The moth remained fluttering, as though hesitating, above the candle's flame. Its ugly wings looked unusually beautiful when bathed in golden light.
Conscience Astin clasped her hands together and noticed with distaste that they were shaking slightly. Physical expression was unworthy in a conscience; she had nearly cried at the end of that long-ago hearing. Oma had chided her for it, telling her that fear stopped the mind's progression.
Astin, however, had taken her fear and used it to form an unshakeable determination never to fail. Her untarnished reputation had earned her the position of King's Conscience, highest in the land, where she had served anxiously anticipating a decision with no correct answer.
Now she had sparked her own funeral pyre.
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Mercy (Short Story)
FantasyConscience Astin was unaccustomed to staring Justice in the face. She had worked alongside it all her life, sent helpless souls into its unforgiving hands-but she had never faced it as she now did. She had been taught to expect that this day would...
