The bright rays of the sun blinded Gwelurin as she was pulled out onto the balcony. She had been tugged along like a dog on a chain, with little to no resistance on her part. She already accepted the world of pain coming her way. Her golden eyes fixated on the boiling pot of tar placed in the center of the "stage." A phantom pain, the feeling of burning, crawled up her back. Soon it would be real. The guard behind her pushed Gwel to the stone floor and gave a harsh kick to her back to make sure she stayed down.
Rodrigo Peirgarten came from behind and started speaking to the audience below. She blocked it all out, not wanting to hear whatever insults he hurled her way. Whatever he was saying, the citizens below ate it up. They yelled in approval of his words.
Gwelurin only focused on one member of the crowd. Her victim. Agatha Harhold. She stared into those rather piercing, forest green eyes.
"She cleans up well…" the Lector muttered quietly to herself, admittedly.
It was time for her punishment to be carried out. The guards who were close behind her stood back, but still blocked any means of escape. The creak of the pot sent a chill down her spine. It was coming.
The thick tar poured out slowly. They wanted her to suffer. It ran down her back and burned it severely. The smell of her own flesh bubbling and being cooked by the tar wafted to her nose. Gwelurin screamed in pain. She was giving them what they wanted. Something to feed their sadistic appetites. She purposefully dug her fingernails into the stone below her. They splintered and cracked open harshly from the amount of pressure she applied. Her fingers became warm and coated with blood. Her screams became louder after that.
There came a point where she couldn't take it anymore. She stopped her screams, just squeezing her eyes shut, and entering her dark paradise. Drowning out all the sounds around her, and focused on the people she loved.
Unfortunately, that was just the start of her punishment.
The back of her hair was gripped roughly and she was pulled up, so the entire crowd could see the defeated look on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pale white hand of a woman she once called her Sovereign.
A torch was held in the Cardinal's free hand, and it was dangerously close. Gwelurin could feel the heat it emitted. The realization that she could die here hit her hard. One step closer and her entire tar-covered body would go up in flames. She would be dead in seconds.
This sudden thought slowed down everything around her, as a way for her to process this in her mind. The shouts of the crowd became slurred in her ears and she barely picked up what they were saying. Her body was numb. She felt nothing. Death was coming for her. A slow, burning end with no pain because Death himself was merciful but still cruel. Maybe it was meant to be. Her sins had finally caught up with her.
Her life was going to come to an end, all because of an egging.
The ring on her hand hadn't been soiled by the tar. The small red gem glinted magnificently in the sunlight. She tried not to smile as she thought about the man who gave it to her. For once in her life, she truly felt loved, so much so she was willing to get married.
Those words forced Gwelurin to reemerge from the depths of her mind. But it was alright because she had come to a decision. She wasn't going to die today. Not until she kissed her fiancé at the altar. Not until she had a family of her own. Little runts running around her house and annoying her, but she'd loved them all the same. Not until she outweighed her bad memories with the good.
So she apologized. It was loud and messy. Half her words didn't even make sense. She was met with criticism from none other than Agatha, but it didn't matter. As long as she got to live another day.
And she did. Many days after that. She married Andrew, surrounded by people who loved and cared about her. She started cleaning up her act, with a few mishaps along the way. All because of this single event that made life seem more precious to her.
Rodrigo Peirgarten came from behind and started speaking to the audience below. She blocked it all out, not wanting to hear whatever insults he hurled her way. Whatever he was saying, the citizens below ate it up. They yelled in approval of his words.
Gwelurin only focused on one member of the crowd. Her victim. Agatha Harhold. She stared into those rather piercing, forest green eyes.
"She cleans up well…" the Lector muttered quietly to herself, admittedly.
It was time for her punishment to be carried out. The guards who were close behind her stood back, but still blocked any means of escape. The creak of the pot sent a chill down her spine. It was coming.
The thick tar poured out slowly. They wanted her to suffer. It ran down her back and burned it severely. The smell of her own flesh bubbling and being cooked by the tar wafted to her nose. Gwelurin screamed in pain. She was giving them what they wanted. Something to feed their sadistic appetites. She purposefully dug her fingernails into the stone below her. They splintered and cracked open harshly from the amount of pressure she applied. Her fingers became warm and coated with blood. Her screams became louder after that.
There came a point where she couldn't take it anymore. She stopped her screams, just squeezing her eyes shut, and entering her dark paradise. Drowning out all the sounds around her, and focused on the people she loved.
Norin, her sister.
Andrew, her lover.
Arwen, her best friend.
Valarosta, a voice of reason to her, and a friend as well.
Aq'uello, someone she admired because of their intellect, and banter.
Keltie, her partner in crime.
Kai-si'en, the small mischievous Sihai she grew to love.
Molly, the Sihndar who freakishly looked a lot like her, and a dear friend.
The Nook Staff, her second family.
Andrew, her lover.
Arwen, her best friend.
Valarosta, a voice of reason to her, and a friend as well.
Aq'uello, someone she admired because of their intellect, and banter.
Keltie, her partner in crime.
Kai-si'en, the small mischievous Sihai she grew to love.
Molly, the Sihndar who freakishly looked a lot like her, and a dear friend.
The Nook Staff, her second family.
Unfortunately, that was just the start of her punishment.
The back of her hair was gripped roughly and she was pulled up, so the entire crowd could see the defeated look on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pale white hand of a woman she once called her Sovereign.
"Apologize." Azsh'alla commanded her, the single word filled with hatred.
A torch was held in the Cardinal's free hand, and it was dangerously close. Gwelurin could feel the heat it emitted. The realization that she could die here hit her hard. One step closer and her entire tar-covered body would go up in flames. She would be dead in seconds.
This sudden thought slowed down everything around her, as a way for her to process this in her mind. The shouts of the crowd became slurred in her ears and she barely picked up what they were saying. Her body was numb. She felt nothing. Death was coming for her. A slow, burning end with no pain because Death himself was merciful but still cruel. Maybe it was meant to be. Her sins had finally caught up with her.
Her life was going to come to an end, all because of an egging.
Is that how I'll be remembered? Gwel thought to herself, The Manathar who egged Agatha Harhold, and then was executed for it.
The ring on her hand hadn't been soiled by the tar. The small red gem glinted magnificently in the sunlight. She tried not to smile as she thought about the man who gave it to her. For once in her life, she truly felt loved, so much so she was willing to get married.
"Apologize or burn."
Those words forced Gwelurin to reemerge from the depths of her mind. But it was alright because she had come to a decision. She wasn't going to die today. Not until she kissed her fiancé at the altar. Not until she had a family of her own. Little runts running around her house and annoying her, but she'd loved them all the same. Not until she outweighed her bad memories with the good.
So she apologized. It was loud and messy. Half her words didn't even make sense. She was met with criticism from none other than Agatha, but it didn't matter. As long as she got to live another day.
And she did. Many days after that. She married Andrew, surrounded by people who loved and cared about her. She started cleaning up her act, with a few mishaps along the way. All because of this single event that made life seem more precious to her.
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