A Work Of Art

prologue

There were torches everywhere. Burning bright, almost blinding. There was nothing that wasn't completely visible, exposed. Eyes glowed yellow in the light, almost dangerously. What radiated stronger, was the hatred, the fear, the anticipation piercing through the dense night air.

All was directed towards one girl, face covered by a long mane of curly brown hair, hands bound, knees no longer supporting her small frame, making her almost hang from the strong iron chains that were trapping her. Head hung low, not daring or maybe not having the energy to look up at the huge gathering. If observed closely, one could see the small pearly tear drops falling onto the ground, wetting the dried up sand underneath.

Nobody paid heed to the girl's silent cries for help. So after a little while the tears stopped, as if she had finally accepted her fate and given up.
After all, her crimes could not be pardoned, no matter what. Her punishment was already decided, the crowd waiting in anticipation for it to be carried out.

A beautiful and intricate pearly white marble box was placed in front of the girl, its lid open. And the mage was heard chanting in a language nobody could even begin to comprehend. The girl visibly stiffened , generating a buzz of excitement through the crowd. Nobody had seen something like this ritual in years. After all , nobody had enough guts to commit the crime. The crime which led to all this.

All of a sudden, a piercing scream was heard, shattering the suffocating silence of the night. It was heard again. Coming from the poor girl, whose head snapped up, eyes desperate for help, tears again starting to flow like shimmering waterfalls, making her face glisten in the moonlight. A beautiful sight, yet so melancholic.

And in a blink of an eye, a sudden small whirlwind of gray and silver appeared and the chains hung loosely and the box flipped shut. The screams ceasing into nothing.

Nobody dared to breath. All eyes were focused on the inauspicious ivory box.
A small intricate lock had appeared, carved out of the shimmery marble, locking the box for years to come. It was a little peculiar as the lock had no key hole, like it didn't need a key at all.

The box was grabbed by the mage and handed to a small girl, the same age as the girl who was doomed. She cradled it, as if it were a baby, as if she was ready to protect it with her life, hiding her own tears.

This box would be passed down in the family of the mage, never once opening.
As only the 656th male descendent of the mage will have the power to open the box. Only he will be able to break the lock open with his touch alone.
Untill then, the poor soul of the girl will be trapped, trapped into the abyss, never able to leave, breath or think, only aware of its painful existence.

Now, all she had to do was... wait.