She should have fought harder. That's all she can think as she is pushed forward into the cell.
As her knees give out and she lands painfully atop broken bones and bruises. Blood pooling around her, blonde hair like a halo spread out across the floor.
He should have fought harder he thinks. As he hangs, chains of celestial bronze manacles of imperial gold holding him fast, high up in the air. As his dark curls hang limp , matted with blood and his sea green eyes dim.
She should have fought Olympus. For Rome. For war. She thinks this as she sits, curled in the corner of her cell, body broken, a shell of the former praetor she once was, her long braid cut from her head taken as a trophy.
He should have fought harder. At least that's what they would tell him. A prince by birth. A son of the king . His cropped blonde hair grown wild and ragged, his lightening eyes dim and soulless . His mind in tatters he laughs softly at first and than unending loud and painful even to his own ears.
She should have fought harder . Well even she should have had some fight in here. Screamed, yelled , spoke, whispered. Charmed her way, saved her friends. Not now, her arms broken her ribs cracked, it'd hard to breathe.
He should have gone out in flames. Fought and fought and burnt out bright. But no. He sits charred and smelling of smoke. Blinded by fires and coughing like a fifty year old smoker, barely able to move , not sure how he would make an escape. No eyes to see. No tongue to make bad jokes. Just a shell. A broken pile of smoking flesh and cracked thoughts.
She should have saved them all. Fought and fought and thrashed and won. What kind of Roman lived after losing. A captured one. She should have died she believes as she is forced back down into the dark recesses of her prison. Skin raw to touch, blood burning her golden golden eyes , wild hair frizzy uneven. She can feel where her friends are. Their wounds. She is underground so of course she can. She giggles.
He should have died. Stick burnt out and saved them. Changed and fought and roared and cried. He knows this as he bears the punishments. As he forces his human form so as to feel the brunt of each blow, self inflicted almost as much as monster inflicted. He deserves this for not saving them.
She should have seen this. She should have warned them. She should have saved them. She should be dead. Red hair clean and shining, dresses pretty and manacles of gold she spurts prophecies for their new masters and hopes when a new saviour arises she won't spill the secret.
He should have died. He should have lain down his life. He knows it's his fault. How could it not be. He should have been there at the last battle . Not dragging some statue across the country with a Satyr and. Roman praetor too like him for comfort. He lies there and cries , thin and broken, wicked and cursed.
She should have been more of fight . Should have rained lightning and winds, thunder and heavens wrath down on them. She hated her weakness . Her fear. Now she hangs eyes dimmed , too high,through bloody eyes and bruised cheeks she can just make out a figure hanging opposite her. Too far to reach , too far to be noticed too painful to speaker.