The whip cracked and tore the flesh from her back. She screamed. There was no shame in it. Her body contracted, every muscle bracing itself for the next blow...but it would not come. Not yet. This way it lasted longer, and the pain was greater. As her body relaxed slightly her wrists caught on the shackles. They were made of lyrium, there was no way she could escape. The shackles hung from rings just under the torch brackets, their hot oil dripping onto her hands and scorching them. That pain was dwarfed by the agony of the whipping. This was no ordinary striping. This was ritual. This was justice. This was punishment. Punishment for...

His touch reviled her. She tried to pull away from his grasp but he was too insistent. And who was she to refuse? He was a magister. He could see her dead sooner than she could flee. So she stayed, half naked, standing there before him... enduring.

"You have beautiful skin... you have traveled, yes?" She nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. She could spare herself his hungry glare at least. She could feel his eyes crawling all over her. Her exposed breasts were the focus of his attention, lingering like a slug's trail, slithering across her naked flesh. She shuddered, again pulling back as he moved forward. He pulled her roughly towards him, pressing himself up against her. One hand grasped her wrist, the other was tearing off the rest of her robes...

A third time the whip slashed into her back, catching the back of her legs with its tip. It was a barbed weapon, the last two feet of the black rope spiked with the barbs which tore deep into her flesh. She felt the blood pour out of her, sensing her own life's energy leaving her and going into the force of the whip. Blood magic made the blow all the more powerful, while draining her of her life. She tried not to cry but couldn't help it. There was no shame in it! Her body slackened but the shackles would not allow her to fall. Instead they brought her closer to the brazer which stood at the foot of the statue. She was of the First Fire, the flames were there to comfort her. It was the only comfort she would be allowed for a very long time. It was more then she deserved though. It was not shameful to cry while your flesh was being torn from your bones, but she had so much more to be shameful for...

He pushed her against the tables, the alchemic flasks and potions crashing to the floor. He didn't seem to care though. He pinned her, pulling off his own robes while keeping her beneath him. She closed her eyes, refusing to acknowledge his hands as they roamed her naked form. They entered places she would never have allowed him to, had she had a choice. Choices were not for one such as her though. He was a magister. He took whatever he wanted. Even if she was a mage.

When she felt his hot breath on her neck she flinched. He felt her repulsion and stiffened. He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her even more roughly from the table and threw her onto the hard, stone floor. She cut herself on the broken glass but that pain was a welcomed distraction from the lingering sense of his hands on her...in her...

The fourth crack was the worst yet. It drew a loud, prolonged scream that filled the cloisters, reverberating back to her. She was in too much pain to stop herself from slumping forward so her hair touched the flames of the brazier. She had no energy to move. She wept, but the fire consumed her tears. Lifting her head slightly she saw the face of the statue, through the flames. It was the face of her God. Toth the Divine. Toth of the Sacred Fire. Toth, the third Old God murdered by the Warden's. The third tainted by the Darkspawn. Toth, the Betrayed.

Betrayed by Tevinter. She wept for him again. She wept for herself, for her own shame, her own suffering. But most of all she wept for...

…The violation... she would never forget. Her body was covered in cuts, slashed by the broken glass while he... She lay naked on the floor, despoiled, molested, betrayed. He was a magister... her Master would never had... he would never have turned an Imperial mage into a slave. Of any kind. Her Master had honour. Tevinter was devoid of honour. She saw that now. It had betrayed Toth as it had betrayed her! Her anger was rising, her ire manifesting as flame. Her head snapped upwards, and locked on to the naked back of the retreating magister. He was cut too, in his...earnest he had bled, but that was not enough for her. It was enough to do what needed to be done though.

She stood up, not bothering to cover herself anymore. What shame did she have left that he had not already taken? "My Lord." She called, fire alighting on her palms. He turned to her, and she caught sight of the cruel grin that had been etched across his face during the entirety of their encounter. She was delighted to see how quickly it fell away when he caught sight of her. Covered in blood and bruises, her palms upturned and her fingers twitching she smiled, not a cruel smile as his had been, but a manic one.

"You dare do blood magic without my permission!" His voice wavered, but she did not need to hear the distress he betrayed in it to know of his fear. His blood told her. As she took control of it the fire in her palms grew exponentially. She was unusual in the Imperium, her immunity to flame was a gift of her Gods, the Old Ones, the First. This heretic and traitor would be cleansed by Toth's fire. It seemed only just that He be the one to exact punishment. The magisters skin began to bubble and soon it would begin to sloth away...

The fifth and final crack of the whip tore a strip from her neck to her left hip and opened up the flesh to expose the bone of her shoulder. Her voice was hoarse so she released a silent scream. She pulled violently on the lyrium shackles that were fastened to the statue of Toth. She had no more tears to cry. She had already endured her five whips from the Senate, she had escaped death. But she had not escaped the justice of her Faith. She prayed to Toth to give her the strength to live so she could honour his name once again. She begged him... so that she could find the last of the Lost One's.

When the shackles were released she fell, only to be caught before she crashed to the ground. She saw the face of her Master, pain and sorrow racking his features.

"I am sorry child. But it is our law. You almost exposed us." He settled her to the ground and uncorked the healing potion he had ready. She had been whipped for almost an hour. Her agony was finally at an end. She refused to drink though. First she needed answers.

"Did he live?"

He nodded, and a single tear rolled down her face.

"For now." He growled.

Closing her eyes she allowed him to pour the potion down her dry throat. Even with the healing she would sleep for days, but at least she had lived. At least their secret was still safe.