The Dark Trinity

Prologue

The square reeked of blood and sweat and the damp staleness of to many bodies packed together under the blistering sun.

Heat rippled through the air, settling heavy over the crowd, an oppressive stench that clung to the air, thick and sour.

The midday sun blazed high above the crowd, casting its unforgiving light over the stone courtyard. Dust swirled in the restless wind, carrying with it the whispers and curses of the gathered villagers.

In the middle of it all, a girl stood still, her bare feet burned against the sunbaked stone, chained to a metal post driven deep into the stone, bound tightly in iron chains that bit into her bruised wrists.

She was small, barely past her thirteenth year, her slender frame trembling with exhaustion. Her shoulders slumped forward, her back marred with fresh lash marks, the blood soaking into the coarse fabric of her dress. The dress itself, once a pale beige, was now a mess of dirt, sweat, and crimson streaks. Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her

Her head hung low, her hair, tangled and matted, clung to her face, damp with sweat.

The wind tore through the square, tossing strands into her eyes, but she didn't brush them away.Beneath the tangled curtain, her gaze was fixed on the ground, lips parted slightly, her breaths shallow and uneven.

Each inhale was like drawing in shards of glass Her arms were bound too tightly to her sides.

The voices around her buzzed like flies, a mix of shouted accusations and hushed whispers that crawled over her skin.

"She killed the Queen," someone spat, his voice sharp and full of venom. "With her own two hands."

Another, a woman with a trembling voice, murmured, "A servant girl? How could she? How could she even get close enough?"

"She's a witch," an older man growled. "You can see it in her eyes. There's nothing human about her."

Another whispered, barely "What kind of monster does something like this?"

"A monster born of filth, that's what," came a reply, louder and dripping with contempt. "Look at her-just look. A rat dressed in rags. They should've drowned her at birth."

The girl's breaths hitched, each one scraping painfully through her throat. She could feel their eyes on her, hundreds of them, burning into her skin.

"They say she stabbed the Queen in her chambers," a woman hissed, leaning toward her companion as though sharing some forbidden secret.

"No, no, it wasn't the chambers," the other whispered back. "It was in the garden, under the moon. The Queen trusted her, brought her there alone, and the girl-"

"She's a servant!" someone interrupted with a shout. "She had no right to even breathe the same air as Her Majesty, let alone touch her."

"She didn't just touch her. She murdered her."

"Look at her!" a man bellowed. "She doesn't even cry! Not a tear, not a word of remorse. She's not human-she's a devil"

The girl's shoulders stiffened. It wasn't true. None of it was. Or maybe it was. She wasn't sure anymore. Her memories felt distant, blurred, as though they belonged to someone else. All she could see, all she could feel, was blood.

The whispers swirled around her like smoke, choking her, filling her lungs with their poison.

"I heard she stabbed the Queen six times," someone murmured.
"No, ten times."
"Slit her throat."
"She smiled when she did it."