• She tried to appear strong -- she really did. Her body, however, chose to betray whatever she felt in that moment. Her hands shook uncontrollably and her entire body seemed to tremor. She swallowed against the thick lump in her throat, tried to quell the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. . . but it all failed. Mortified as she was for displaying her weakness so openly, it killed her to consider she was making small noises in the back of her throat. She sounded like some injured little animal, staring up into the face of her captor and pleading with him not to kill her. The cruel face that beamed back at her ignored everything she begged for, and simply laughed.

    She was seperated, scared, and alone. Away from the people that she cared about and would give her life for. The men standing around her were of no comfort. They were the enemy. Given the chance, every one of the men would lift their guns and turn her into a living target.

    She was walking barefoot on a smooth, rocky surface. The clothing on her body had been provided for her, and was specifically designed for her to wear. Pants dripped onto her feet, her alarmingly skinny frame needing belts and buckles to keep the clothing on. There was a collar strapped to her neck, and attatched to it was a leash. The man walking in front of her held it loosely in his hand.

    Fear made her stupid. She did not want to go with these men to whatever destination they had planned. So she tried to dig her heels into the glossy surface beneath her. She grabbed the leash and yanked feebly, catching the man in front of her off guard. She wrenched it free from his grip and turned, about to make a sprint for it --

    Guns levelled with her, freezing her in her tracks.

    Terror rippled through her veins, causing her heart to stutter and her breathing to grow shallow and wispy. Rough hands reached for her, yanking the leash back out of her hands and shoving her to get a move on. She was forced forward, to wherever the rocky corridors led. She eyed a doorway ahead of them, and as much as she tried to protest, they simply dragged her onwards.

    She did not want to go into the room. Something inside of her gut told her that passing through that doorway was a terrible mistake. Something horrible was about to happen, and the men (in all of their ignorance) knew nothing of it. Another moment passed, and she passed under the doorway.

    There was an ancient room stretching all around her, made entirely of the same smooth, polished rocks. Glyphs and runes stood out, creating a foreign script that wound all around the walls. As much as it invoked fear inside of her, she had to stand there and stare at the room in awe. It was a glorious thing to behold. . .

    The emotion dropped away in the next second as anxiety washed over it. As the men led her deeper into the room, she bit the inside of her cheek so hard it bled. She closed her eyes tightly as they dragged her forward, towards the middle of the room. The blood on her tongue tasted foul, but it was a taste she knew very well. Many a time had she tasted her own vitality. It had replaced the flavor of water -- even the damn taste of food.

    Her body ached where they had grabbed her, but she didn't dare wriggle around to lessen it. One of her captors might just clock her in the back of the head. So she followed them blindly, her bare feet hitting the cold flooring.

    All too suddenly, they threw her down, and she let out a small cry as her shoulder jarred with the impact. It took a moment for her mind to orient correctly, but when it did, she opened her eyes. They had thrown her upon a small, upraised, circular dias. It held the same polished effect as the rest of the room. Her leash had been tossed next to her, and briefly she had to entertain the notion of running away once more.

    A few guards raised their guns in stark warning, and the idea of running away fled to the recesses of her mind.

    Swallowing back her fear, she pushed herself into a sitting position and examined the room again. Foreign words etched into the walls, polished stone that was cold to the touch, and. . . A large doorway. A gigantic doorway made of stone they had yet to open. Confusion worked into her, and she turned her head, scanning the room.

    It really was pretty. Maybe, if she asked nicely enough, they would let her touch the stone. Turning her head down, she stared at the dias. The premonition from before came back to the forefront of her mind, but she ignored it as fascination crossed her emotions. She touched the dias below her, tracing a few of the letters, the coldness making her shiver--

    Wet. Her hand came away wet.

    Blood.

    -- screams echoing off of the stone walls. Screams and terror and primal fear. It was everywhere, choking her and slicing into her. On her, in her, around her --

    (Come child, don't be afraid.)

    --died in her throat. She stared ahead of her in awe and fear, her heart stuttering again. What she was seeing was not real. It couldn't be. What she saw before her --

    (Do you doubt me still?)

    --icy hands, wrapping around her. Agony pulsed under her skin, cutting her to ribbons. She screamed, hands clawing at the dias she laid upon. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and oh god, she was dying--

    (Do not fear me. There is nothing to fear.)

    --laughter. It bubbled inside of her, coming out with a mocking and bitter taste. They would all see it now. How wrong they were! Going against her was folly. Stupidity. Foolish.

    She was the Divine. The Judge. The Executioner. The Holy One.

    She laughed.