Ruins of freedom

A short story about a girl and her brother, trapped as slaves

....

The big castle loomed on its hill, casting a shadow over the city. It was twilight, and beautiful colours danced alongside the castles high towers. A big, red flag flowed in the wind on the tallest tower, proudly showing who it belonged to. The castle was built with beautiful stones, that expensive kind that was both strong and pleasing to the eye. The tiles at the bottom of the castle was a dark grey, specked with other darker shades in the stones. Gradually, the stones became lighter the higher up on the castle they sat, and they were polished to extreme measurements, making them reflect the sun's last rays. Many believed that the shining stones were used as mirrors to the gods, a small show of gratitude for what they had given the people. It was truly a beautiful sight, one many could only dream of. The sunset tinted the white tiles at the top a pink, making the castle seem magical.

But the castle was anything but magical to Cierra.