All about her, the rain drizzled softly as she stood at the balcony. Her cup of tea, long since cold, remained forgotten on the table by her side. Standing outside by herself provided Justine with the perfect solitude to clear her cluttered thoughts, the scent of rain all the more comforting.
Long lashes brushed over her cheeks as she exhaled, arms folded as she leaned herself against a white pillar. The humidity in the air caused her hair to curl all the more along her cheeks, draping just below her chin. It was her palm that stood out as she drummed her fingers along her upper arm, the slight pain still present from the simple movements. In the back of her mind, she could still hear the screaming, the clawing, the desperation as the sound of scraping against the floor made itself known. It seemed like just moments ago that the fire had been crackling, the faintest draft of the abandoned corridor had trickled along the back of her neck.
Unfolding one arm, she inspected her fingers. Dirt had been wedged underneath long nails, skin dried and torn skin marring her palm. Justine had never been a fan of blood; she vividly recalled the sight sending her into a weeping ball of a child when she was younger. But through these tests, she was positive, she would sooner overcome her weaknesses. Although she had her own waning phobias, she still had claws when cornered.
A shuttered exhale left her lips, which she wasn't aware she was holding. She could still feel the pressure on her chest, the heat of the flames teasing her as she worked. The tearing of flesh and the crunch of bone echoed in memory, the wailing and begging ringing in her ears as she worked up a sweat. The adrenaline had been coursing through herself, forcing her to work faster, harder; make them scream louder. Each and every lash spent iron spikes into their skin, chunks of flesh flaying as she jerked back the weapon, splattering her own cheek.
It didn't take much longer before the screams finally died down. When she approached the body to admire her work, in a last desperate attempt the victim turned their head to bite at her hand, their teeth tearing her skin from a well aimed attack. No doubt it was the work of sheer dumb luck, as one so close to death wouldn't have been able to render the aristocrat any harm otherwise. Even now, she could feel their jaw and skull in her hands, their bodies giving no resistance as the sickening crunch of their spine severed their chords echoed in the room. Justine was never a fan of using brute strength, but they simply weren't dead yet.
Slowly a smile dared its way upon her features, her dimples visible and eyes aflame. Reaching up, she brushed her fingertips over her lips. Yes, she was always right, and they were the fools to speak out against her.
How dare those lower class cretins think themselves her equals. No matter, they had no voices now… and Justine loved her solitude.