Prologue: The Shaming Ceremony
She stood in place, several pairs of eyes set upon her body; bloody, beaten and broken, yet still standing. "You are the lowest of the low!" A man's voice shouted before her "You are a traitor, a curse upon our name!" He screamed in her face. She could feel the anger, bubbling away inside of him; she knew that what he said and what he felt were for once in unison. "You are not of my blood!" He spat, moments before striking her left cheek. She staggered under the weight of it, dropping to one knee with a bowed head. And then the man was gone, taking his hatred and his anger with him. She did not even look up, she did not watch him leave, there would be no other moment between them; this was it. Struggling, she rose, her body threatening to crumble beneath a weight it was usually able to carry, but not now; now it cried out, ruined."She has no right to anything I have given her!" The man barked as he passed through the large stone doors of the citadel and out of the oppressive heat of the static-charged air. The skies parted as streams of raindrops fell upon those who remained in the courtyard. Then everyone closed in on the broken body of the traitor. She was barely conscious, everything was a fuzzy blur. Someone was removing the clothes from her body, leaving her fully exposed to the elements, while another placed a burning hot brand against her flesh which hissed and bubbled, causing her to cry out. Stop! She wanted to say, but the result was incoherent. The pain did not cease, instead it continued. More burns, the uncomfortable sting of a thousand needles and always the rain to beat upon her. When they were finished all but two stepped away. In the distance those who had congregated but had taken no part in the initial 'shaming ceremony' began to mutter "Traitor" in a continuous looping chant. The girl was pulled from the floor, exposed for those gathered to see, and a shift was roughly placed over her chest. This did not last long, either, as each person present stepped forwards, struck her across the cheek and tore off part of the tunic which was, even after so little time on her person, almost fully blood-soaked. "Traitor" they continued, murmuring to themselves, and formed a ring around her. "Traitor" they sang as she was pushed into a march by the butt of a staff. "Traitor" they chimed as she was led from the courtyard and their oppressive chains. "Traitor" as the Shadow Guard took her by the arms and led her away. After that silence greeted her, save for the cry of the wind, the patter of the rain and the occasional booming strikes of the storm. Somewhere along the journey a hooded cloak was placed over her, but she did not recall when or by whom. Traitor her mind muttered. Traitor it chanted, it sang, it chimed. Traitor she was known, beaten, marked; from this day until the end of days, the traitor of her kin'.