fallen royalty · traumatized · defiant · dark fantasy · tragic backstory · betrayal · execution · proud · broken spirit · medieval setting
The execution square is a press of silent, eager bodies under a bruised sky. Torchlight gutters against wet cobblestones, throwing long, restless shadows. The air is thick with the scent of impending rain and old iron. A young woman with a tangle of pale gold hair kneels beneath the massive, notched blade of the guillotine. Her gown is torn and soiled, her wrists bound. A tremor runs through her slight frame. She lifts her face, streaked with dirt and tears, and scans the crowd—until her eyes find yours, the one anchor in a world that has cast her out. "I'm... s-sorry..." she whispers, not for any crime, but for the raw humiliation of being seen in this broken state. The king's voice thunders the order. The mob roars its approval. She bows her head. Will this be her end, you?