Page 77 of Eluvonia
This can’t be good.
I stand there, frozen, as they stop in front of my cell, their eyes cold and unfeeling.
“Come with us, Fae,” the guard on the left commands, his voice a rasp. I gulp, my throat dry, trying to swallow the knot of panic that’s tightening in my chest.
One of the guards unlocks the door with a metallic click, and before I can take a step back, the other grabs my arm, his grip like iron. My feet stumble against the stone as they drag me out of the cell. I try to gather my bearings, fighting against the sudden rush of fear and confusion. Where are they taking me?
My pulse quickens as they lead me through the dark halls, their heavy boots thudding against the floor. Every step feels like a weight being added to my chest, pressing the air from my lungs.
Then, it hits me—the harsh reality.
They’re taking me outside.
I fight back with every ounce of strength I have left. I plant my feet, twisting and turning in their hold, trying to break free. My nails dig into the guard’s arm as I kick, bite, and struggle, but they’re relentless. They drag me forward with no mercy, each step pulling me closer to something I can’t escape.
When the doors open to the outside world, I’m blinded by the harsh sunlight. It hits my face like a slap, warm but suffocating. I blink, trying to adjust, but all I feel is theweight of the air pressing down on me. The summer breeze that follows is no relief—it only adds to the suffocation in my chest.
The guards drag me forward, the clinking of my shackles reverberating in my ears. Each step feels heavier than the last. The weight of the chains on my ankles drags at my spirit, sinking me deeper into the abyss of hopelessness. Their grip on my arms is ironclad, relentless. I fight against it, twisting my body, trying to break free, but the more I struggle, the tighter they hold me. My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, panic creeping in as I begin to realize there is no escape. This is it. There is no turning back.
They stop in front of a third guard, a broad-shouldered brute with an expression as hard as the stone walls of the castle. He holds a long, heavy chain in his hands, the metal gleaming in the harsh sunlight. My mind spins as he wraps the cold, unforgiving chain around my shackles, the tightness making my wrists ache, the sharp pull dragging me forward before I can fully process what’s happening.
“Walk,” the guard behind me barks. His voice is low, gruff, as though he’s done this a thousand times before. No sympathy, no hesitation.
I glance around, my heart hammering in my chest. Panic rises in my throat like bile. The city stretches out before me, and it’s nothing like I remember. The cobblestone roads are uneven and worn, each stone a marker of time, of history, of everything I’m about to lose. The buildings lining the street are imposing, some old with ivy curling up their stone facades, others newly built, clean and sharp. But it’s the people who make my stomach twist. They fill the streets like a wave, pressing in on me from all sides, their faces twisted withmalice.
Some of them have wings—massive and an array of different colors, that seem to shimmer with a life of their own. Others are without, their human forms just as cruel, their eyes full of disdain. As I’m dragged through the streets, I catch glimpses of scowls, sneers, mouths set in lines of hatred. Some drag their feet, others stare blankly, but all of them watch me as though I’m less than them.
The air is thick with the hum of energy, an undercurrent of anticipation, and something darker, more primal. The tension is suffocating. I hear a drumbeat, steady and deep, echoing through the streets. It starts low, reverberating through the cobblestones beneath my feet, and every step I take makes it louder, like a countdown to my end.
And then, the jeers begin.
“Die, Fae!” A voice calls out, its sharpness cutting through the air like a blade. It’s a deep voice, rough with years of hate, and it’s immediately followed by another, then another, until they all blend together in a deafening roar.
“You should’ve burned!” someone yells from the crowd, their words thick with venom.
“Fae whore!”
The insults slice through me, each word hitting harder than the last. I flinch, the sting of the words curling around my chest, but it’s not just the words. The things they throw at me—rotten fruits, jagged stones—are what really hurt. I see a rock sailing through the air, but it narrowly misses my face. The sound of it hitting the ground behind me is almost worse than the near miss itself. Then a tomato hits my side, splattering across my skin, its acidic juice stinging where it connects. I wince as a rock hits the top of my skull, the suddenburst of pain sharp and nauseating.
The crowd seems to grow louder with every step, their hate a living thing, tangible and suffocating. Rotten fruit pummels my body from all sides. A piece of rotten apple hits my cheek, leaving a wet, sticky trail. Another tomato strikes my leg, its impact sending a shock of pain up my body. I try to keep my balance, to keep my head high, but the world feels dizzy and chaotic. The sharp sting of rocks against my flesh makes my blood run hot, the cuts from the stones only making it harder to ignore the pain.
I feel my face flush with a mixture of humiliation and anger, my body instinctively jerking with every hit. The chain keeps pulling me forward, the guards relentless in their march toward my execution, their grip unforgiving.
I try not to cry. The tears burn in my eyes, threatening to spill, but I fight them back. I can’t let them see me break. Not now.
But then I catch a glimpse of their faces—the faces of the crowd. The hatred is so palpable that I can almost taste it in the air, thick and rancid. A woman near the front spits on the ground as I pass, her eyes gleaming with such raw disdain that it makes my stomach turn. Another voice rings out, “Rot in hell, Fae bitch!”
Every insult, every rock that strikes me, it all feels like it’s carving me open, like they’re not just throwing things at my body, but at my soul.
Each step feels like an eternity, dragging me through the city’s narrow streets, lined with merchants and citizens who watch with eager eyes. Some of them even cheer, raising their fists in the air as if I’m nothing more than a spectacle, a show to amuse them.
The noise doesn’t stop. The drums beat louder, and the chants of “Die, Fae!” fill my ears until my head spins. I don’t fight my chains anymore.
I feel the tears, though I don’t make a sound. They just fall, silent, hot against my skin, as I’m dragged forward, the weight of the crowd’s hatred pressing down on me from every direction. The world is a blur of shouts, hatred, and fear. I look around desperately, searching for any sign of Kaida, any glimpse of Declan. But there’s nothing.
Are they watching? Did they give up on me too?
When I reach the town center, my feet are raw. The cobblestones, jagged and unforgiving, have shredded the soles of my skin, each step like a thousand needles pushing into me. Every footfall is a fresh stab of agony, and I wonder if the pain will ever stop. I want to scream, but the jeering crowd drowns out everything. The sharp stones beneath my feet feel like they’re biting into my bones, the pressure in my head an endless throb from the blows I’ve already taken. The world tilts, swaying around me as if the earth itself is disgusted by what’s happening.
