Being thrown to the wolves is a death sentence.
Adalia knows that all too well, since she witnessed her own father being slaughtered in that same unmerciful way.
Living life as a meek slave in a kingdom full of royals, Adalia has no rights and is tr...
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She never thought her world could get any colder.
The prince's face stared up at her, almost beckoning her to follow him to the grave. She hated to admit that she was tempted to do just that - take her own life.
In a world that was always kicking her down and ripping her apart, it was easy to slip into depression. Many slaves before her have ended their own lives in an attempt to seek refuge from the bitter world that wants them dead.
Her mother always sung to her the same haunting lullaby as a young child. It wasn't until recently did she realize that that very same lullaby had a dark undertone to it, as well as some sort of truth.
Tear down my fortress,
Ignite it till it's ash
Whisper that I am soft and sweet,
Yet tough enough to last.
The chilling melody wafted through the air, raising the hair on her skin. The tune was everywhere - the trees caught it in their mighty branches and mimicked it back at her, the creek that concealed the bones of the dead whistled in its low voice.
The prince was dead in the forest that was alive with the souls of those who walked before him.
It tormented her so, and it wasn't helping that she was transfixed on the corpse's eyes. The very same eyes that made her feel dirty when they were alive.
Her stomach twisted and nausea attacked her stomach so violently that she felt dizzy and sick. Her stomach was quick to give up its contents, and she threw herself to the ground and vomited for the second time that night.
Her knees hit the icy ground and her hands barely held her up as she wretched up what was little left of the one small meal she had eaten hours ago.
She couldn't hear anything but the sound of her beating heart in her ears. Even when she had managed to catch her breath, she still felt dizzy. It was then she found herself in the throes of a panic attack.
Her death would be inevitable, and she worried about her mother when she becomes absent. Her mother would be alone, with nobody to take care of her when she becomes feeble with age and when she becomes too overcome with lamentation about the loss of what was little left of her family.
She didn't fear death itself, but she feared the iniquities that awaited her before she could take her last breath. The kingdom wouldn't allow her to enter death peacefully. They would prolong it for days, if not weeks of torture before they finally decide to cut the final string of life.
She had seen what happens to murderers. They are stripped and strung up in public to where their feet barely touch the ground. Their shoulders dislocate and give way once the muscles weaken. When the arms can no longer hold their body up, the victim struggles to breathe.
