Okies, people, this is my new fic. It's a little different to anything I've written before - mainly the era. Stick with it, I have enjoyed writing this immensely. If you don't like it, however, blame Megan. She made me post it.

Prologue

All day, the sunlight had poured in through a narrow crack in the brickwork and pooled golden sunlight on to the cold stone floor. Now, along with my spirits, the sun had started to drop and the pool of light slowly began to disappear, casting me and my prison cell into darkness. I sat alone in the corner, my hands and feet chained together with heavy metal and bade farewell to daylight, knowing that I would never see it again.

The dungeon was by no means silent – the wails of tortured prisoners filled the air, plunging my morale into even darker depths – but I could still hear my thudding heartbeat in my ears… and also the quiet sobs of the prisoner in a neighbouring cell.

I raised my head from where it had been drooping, and looked around for anyone who looked distressed. In the cell to my right, a child lay on the cold floor, and their whole body was shaking violently as they cried. I crouched down and whistled shortly. The child froze, before sitting up and whirling around to see who had called to them.

It was almost impossible to tell the child's gender, but after the way he rubbed his dirty nose with his bare wrist, I took to thinking he was a boy. He looked at me uncertainly through his dirty and scraggly hair before speaking. "What?" he demanded rudely. I beckoned to him to sit closer to the bars so that I could talk to him. He did so, before speaking again. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter," I replied. I struggled with my heavy-chained hands and managed to slip a hand into my pocket, and pass him a handkerchief. He took it curiously and dabbed at his face, before examining the embroidery.

"M.D.S," he read aloud. "Are those your initials?"

"Yes," I lied, shifting my weight uneasily.

He handed me back my handkerchief, but I shook my head. It wasn't as if I was going to need it anymore. "What you in here for, sir? Did you murder someone?" His eyes were eager. My face, however, was expressionless.

"You're just a boy," I said. "How could you have done anything worthy of being locked up in a place like this?" The boy turned pink before answering in a quiet, feeble voice.

"I was caught stealing bread for my family," he answered. "They were hungry; I didn't think anyone was going to see me." He began to cry again, his whole body convulsing as large tears fell down his cheeks. I gestured to the handkerchief, but he was too upset to notice. I reached into his cell to help him, but the guard keeping watch scolded me.

"De Silva, get back into your own cell." I moved backwards obediently.

The boy stopped crying and instead looked at me in wonder. "De-"

"It's alright," I said. "You're going to get of here. I've been staying in this town for a while. You won't get hanged, the sheriff never hangs children." The boy sniffed gratefully, and after a while I saw that he grew curious.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "You don't seem like a bad man to me." I smiled sadly at the boy, before pushing myself backwards against the brick wall. I leant my head against the cold surface, sighing.

"It's a long story that you don't want to hear."

The boy pressed himself even closer to the bars separating us. "I do want to hear it, sir," he whispered excitedly. "I don't mind that it's a long story." He looked through a crack in his wall at the now dusky sky. "It's evening. We have all night."

I looked at him curiously; I was almost definitely sure that I recognised him. "What's your name?" I asked him. The boy blinked a couple of times before answering. It was almost as if he had forgotten his own name.

"Joe, sir," he answered. "My name is Joe."

I considered this for a moment before continuing.

"Alright, Joe," I said, calmly. I shut my eyes, searching for the first memory. "I suppose it began with the Mediators."

In particular the one I called Susannah.