“…to be burned at the stake in accordance to the Dark Magic Association decree!” The officers voice booms throughout the roaring crowd while I stand on stage, hands tied. No one shows any sign of sympathy towards me. They shout and point and spit in my direction like I’m some traitor. Perhaps some part of me is, but I try to not think on it. It isn’t my fault, after all.

The sun beats down on my face. Sweat beads above my brows and lip. Though I cannot see myself, the expression of pure bewilderment is as plain and overwhelming as the mocking post to which I will come to my demise. A shadow of myself stares back at me as the man running this whole fiasco continues. I dare not look at him. Not him…not my—as I matter of fact, I’m not exactly sure _what_ he is to me anymore.

“This shall take place before the sun dips below the horizon! All are required. The only thing excuseing your attendance would be the absent beat of your hearts,” he declares. Once more, the crowd rings out in a series of different responses. But none are forgiving towards me—the innocent girl blackmailed for using dark magic.

The man near me motions for some other guards to guide me to the cellar of the castle. This is where all the dungeons are. I don’t look at him as I pass—the person officiating this whole thing. The person announcing my demise before the whole kingdom. The kingdom that turned their backs on me like he did.

Though my head remains faced towards the ground, a burning sense fills my body. It causes me to become shaky and more aware of my current situation. He’s watching me. The crowd disperses behind, but the growing feeling of unease and ultimate betrayal are there to replace it.

_This is your doing_, I think. Then I’m pulled deep into the castle.

**——————————————**

The small room reeks of death and lost hope. Of countless tears and blood shed in vain. Bones and dead rats scatter the cold, stony floor of my cell. The bars of my confinement are rusted and brown. Across from me, a body stares back, motionless and clearly decayed. His hands are chained to the wall behind, and his neck fastened to keep him looking straight ahead. It’s revolting.

I shudder and look at my hands. The sight of something so gruesome is too overbearing. All I want is to be back home, these fingers working away a needle and thread to create the most divine of garments. I’m the royal family’s seamstress in training—was. Though my work was so fine many believed I’d been acquainted with fabric my whole, eighteen years of existence.

What would they think of me now that I’ve been accused of such a ghastly thing? What would they do if I told them who it really was that had been practicing sorcery? No matter what I say, they won’t believe me. How could they? He’s been working humbly for them ever since he was a mere boy—Julius. The man who spoke before the angry crowd this morning.

I had no clue he was doing such things—magic. Especially with the kingdom placed on high alert for any sign of peculiar activity. We were in love. Some part of me still loves him. I do not hate him. More than anything, I’m confused. Why had he framed me for his own treachery? I would’ve never told anyone of his hidden…talents. He had to have known that. This is what baffles me.

The sound of damp stone dripping onto the floor outside my cell makes my skin crawl. It echoes throughout the dungeons. Suddenly the screech of a door follows and I jump, gasp. _The door to the celer_. Some one is here. I tuck a piece of my long brown hair behind my ear and stand. If I’m to be seen, I could at least look more presentable. Funny how I still consider my appearance even when I’ve been placed in a place severely lacking in both beauty and grace.

Three figures step into the dim light of the hallway. One of them, I recognize instantly. The other two are random guards from the palace. But I’m fixated on the man in the middle. The man with the unavoidable charm and magnetism. His tanned skin shines golden under the glow of the small fire and though his eyes are always a deep, piercing blue, they don’t seem to shine like usual. I cannot seem to read him. If he feels anything for me at all, he is concealing it well.

“Leave us.” His gaze is still locked onto mine. The guards look at each other for a moment almost as clarification he was speaking to them. They nod, then walk away, their armer clanking with every step until it becomes a distant absence. Its just the two of us, and now he seems to soften. He’s not trying so hard to hide his emotions. I can clearly see the look of pain in his eyes at the sight of me behind bars. It’s difficult not to scoff. He placed me in here. He’s no right to feel sorry for me.

We stare at each other for a long moment. Its as though none of us even blink.

Why is he here?

Finally, he moves. He pulls out a key from his pocket and twists it inside the lock to my door. With an eerie creak, and the easy movement of the man, the door slides open and he stands before me.

I expect him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. All he does is stare at me. So I decide to ask the question I’ve been desperately attempting to figure out, ever since the night he turned me in for a crime I didn’t commit.

“Why,” I say. My voice is low and careful, barely a hum. His jaw feathers and he takes a long, extended breath out. The scent of pine and fresh dew fill my nose, along with something else. He has been drinking. He never drinks.

When he doesn’t answer, I take a step closer, which makes him tense, and search for a reply. “Why, Julius? What have I done? I would have never uttered a word—”

Suddenly he dips his head too quickly for me to react. His lips are pressed against mine in an instant, and I’m so shocked I nearly trip backwards. I am so familiar with the softness of these lips, but it still takes my breath away every time. But it shouldn’t. Not now. I shouldn’t let this slide, but I do. And I curse myself for it.

I curse myself as he opens his mouth onto mine. I curse myself when his fingers dig into my hair, and when my back hits the cool, wet wall behind, his body pressed against mine. Why is he doing this? Its unraveling. It’s all different kinds of cruel, and yet I allow it. Why do I allow it?

His hand slides to my hip as he keeps me pressed against the stone. This is no place for such things—a dank, filthy environment such as this. I try to speak, but it’s impossible with the way he kisses me. I can’t explain it. This is just…different—the feeling. Something’s so wonderful and wrong about it it has me baffled in the most glorious and horrible of ways.

Then he stops. His hand still holds my hip, but not as harshly. Those blue eyes penetrate into mine with a force no other could. But they are far more distant.“Because you can’t lose if you have nothing,” he finally says.

I gasp, feeling a sharpness in my stomach I’ve never felt before. The pain is so intense my vision blurs, and I slide to the floor. Blood soaks my dress where Julius plunged the knife into my side. Instantly, tears fill my eyes.

“Forgive me, Eira.” Julius cups my cheeks and kisses my eyes and forehead as the world becomes further away. I try to speak, but crimson liquid causes me to choke on my words. It drips down my chin and onto my skirts.

_Bastard, _I think_. _

__

__

A tear slips from his eye, and falls onto my lips. “I love you. I love you, I love you,” he says repeatedly. “I’m so sorry.” It’s more of a mockery than a reassurance, though.

_Liar_.

Then he whipes his face clean and yells: “Guards come quick! The witch has taken my blade!”

The two figures from earlier rush in as Julius puts on an act. A final tear falls from my face.

“She grabbed it from me—it was so quick, I hadn’t enough time to act, before she…”

Then everything goes black.