Faeren Fantasies 1- Legacy

Prologue

It's strange the details you remember when you are about to die.
You may not remember the clothes you were wearing, or the words you spoke leading up to that final, pivotal moment, but a rock that was shaped a little strangely might stick out in your memory of that day.
Or perhaps the way the sun bounced off one single thread in a spiderweb, or how a bead of sweat rolled down the brow of a man in the crowd. You won't remember his face, but you'll remember the way that single droplet appeared, glistening.
I remember a single painting I passed on the way to my execution. It wasn't even a particularly good one. It was stood on an easel in the Town Square, the artist proudly displaying it. I remember the way the dread in my stomach dissipated when I looked at it, how the landscape danced like Heaven across the canvas, and how the paints swirled together to perfectly capture some quaint countryside out in the middle of nowhere, far away from the shitshow of a town I lived in, or the sight of a twenty-three-year-old about to have her head chopped off by an axe man.
I still have that painting. It hangs in my living room, overlooking everything- a constant reminder of what I have to lose, and what I may stand to gain, should I be very clever, and very lucky.
It's strange the details you remember when you are about to die.
And I will always remember that painting.