Day one wasn't all that tricky. The woman still carried a level of optimism. "I'll negotiate my way out of this; I always do."
Day two was very much the same. "They've not killed me yet. I must be having some impact."
Day three was when the insomnia, the loneliness and the depression kicked in. Slowly but surely, even if it was subconsciously, she had started to slip away. "Maybe I should've gone with my husband, started a new life away from the empire and it's wrath."
Then came day five; the day when her worst nightmares became more than just a dream, but a reality. She thought the clanking of armor that drew near was simply that of a patrol, the sobs and whimpers of the other prisoners would soon become her own as she felt her whole world shatter before her, a world she would no longer see in due time. The guard came to a halt before the bars of her cell; a Hightower, male, speaking with a surprisingly stern voice, devoid of any sympathy. "By decree of the Lieutenant Commander, Jean du Pont, you have been sentenced to death." By now, all the begs and pleas in the world could not prevent what the guards had decided was inevitable. She was going to die. When? She didn't know. Despite her frantic and rather aggressive demands, the guard said little more than "Your execution date is set." before their clanking grew distant and disappeared altogether. The words of Daniel White repeated in her head over and over.
She prayed, prayed to the Imperial spirit who she had so doubted for most of her time in Regalia that there was a way out. But she knew, knew there was no escaping it this time. The woman, unable to contain herself, bursted out into a series on uncontrollable sobs, her head burying itself in her knees, and her locks of greasy unwashed hair fell before her. By now, her blonde roots showed, the ones she had worked so hard to conceal. Her thoughts drifted to her father. His 'Tough Honeycomb' certainly didn't seem all that tough now.
When one lives a life of desolation after one revolving around social interactions, the sudden change often hits them hard. Harder than a cannonball to the stomach. For the incarcerated woman, there was no exception. She would meet her end without saying a single goodbye to a single friend or ally.
After a number of days without social interaction even with the guards, clanking towards her cell could be heard. Was it time? Not yet. As the clanking ceased once more, the considerably lighter footsteps of a dark-haired, pale-skinned woman could be heard, her elven features prominent, and despite their shaky relations, displayed no signs of remorse, or even happiness. The perfect pokerface. Even to the prisoner, who had known her for so long, she was unreadable, which triggered hostility within her.
"Puta!"
She exclaimed, the fury building within was remarkable.
"You're behind this! Kat, I thought we were friends!"
The woman with the piercing blue eyes just continued to stare down at the prisoner, who looked to be no more than a shambling mess at the moment. She remained silent for what felt like an eternity. (Although, in reality, it was no more than half a minute.)
"So did I, Estine."
Came the cold reply from the calloused Isldar, who simply scanned her up and down in a condescending fashion.
"Strange. Where I should feel relief that you're to meet your end, I feel only pity. Pity that your existence wasn't cut short at a sooner date. It would've saved us both plenty of trouble, I must admit."
The cold, oddly calm words of the elf only fuelled the flames burning within Estine's soul, a soul that would soon be commended to the name of Unionism. It came as no surprise to the elf turned 'passable human' that Estine reacted. A glob of saliva was sent in Kat's direction. The elf had bent down to be level with the ailor, so she could analyse the fear within Estine's eyes, and thus the saliva hit her on the cheek. However, the elf didn't seem to react in quite the same was as the younger condemned ailor. In fact, she whipped out a handkerchief from her sleeve in such a casual manner, it proved even more unnerving. Once she had cleaned off the liquid heresy from her cheek, she parted her lips to speak once more.
"Surprisingly, I played no part in the recent events that lead to this moment. You only have yourself to blame, and once you accept that you did this, perhaps you can redeem yourself in the eyes of the Imperial Spirit when you're reborn as a lampar. Be glad, heretic, criminal, for if I had my way, the way in which you'd meet your demise would be considerably more painful. A live cremation is said to burn out the impurities, but I fear if that were to happen, there'd be nothing left. No, the way in which you'll take your final breaths will be much harder to clean up, and terribly quick if they use the right blade, but then again, it'd be a waste of a good blade if your head were to leave your body in one fell swoop."
For once, the elf cracked a smirk, a very sadistic smirk as her hands clasped behind her back. She rose to a stand now, keeping a good posture.
"It's a shame, really. I wanted to be there when you take your last breath, to see the light leave your eyes and know that our fair empire will be safer without you.. But alas, we can't all get what you want. Set your affairs in order, Estine. I could've sworn I heard the sharpening of the axe when I came in. Your hours, possibly even minutes are numbered. May the spirit forgive your sins."
Not another word came from the femme. She made a sharp turn, offering a pat to the kind guard who had allowed her in as she showed herself out. Said guard, clad in finely polished Hightower armor, then proceeded into the cell, the shackles that had once been at their side now lying in their hands, to clasp harshly upon those of Estine, with a second set around her ankles. She knew it now- there was no escape. Try as she might, her constant whimpering and sobbing did not, in any way, deter the guards.
The woman, surrounded by Hightower guards, some bearing helmets and some not, which left their eerily calm expressions visible. Her head turned to the left, to see one such example, the visage of a Velheimer, quite obviously, with pale skin and light hair. Estine would easily recognise him as Urijah. To her right, she spied out the face of another notable figure within the Hightowers, a loyal guard through and through. His dark brown mop of hair defined him as the very one who had announced her execution; Daniel White. She was paraded through the prison, for only a few metres before they rounded a corner. And entourage had already taken their places, this consisting of hightowers manning every conceivable exit, and a unionist priest with a signature eye of unionism pendant looped around their neck standing by a chopping block, worn and chipped slightly with use.
With every step, the woman stepped closer to her impending death. When the anxiety and self preservation instinct kicked in and she dug her heels in, the Hightowers were able to lift her towards the chopping block with ease due to her light build and malnourishment sustained over the time she had been kept under lock and key. Finally, Estine stood before the crowd, her gaze locked on the floor and dried blood of the last unfortunate prisoner to meet their end. She was aware, by now, she could not escape, not in her wildest dreams, and had ceased her resistance in favour of going out with dignity.
"As we commend your soul to the Great Way, blessings of the Imperial Spirit be upon you."
The priest began his speech and moment of prayer, giving the Daen woman her last rites in an oddly brisk manner. Evidently, they didn't want to waste time. Perhaps it was out of sympathy, to leave less time for Estine to panic.
"If you have any final words, speak them now."
Daniel stated to Estine sternly. She was not a woman of many words, but at that time, her thoughts and prayers were with her children, who were soon to be without a mother. As she spoke, her lips quivered, making her speech shaky, and a few tears ran down her cheeks. She had failed her children as a mother, she told herself; a true parent would've stayed on the right side of the law to ensure their and in turn their children's safety.
"... My last words.. Will be a plea. Make sure my children are safe. Let them know I am sorry I failed them, and that their mother loves them…"
By now, Estine had, once again started sobbing, a noir piece of cloth was placed around her eyes, a blindfold, so she didn't have to see the blade of the axe come swinging down to meet her neck. Perhaps, it was for the best. Her form was gently rested on the block, and her lips curled into that of a solemn smile.
She pictured what could have been first, a life with her children maturing alongside her, then her husband embracing her.
A unionist prayer was whispered by her in her last moments. Rumor has it that the experience was so painless, her prayers continued even after her head was parted from her body.
Ultimately, the woman's last thoughts were of her children, her beloved children succeeding where she did not; leading honest lives and having a positive impact on the world. And thus, Estine went out with a smile on her face imagining what not was, but what could be.
Slumgoers would be met with a gruesome sight just hours after the execution. The head of Estine had been mounted on a pike for all who dared enter such an area to lay gaze upon. Below the pike, a mounted sign could be seen, displaying the sigil of the Hightower guard with an eye of the Unionist cause below. The message upon the sign read as follows:
"A message to all traitors to the empire,
Whilst mercy is shown to those who seek redemption openly, the same kindness will not be extended to those who take it for granted. We know who you are and we're coming.
May the Spirit's light illuminate even the darkest of places."
- Estine Iziquierdo has been executed.
- Her possessions would've been given to those mentioned in her will.
- Those in her will who were deceased or not contactable would've had their claims given to the state.
- I tried hard to make Estine's execution not so much of a depressing story, more one filled with optimism as I found that as a character, Estine was normally quite chirpy.
- Estine's children would've been given to close family or friends to be cared for. If not applicable, they would've been transferred to an orphanage.
- Estine's body would've been cremated as a precaution to avoid any instances with undead.
Credits:
All the credit goes to @Moribundity , as she wrote the entire story! Thx!!!
Tags:
@Arendan @SlyChung @Pellaeon and maybe more I don't know of, kek.
