman with a mission.
Talia’s path was set. She didn’t want a family in the conventional sense. She didn’t want a home filled with love and warmth, laughter and joy. What she wanted was power. She wanted dominion over life and death, eternal youth, visions, influence over minds. And she knew exactly where to find it.
In the quiet of her room, before the morning light had touched the land, she had begun her rituals—silent prayers to Moloch, Baphomet, and Lilith. She had not been born to this world by accident. No, Talia had been chosen. Chosen for her bloodline. For the strength that pulsed in her veins. For the destiny that awaited her beyond the veil of the mundane.
Her task was clear. She had to conceive a child—the child. A vessel of energy, an unborn soul whose very essence would feed the gods, offer them a power she would wield. But not just any child. She was searching for the perfect father, a man who could pass on to their offspring not just DNA, but strength and power—someone with moral fiber, a godly spirit, a leader who would make the perfect father.
She found him in Fremantle. She had taken a bus and travelled from New Norcia to Perth and then the train into Fremantle. She booked in at the Fremantle Old Fire Station Hostel, close to the train station.
Osias was everything she needed—strong, quiet, and filled with a raw, untapped potential. He was unlike the men she had seen before—ordinary, weak, without vision or fire. No, Osias was different. He carried the strength of his father’s legacy, tempered with the potential to build something far greater.
At first, she wasn’t sure if he would be the one. She tested him—watching from afar, listening to his words, sensing the pulse of something powerful within him. But as she watched him struggle, work with his hands, and speak of his dreams and aspirations, Talia knew. He was the one. She had found the perfect vessel for her mission.
She met him at the Norfolk Hotel, a small, weathered pub on the docks of Fremantle. It was there that he stood, his rugged hands clasped around a glass of gin, the world outside fading into the background. And in that moment, Talia knew: this was the man she would use to fulfill her purpose.
As they spoke, she carefully wove her spell—a plan that would unfold with precise steps. She didn’t need to stay in his life. She didn’t need him to be her lover, or even a partner. She needed him for one thing: the child. And that child would be her ticket to immortality, to the power she sought.
Her feelings for him were cold, distant. He was a tool, a means to an end. But as they sat there, words between them, her breath quickening with the realization of what would come next, Talia began to feel something she hadn’t anticipated: an unsettling tenderness. She had chosen him not only for his strength, but for his potential to bring a life into this world that could change everything.
Her mission, though, was clear. And no matter what feelings stirred in her chest, she would remain steadfast.
Chapter 4: The Departure
The time they spent together was unlike any other in Talia’s life. She had come for one purpose: to leave with his child. But as she lay beside Osias, watching the faint moonlight slip through the cracks of the window, she found herself questioning things she hadn’t planned for.
His strength had always been the pull, but now, in the quiet aftermath, it was his vulnerability. The way his breath softened in the dark. The way he reached for her hand, as though wanting something more, as though wanting to fight for what they had begun.
But Talia could not afford to feel what she was beginning to feel. She had made her choice. There was no turning back. The child she carried was no longer just an unborn soul—it was a weapon. A tool to summon the ancient powers that would cleanse her of her past and prepare her for a future she had long awaited.
She didn’t belong with him. She could never stay.
She left at night, not long after Osias had been out drinking while watching the rugby down at the local sports bar. He came home drunk and fell asleep quickly.
She dressed quickly, her fingers trembling as she folded her crucifix into the folds of her letter. The silver cross had once gleamed bright, an outward symbol of the faith she had abandoned long ago. But now it was stained—darkened by something that looked like dried blood. It had been the last trace of her humanity, the last symbol of the purity she had clung to before she realized the true path she had to follow. Now it was just another part of her past, another link severed.
She placed the crucifix on the dining table next to a faint soft light. The crucifix still streaked with dried blood that no one could explain.
Then, she pulled out the note she had written earlier, her penmanship neat, precise, but cold. It was as simple as it was painful.
"Osias,
I am leaving. There is something I must take care of and I won’t be coming back. Please do not try to find me. You are a great man. A good, kind caring man. We had a good time but now I must leave. I hope one day you will understand.
Goodbye. Talia"
Talia placed the note on the table, then, without another glance, she turned and walked out.
The world outside was still dark, the air heavy with the salt of the ocean. Fremantle’s docks were silent now, the ships casting long shadows across the pier.
Leaving only the note behind for Osias, she didn’t need to explain herself. There was no need for further words. He wouldn’t understand. None of them ever did.
As Talia walked away, her heart was cold, but her mind was set. There was no turning back.
She was already on her way to the next step—back to the Sisters of Mercy, to the cold, quiet streets of New Norcia. Her destiny awaited her there. She had done what needed to be done.
As she disappeared into the night, she didn’t look back. The road ahead was clear, and the future of her unborn child was sealed.
In the days to come, she would return to the Orphanage, only to complete her mission—the ritual that would bring her to the gods and secure her place among them.
And the child? It would be the key to unlocking her true power.
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The Great Unborn Wall Legacy - Book 1
Copyright
© 2025 by The Great Unborn Wall
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by The Great Unborn Wall
First Edition, April 2025