"𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦," softly uttered the doctor.
The diagnosis is clear; Alessia had lost the ability to utter a single word for nearly a month. Her parents, initially unconcerned, grew tense upon hearing the news, overcome by a blend of emotions that the...
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•━━ ❦ ━━☠━━ ❦ ━━•
Fire and tears.
Suspended in the air, Alessia watched the facade of a house engulfed in flames.
Drowning the insults and stone-throwing, a family wept, their hands tied with ropes, each spaced and connected to the roof at the other end.
"I'm so sorry... Please... I beg you, don't harm my children...!"
"You didn't spare mine!" objected a woman, aiming a sharp stone at one of the boys.
For the first time in his life, the eldest began to bleed profusely.
He screamed.
His blood, red, fueled both the fire and his hatred for those holding them captive.
"ou are like us, but you treat us like cattle! Feel the despair we felt every day under your yoke!"
"My child died as a slave! Murderers!"
"Give me back my wife!"
"My country was decimated by famine because of your taxes!"
The prisoners saw nothing, their eyes covered by a bandage to prevent them from imprinting in their memory the faces of those who persecuted them.
Jaws clenched, their bodies seemingly melting under the ravenous flames, the boy screamed again, louder than his brother's tears, far louder than his father's pleas.
Not a scream of despair,
of pain,
of sorrow,
but of rage, of hate.
He wanted to destroy them, to subdue them, to subject them to a thousand times more suffering than all the slaves of Mariejois combined.
