A Bloody Crown

"How can one be a Queen without a crown, darling?" she cooed, a small smile on her face. "Slit her arms."

The guards each restrained me, tying my legs together, and my upper arms to my torso. They slid up my leather sleeves, took out a knife, extended out my arms, and began slitting long marks down the length, from my elbow to wrist. I screamed in pain, twisting and writhing away from them as best as I could. Tears streamed down my face, the pain becoming unbearable as air hit the open wounds. Vomit began rising in my throat, panic stirring in the back of my mind.

"Stop, please," I begged, unable to take the pain. "I can't, I can't-"

Briallyn placed the crown in my hands, allowing the blood from my arms to run down onto it, staining the precious silver metal red.

Red. That color. Iron. That smell.

It dripped onto the floor, echoing around the room, reverberating between my ears.

Splattering. That sound.

The guards squeezed each of my upper arms, pushing more blood out of the wounds, causing me to howl in pain. I cried and wriggled, holding desperately to the crown. My guts turned at the sight, my arms stained red, unclean and impure.

*this story contains strong themes of violence, PTSD, and sexual assault*