The door clicked, the lock undone, but it was still a boot which opened them. suddenly with the terrified shrieks of the women filling the air, men piled into the room. Not normal men. Huge, pale and bloodied they looked like demons risen from some hell. They were lead by he who kicked open the door- By the man who emerged from the dragon's shadow. He is definitely their leader, broad and strong with blonde hair that was partly shaved; the rest fell down his back in a long braid. He is followed closely by a brunette man who shares his square jaw, his stocky build. I gasped quietly as he came into the light of the small bazaar. His face is undeniably handsome, stoic and overall it screams that he is formidable in his strength. His blue eyes are that of storm clouds but they are unaffected by the fog of battle.

A younger man suddenly jumps around him in excitement and a chill ran down my spine again. the boy was wiry compared to most of the others present. He spoke to the blonde with excitement as he turned a leering gaze onto the women behind me. The blonde spoke in a deep baritone, expressing little interest in the beauties before him. They speak strange words, like those that had erupted from my mouth. I assume the words he speaks mean for the younger man to wait to have his satisfaction as the leader holds his hand up before walking on and leaving the rest of the men behind.

The large man came to stand only a few paces from me. He looked over all of the women, with exception to me, before speaking. Allah only knows what he said because the women simply whimpered and pressed themselves in huddles against the walls. The brunette spoke up then, saying something which he seemed to think was a good idea because he smirked as he came closer. The blonde nodded and now the brunette addresses us. But to my surprise, he uses a different tongue.
''Nous ne vous blesserons pas Dites-nous qui a parlé '' he spoke softly but it didn't stop a woman cry 'Francia we are all going to die!' which obviously set off the other women crying and praying.

Francia had long been an enemy to us but still, I doubted anyone could understand its language. Then he spoke again.

''La voix de l'homme qui a prononcé ces paroles'' he raised his hands as a gesture of kindness but it was hard to see him that way when blood was splattered and smeared all over him. he threw his hands in exasperation at the barrier. The wiry one used this as an opportunity to whisper into the leader's ear. Not once did any of the horde take their eyes off of the women. But whilst this happened I realised that I knew one word that, in context, would explain the general meaning of the pillager's words- la voix. I had heard it when I was young and being shown off to an emissary. He said 'elle a une belle voix.'

Realising the master took pride in even my angry insults, that emissary was the reason I had been silent for so long.

So from context, they must have been talking about my unfortunate timing in having the fichfich take hold.

I stayed still.

I may have been brave in front of the master but that didn't mean I was stupid enough to offer myself to these barbarians. But that wasn't my choice apparently.

The pretty one's voice came from over my shoulder. ''monsieur!'' she yelled as he turned from us and the young leering man stared at the women hungrily. He moved towards us but again was stilled by the leader. ''Rollo'' he spoke to which the older brunette turned around to listen.

She ran to him. landing on her knees in front of him she cried. The man, Rollo, was shocked and confused. He called something to his kinsmen to which the wiry boy shouted something; it elicited hearty laughs from all the men- aside from the formidable leader who simply gestured at 'Rollo'. Rollo lost most his smile whilst I watched the predatory smile only grow more unsettling on the face of the wiry man.

I looked between all of the men and it was the three who had made their way in so boldly who seemed akin to each other. The same jaw line in the older men, maybe still there in the boy but weaker. And the same eyes. Though the boys held the light of lust- for blood and women. Whilst the older men held worry and wear of their years. 'Rollo' seemed happy to laugh and hide his pain, but the leader… he wore his like armour and medal.

Wherever these men came from it must have been a hard land which defined or destroyed its people.

I stared at their leader. He began to lean against the wall, his eyes wandering over the women. But not with lust, no, more like he was counting goats. I felt my eyes widen in horrible realisation. They would not kill us. Well, I knew they would keep some alive, but I thought that their death would just come as pleasure for the men before they left. But I knew from this man's look. We were property. Merchandise to be traded and sold.

But he didn't look at me. was I to die here? Better yet, had I stayed still enough to mimic a statue and they would leave me? I could dream. Maybe in this low light, the veil had obscured me and they thought me a wretch. But still, I thought it better to die in this cage than be thrown into a new one. One where I couldn't see the bars and had to learn all over again how crossing invisible lines hurt so very much.

I was too afraid. I didn't like being afraid. I was done with that long ago. Why at my end did I have to relive the fear of these moments when men decided your fate.

''oi! Oi!'' Rollo called to the girl with the muddy eyes. ''tu sais, hmm?'' she looked up at him full of fear and pleading she nodded vehemently. Then her eyes, filled with loathing, darted to me. I had to stop myself from flinching as it hit me. The bitch was going to try and bargain- for her own life at the very least.

I had remained still for so long that something had grown in my chest but that look just killed it- hope. I wasn't going to make it out of this. My eyes went back to the leader, praying that he hadn't noticed the bitch's eyes go to me, I met Aegean pools which burned with the quick thinking of lightning in the storm. He knew. Damn it, he knew!

'' je parle peu'' she spoke timidly yet full of desperation. And though I couldn't speak the language I could recognise the next words, similar to ones I had heard before. ''Elle sorcière, elle parla'' She screamed pointing at me the venom in her eyes dancing with some sort of satisfaction in knowing she had doomed me. all attention came to me then. The figure atop the white pillar. Unmoving- afraid to move.

all attention came to me then. The figure atop the white pillar. Unmoving- afraid to move.

My heart thrummed loudly in my ears and I struggled to keep my breathing quiet- as if I could still slip by unnoticed.

''Bjorn?'' Rollo questioned the blonde man. His eyes had not left me. in response to his comrade, he nodded with authority as he pushed away from the wall coming straight for me.

I would like to say that I reacted. That I sprang to my feet and took him down before being stabbed and dying bravely.

But I didn't.

I still remained statuesque, feeling all the muscles in my body tense as though I was about to have a vision. But I was going to be awake for this- the pain of fear that I had hoped to only know once in my life. The man, Bjorn I took his name to be, slowly approached. Lazily his blade swung his hands, yet I knew at any moment he could turn it on me like lightning. My eyes stayed focused on the blade as the terror gripped my stomach. And hope. Move! I begged my body. Attack him! all in hope that if I did that then I would be cut down here and now instead of in some shack at another master's feet.

But I seemed to be frozen, rather than having any choice about it; the ice had seized my veins. The blade came up slowly. I could see the defined pattern of blood smeared and splattered over its polished surface. I could see the scarlet darkening as it dried. The tip hooked on the edge of my veil and brought it up, he stood arm's length from me leaning back to account for the blade, he bent slightly to peer amused into the tent his blade had created with the cloth. His first reaction was widened eyes and lips parting as he took in my eyes, I assumed. Then a pleased look transformed his features from handsome to outstandingly so. The quickest thought of he must be a killer when he actually smiles with joy flitted across my mind.

'Bjorn?' the young and frankly, annoying boy chimed with impatience. Bjorn smirked at me before rising to lean towards his men and speak. Whatever he said pleased his men to no end. Their faces came alive as they moved into the room. Rollo grabbed the girl at his feet by the shoulders to pick her up. he probably thought that she was to be his. how wrong he was.

Once standing she threw off his hands and ran at Bjorn. He turned and laughed at what he assumed was another bout of pleading now that she had realised who was in charge. But her eyes burned with hate and she grabbed for the dagger at his belt screaming with fury ''Tue le démon''

The wrong move. As she went for the dagger Bjorn pulled his sword swiftly unsheathing it from my veil and struck her. The veil dropped heavily just in time for it to shield my skin from the splatter of blood that sprayed into the air.

The pretty doll dropped too. she hit the floor with a wet slap as her blood began to pool from the spurting wound at her neck. The shrieks of horror behind me seemed distant as I watched the spurting of blood lessen and the pool slowly moved outwards. I followed the thick line of the cooling blood as it sluggishly lapped over the barbarian's feet till it hit the podiums base. When it did I couldn't stop my eyes from finding hers. Only a moment before they looked dreadful and fiery, mud brown I had called them, like a devouring vortex. Now they were cold as the earth of winter. Glazed with the emptiness of death.

The men looked down in surprise but soon the wiry one said something and a barking laughter erupted from them, like war dogs after the doe is dead; even Bjorn gave a light chuckle. In the midst of their laughter, my small voice spoke the words 'Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un'' the words of their faith. As I stared into her eyes, vacant of her soul, I truly hoped that she would not be offended by my silent prayer that Allah or whoever waited for us would grant her peace. To me, she would remain a story untold.

Notes:

you know what it's like when you write something and forget what it means- yep, these french translations di that to me, surprisingly.
but here they are:
Nous ne vous blesserons pas Dites-nous qui a parlé -We will not hurt you Tell us who spoke
La voix de l'homme qui a prononcé ces paroles - the voice of the man, who spoke those words
elle a une belle voix - she has a beautiful voice
je parle peu- i speak little
Elle sorcière, elle parla- she witch, she spoke
Tue le demon - kill the demon

and lastly the words Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un mean we belong to Allah and to him we shall return. they a spoken when a tragedy or death happens