She stared at her hands, clean hands save for the dirt under her nails that would never get out and dark marks in the lines of her skin from years of smoking. It was easy to imagine that no blood had ever touched them, easy to imagine that the woman had not committed sin. Yet, despite the light tan on her palms and soap scrubbed skin, she still remembered stabbing the sewer harlot. Her fingers remembered the slight shakiness they held as blood dropped onto them before she'd spun herself around and taken off.
Her husband, her old lover, had gone into a mad fury finding that she'd killed his secret. He'd thrown his pitiful amount of things into a satchel and escaped into the night of Regalian rain. The woman had sat upon the wooden boards of her old home and kept her sobs quieted with her fists pressed to her mouth. She didn't let even the mice in the wall know she cried, keeping silent in the twilight that made shadows look like the ghosts of the damned.
Her fingers flexed slightly and she reached her right hand into her pocket for a sigg which she turned on the candle at her side on the side table. She let the end light to life, watching it burn a moment before sitting back with the sigg resting between two fingers. The woman breathed in the smell of burning tabacco through her nose, letting it cover up the sharp stench of her district that only the poor and shallow lived in.
The Ailor woman closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. Her hands were not stained red with blood any longer but rather black with smoke and sin. For despite the fact that the woman had killed the Queen, she still remained the servant- under the power of her lies despite never even knowing the name of her ruler.
@ShovelAilor
Her husband, her old lover, had gone into a mad fury finding that she'd killed his secret. He'd thrown his pitiful amount of things into a satchel and escaped into the night of Regalian rain. The woman had sat upon the wooden boards of her old home and kept her sobs quieted with her fists pressed to her mouth. She didn't let even the mice in the wall know she cried, keeping silent in the twilight that made shadows look like the ghosts of the damned.
Her fingers flexed slightly and she reached her right hand into her pocket for a sigg which she turned on the candle at her side on the side table. She let the end light to life, watching it burn a moment before sitting back with the sigg resting between two fingers. The woman breathed in the smell of burning tabacco through her nose, letting it cover up the sharp stench of her district that only the poor and shallow lived in.
The Ailor woman closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. Her hands were not stained red with blood any longer but rather black with smoke and sin. For despite the fact that the woman had killed the Queen, she still remained the servant- under the power of her lies despite never even knowing the name of her ruler.
@ShovelAilor
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