Darkness— a curtain of black enveloped the lone woman. She sat in a daze, her eyes unfocused and unfazed by the world around her. She was tired of this life and this cruelty, but there was little she could do to change it. Water trickled down onto the cold stone floor from a crack in the brick ceiling that loomed over her. Drops fell incessantly, comparable to an endless glacial melt. Initially, it was torturous, like the droning buzz of a demonic insect that nested in her head. Yet now, it was the most comforting thing that filled her day— something alive.


    A solitary ray of light shone through, piercing through the smallest gap within the thick brick walls that enveloped her. It fell upon her face, on a single icy blue eye. Within her gaze— a defiant will stirred, filled with unwillingness and fury. It remained hidden but fated to erupt. Like an insignificant ember buried in the ash. Easy to miss, yet dangerous once carried by the wind onto greener pastures. Her arms and legs were shackled tightly, restricting her to the corner of the room where she knelt. She was powerless to flee, helpless to do anything, and hopeless. Despite everything, the woman held on. In a situation where countless people would have given up, she remained steady. She knew her time was running out. They would never give her a path in life now, not after everything they had done to her. It was that which made her that much more stubborn and defiant. She had to keep her head high; how else would they regret what they had put her through?


    She seethed inside as she knelt there alone with her thoughts; she did not dare show it, for their torment would only increase. But she could not let go; the feeling swelled inside her. They dared to frame her, deceive the world, and betray her trust. Her father— the man who had given her hope after her mother passed. Or those rabble that dubbed themselves noble, if one could even call them that, who feigned their affections daily. She hated them all. Loathed their treacherous existence— she wanted nothing more than to prove their rumors right and give them a taste of justice. Wishful thinking— perhaps. But in this prison, she had enough time to spend on wishful thinking.


    Her thoughts wandered, swirling in the room like a leaf dancing in the wind. Metallic steps sounded, thudding loudly against the brick. As the sound entered her ears, she winced— an unfortunate effect of the torture and abuse that often followed in those footsteps. She closed her eyes, slowing down her breathing to a crawl. The steps continued, and the dull thud of metal and stone echoed, sending shivers through her body. It came to her cell and stopped, a momentary silence reminiscent of a beast eyeing its prey. The metal-plated door screeched against the stones as the men pried it open. The cell itself was an excessive display for a seventeen-year-old girl, but in reality, what part of her imprisonment was not excessive? As the door came to a halt, its confining embrace loosened at last, and the light of the external corridor erupted into the cell, overwhelming the darkness in the room with its scalding brightness, a volcanic beast of carnage personified that craved nothing but destruction. Thus was why the woman shut her eyes in advance. Priscilla had grown accustomed to the dark in her month-long confinement. When the doors opened, bringing the painful sear of light, she had to hide to avoid getting burned by it.


    "Little Miss, wakey wakey. You shouldn''t be dead yet, right?" Elrick scoffed, prodding her shackled thigh with his metal boot. He paused for mere moments before the impatience kicked in; he kicked her leg ruthlessly, the metal plating of his boot bruising her tender flesh, forcing out a cry from the girl.


    "Ah, still a lively one, isn''t she? You owe me five gild, Davies," Elrick laughed joyfully, gloating to his companion.


    Priscilla could not help but glare at the men; her unkempt hair fell flat onto her face. She resembled a beggar, an unruly mess of dirt and grime, yet her instincts still kicked in. Priscilla was hardly frightening, not in the slightest. She could not intimidate the men nor escape their clutches, but despite her weakness, Priscilla glared, her unwillingness evident. Elrick laughed at her display, kicking her some more. The sound of chains rattling and her whimpering cries filled the cell with every kick. His metal boots were stained with her blood— again. The other man, Davies, stood by the door, his arms crossed in front as he stood watch. He sniggered on the outside, but truthfully, Davies wanted no part of Priscilla''s torment; whether she was deposed or not, she was still the Princess. He maintained a distance, eyeing the woman carefully. She seemed pitiful to him, but the rumors about her kept him conflicted and at bay.


    It was a frequent affair where they would come down to torment her. Laughing at her suffering and beating her senseless. ''Were they sick and perverted? Or had someone requested it of them? If there was, it could only be her loving father showcasing his affections.'' She thought, feeling the electrifying pain of Elrick''s kicks.


    "Since you already lost your money, why not have some extra fun for once, Davies?" Elrick asked his companion while wiping the blood off his boot onto Priscilla''s gown. The blatant provocative lust in his words was compelling. Davies looked at Elrick and laughed, but inside, he cursed the bastard''s depravity.


    "Let''s not overindulge ourselves, El," Davies replied casually, waving his hand at his colleague. He paused briefly before adding, "Even if the rumors are likely hearsay, I wouldn''t want to risk doing anything with this wench."


    "Why are you so gloomy, Davie? She''s merely an abandoned Miss that no longer serves a purpose. You do not truly believe that she is some all-powerful witch? Would she be trapped here with us if she was?" Elrick chuckled.


    Priscilla gazed at them; their voices were hushed and inaudible to her in her muddled state. Her head buzzed with pain from the kicks that peppered her legs. However, she knew— she could instinctively feel what they were talking about, "Are you getting scared?" Priscilla asked with a smile, revealing her blood-covered teeth. "Worried that I''ll put a curse on you? Why are you both so confident that you haven''t doomed yourselves already?" She wanted to laugh, to make them tremble with fear, but spitting out those words was the most she could do. The pain of her body pressed down on her and forced her to quiet.


    "You''re one venomous wench, aren''t you? Still have the strength to talk?" Elrick snorted as he kneeled beside her. He palmed his hand against her face as he drew close, whispering into her ear. "Your execution date''s decided, so talk while you still can. It won''t be long until you can''t talk anymore." Elrick playfully slapped her face before adding. "I''ll tell you another thing. Lord Valentine and Lady Nightshade have decided to wed after you''re gone. A new heir to Valentine will be born, and you''ll be a mere afterthought forgotten."


    "You never should''ve had the Valentine name; you''re just an unworthy street urchin unfit for your position." Elrick patted her face as if she were some meager cat or dog. "Fortunately, you won''t have that name for much longer now."


    The girl trembled, lowering her head instinctively. ''So it finally happened,'' she thought. ''I wish I could be the witch they thought I was…'' She felt so helpless; she wanted to live, but how? She was just a girl, shackled and alone— utterly powerless.


    "Serves you right." Elrick laughed. He wanted to kick her some more, but hidden inside— Elrick was disturbed by the rumors surrounding her. Orders were obligatory. He had to humiliate her— torment her until she begs for death, but praise the star if the rumors about her weren''t bone-chilling. He didn''t want to suffer, nor have his family suffer because of it.


    After a few more moments of verbal abuse, the men left, sealing the cell door behind them as they walked off. Once more, only Priscilla and her thoughts remained. ''Priscilla, oh Priscilla… what dark star were you born under? Mother... I miss you.'' Tears rolled down her face, warm against her skin yet cold in her heart.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    <hr>


    Davies and Elrick walked down the corridor side-by-side. Elrick exhaled before wiping his brow. "Damn, I hate this job. Seeing her makes me tense every time."


    Davies scowled, "Damned if we do, damned if we don''t. I don''t want to think about it more than we should. Let''s get the report over with.''''


    They paced their steps, gathering their courage as they approached a large set of wooden doors adorned with golden emblazonment.


    Within the spacious office, a large, stoic man sat rigidly in a regal armchair carved of walnut. He rapped his fingers against the mahogany desk, a clear display of contemplation. A soft knock resounded against his office door. Duke Valentine kept his gaze distracted before merely uttering a single command, "Enter," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.


    "Yes, Your Grace!" The men outside exclaimed. Davies and Elrick entered the office chamber before offering Duke Valentine a kneeling salute.


    "We have visited Lady— the prisoner Priscilla, Lord Valentine." Davies stumbled on his words, quickly correcting himself.


    "She is still quite persistent— we have done everything as you have instructed, Your Grace!" Elrick added.


    Lord Valentine stared flatly at the two men with his cold black eyes, devoid of ardency. "Very well," he uttered. "As long as she''s getting the attention she deserves, she is my child after all."


    "You have a few more days to spend time with her. I''ve decided to move up the Unification Ceremony to next week," he said, the implication clear that she would be executed immediately after it. He then gestured toward the door, "Begone now."


    "Yes, Your Grace!" the two men replied before scurrying off.


    After they exited the office, Lord Valentine gazed into the distance, his cold stare unbothered. "My child deserves all of the best," he muttered with his arms crossed in front of his chest.


    While he stared out, the door to his office creaked open; uninvited, a woman entered. Her rose-like lips playfully puffed as she walked barefoot toward the man. Her crimson gown flowed delicately around her, the delicate silk dancing like soft moonlight around her figure. The dress clung to her body, accentuating her curves as she swayed toward the man''s desk. Her every motion, every step— playful and light. She twirled and sat on the desk opposite the man with her back facing him. She rotated her body, her bare feet settling on the man''s thighs, as her long blonde hair shifted behind her. "Husband..." she said affectionately, resting her face in her hands. "I''ve missed you…" she nudged closer, leaping into his embrace like only a lover would.


    "Maxine..." Lord Valentine embraced her, his cold exterior seemingly warming up. He felt her hands caressing him, her fingers running through his hair. There was a comfort to it, an inexplicable magnetism that bonded them. The woman leaned in, pressing her lips against the man''s. He closed his eyes, absorbing himself into the moment. He surrendered himself to that sensation, a forbidden dance of passion and desire.


    <hr>


    Outside, uncertainty filled the air— day after day, the only thing that remained preserved was the passage of time. The fateful day arrived; Lord Valentine and Lady Nightshade had completed the Grand Unification ceremony, as ordained by Imperial Edict. With Emperor Kyrian Ellis IV as a witness, House Valentine and House Nightshade had become one. For the two houses, it was a day of celebration and joy but also a tragic development for one, considering it was also the day the abandoned heiress of House Valentine was to be executed.


    In the inner courtyard, a titan-like platform shadowed the grounds. Atop a grand pyre of blackened wood-rot wood sat, eagerly awaiting Priscilla''s arrival. Surrounded by manicured shrubbery and a carefully maintained garden, the platform was crude and ugly in comparison. Wrought iron benches sat in layers at the front of the platform. Crescent moons of encirclement as men and women crowded in, eager to claim a good spot to watch the show. Noble Lords and Ladies, merchants, and even mercenaries filled the seats. They were of mixed origins, yet all individuals of status. At the forefront sat a larger marbled bench; upon it was Lord Valentine with Lady Nightshade and Emperor Ellis to his right and left. None thought it strange, for the empire knew none were closer than the brothers— Kyrian and Karthus.


    Lady Nightshade— now Lady Valentine, sat drinking her wine with relish. Her lipstick stained the glass red as it pressed against her lips. Meanwhile, Lord Valentine sat in silence. A rumble echoed from the backside of the yard as chains jangled, scraping against the hard stone as they pulled close. A contingent of guards pushed and pulled on Priscilla, nearly dragging the poor girl instead of letting her walk on her own. One look at her, and it was apparent— compared to the fully armored men, she was ever so weak and small, exceedingly so.


    They brought Priscilla to the platform, binding her, shackles and all, to a large wooden beam. The people in the crowd muttered between themselves, gossiping and laughing. To Priscilla, they were nothing more than creatures that found solace in the suffering of others, their inaudible whispers a venomous poison that crept into her ears. The guards hauled the beam up, placing it at the central point of the pyre. The men saluted the crowd and walked off to the side before facing the Valentines as they knelt, awaiting further orders.


    Lady Valentine giggled, kissing the Lord. The man stood up and walked towards the platform; he looked at Priscilla for a moment before turning towards the crowd.


    "Priscilla, deposed daughter of Valentine. With no claim to title or land. You are thus branded as a heathen! Guilty of witchcraft, murder, and rebellion against blood and empire." the man spoke each word with a harsh finality to them. "Do you acknowledge your guilt, child?"


    Priscilla looked at him with unfamiliarity; she bit down on her lip, "I. Am. Innocent. Father." She spoke each word with conviction— however meager it was. "I have only ever done right by House Valentine and the empire! Every request I dutifully fulfilled. I have never betrayed, father!" Her uttered words rekindled her hope. The thoughts she buried inside her all poured out at once; it made her believe— for just a moment. Until she saw the contemptuous gazes of the crowd, eyeing her like they would a beggar on the street. Lord Valentine gazed down at her, unburdened and silent. Priscilla felt something snap— something inside of her. She wanted to huddle up into herself— to curl into a ball and escape— but she could not.


    "Disgraceful foolishness. The mind of a demon unsullied by virtue and morality. It desires not to admit fault, no guilt to utter. My daughter is dead, replaced by a foul creature wearing her flesh. This witch must die." Lord Valentine emotionlessly said before raising his hands towards the sky.


    "As Lord of House Valentine, I beseech thee. As you sit and gaze at the sinner, offer up your condemnation. We shall light the pyre of judgment in the name of the Divine Ruler. The sinner shall burn, and we shall rid the empire of its evil. Rebellion is forbidden! Betrayal is forbidden! Witchcraft is forbidden! BURN THE WITCH! FOR JUSTICE! FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR THE EMPEROR!" his voice crescendoed, the audible passion igniting like a wildfire as his voice surged across the spectators.


    Silence— followed by uproarious cheers. The crowd''s chants filled the courtyard, condemnation akin to a knife digging deep. An elderly man with a hobbled step rolled in a cart with a small lit brazier and torches. The guards picked the torches up and lit them, marching in file toward the platform before spreading out. They circled the platform before lifting the torches overhead.


    "DEATH TO THE WITCH!" Lord Valentine ordered. As the words came out, the men lowered the torches, igniting the black-rot wood and setting the pyre ablaze.


    The flames gradually consumed Priscilla''s body; it was a slow, terrifying, and excruciating process. Her hopes and dreams went up in flames, just like her flesh. She wailed and thrashed as the rugged wood and scalding metal dug into her skin. She couldn''t think quickly enough to describe the sensation; the pain consumed her thoughts— a gluttonous beast with no bottom line, but from within, Priscilla found a thread of solace. A single thought that gave her release from the pain and cooled down her burning body. ''I am... free.''


    Bonus Artwork ft. MidJourney