I'm just gonna let this chapter speak for itself.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters

Let's jump right back into the mess-

Madness was a fickle thing. Known to all but the bearer- usually noticed too late.

I was beginning to think I was doomed to always be too late.

When Devon and I emerged from the long tunnel leading to the meeting stage overlooking a large courtyard just outside the court, I had not known what I would find. While rushing here I had anticipated a great many outcomes, I had pictured Bronze standing at the High Court's steps, with an army of rebels behind her. I had imagined fire overtaking the city, as the Gods burned it to ashes.

Yet what I found was so much worse than even my twisted mind could have envisioned.

The king stood before me, alone. Alone because his usual guards were at the base of the stage, keeping the people at bay. So many people were packed into the courtyard, I thought maybe the entire city had been brought to the base of our home. And when I looked to stage left, I saw why.

The bodies varied in size. Though it mattered not, short or tall, young or old, they hung the same. Rows and rows of hanging citizens, some of their feet still twitching, telling me they had not been there long. Though the twitching stopped as a gleaming soldier walked past with a torch.

And lit their bodies aflame.

Screams and cries broke through the crowd- I could barely hear it past the ringing in my ears.

My eyes were fixated on one body among the dead... Quentin Sanchez.

His eyes were open, and they seemed to stare right into my soul. Inside them I saw his cheerful skipping, I saw the tremble of his lower lip as he explained himself, I saw him spitting at the vile words the guard had uttered against his family.

And I watched as his body was overtaken by fire.

But...I had not been too late last night to save him… I had not been too late.

"You all feel I have been unnecessarily cruel. That the mere act of gossip wasn't enough for execution." I forced my eyes away, thinking I might be sick if I watched anymore of his skin melt away. I made sure my face was clear. Because I was a coward, I stayed still and silent as Clark continued, "But let me assure you that while they may have only been words now, they would soon have turned into something more. Something that could destroy the very way of life we all live."

The silence didn't seem to please him as he continued, his voice rising. "The strongest among you could not fight against the armies beyond our walls, without our rules the city would fall into the hands of our enemies. Our men killed, our women raped and sold, and our children turned into slaves. Without me this city would fall into chaos. Without me, we would all be lost."

As his booming words faded, and turned into a harsh silence, sweeping over the courtyard, slowly, one by one, people turned their gaze to me. They watched me cautiously, yet even a fool could see a shimmering hope glowing within their eyes. Perhaps, they had heard of my rescue of the boy, had seen it as compassion. The first they'd seen from me in two decades. And as much as I hated myself, I hated them more as I felt even more pairs of eyes fall to me, hated them because I knew what this would lead to. For I could see that, in their eyes, was a question. A question better left unasked.

Perhaps the Heir could rule?

A question I knew the king saw as his whole back tightened, and his fists clenched tightly but then, just as suddenly, he relaxed. I felt the tension in the air rise like the smoke from Quentin's body. I knew that even though I had done nothing to draw their immediate attention to me, that I had not asked to rule- that I didn't want to- I would not leave this stage unmarked. My blood would spill, but the true question was, how much?

Abruptly, the king turned to me, exposing his back to the watching crowd. His eyes were of ice but his face was calm, soft and uncaring. I kept a similar expression on my face as he looked at me. Not letting him see the terror that had locked me in place.

He reached out to stroke my cheek, much like he had this morning and it took every last bit of self-control not to flinch back. He rubbed my skin for a moment before dragging his finger down, his nail scraping through my skin. I felt a small amount of blood slide down my cheek and over my chin.

I didn't dare move an inch.

He leaned down to look directly into my eyes. My time in the library had me wondering if inside them he saw her. Did he look into my eyes and see, not me, but my mother? I think I got my answer as he took my chin into his hand, crushing it between his fingers, so hard I thought my jaw would break. He continued to stare at me, as if just by looking he was learning all my secrets.

Clark released me unexpectedly, shoving me back slightly. My jaw ached but I ignored it, focusing entirely on his next words, "What has my dear daughter been up to? To have you look at her with such expectation?" He bellowed so loudly the people in the front row flinched. I could feel the familiar eyes on me, but I didn't dare look at them. I stared ahead blankly, a look of boredom while hell exploded within me. He was going to kill me. I could feel it in my bones.

When Clark didn't get an answer, he turned back to me and I met his eyes. I let some of that slumbering fire into my stare. Let it be done with.

I expected a physical blow but was met with only a smile.

The grin grew on his face, slow and vicious. And I think I would have preferred a punch.

So softly that I almost didn't hear him, he said, "Bow."

The confusion must have broken through my mask because he repeated himself, this time in a roaring shout. "I said, bow!"

Eyes wide, I did as he ordered, bending at the waist, my hair parting around my neck- exposing it to the cool breeze. I wondered if he would be quick about it or if I would feel every bit of his steel blade as he took my head from my shoulders.

But the blow never came.

"Lower."

My head snapped up. Clark stood right in front of me, his hands folded neatly behind his back. I looked at him, at his dark eyes and stuffy fur lined cloak blowing around him and hated him to his very core. Despised him with every broken piece of me. He smiled again, knowing.

The sound of my knees hitting marble seemed to echo through the clearing. I didn't allow myself to feel the weight of it. I didn't let myself feel the eyes of my people as they watched me. Tears of anger built in my eyes as I pressed my forehead to the cool ground and my very soul splintered at the feel of it. My body began to tremble, the loathing forcing its way out. Surely death would have been better.

Before I could even think to rise, Clark set the soul of his foot to the back of my head, pressing down until my nose threatened to break against the stone. All I could see was the huff of my breath against the marble.

"A slave bows. And that is all you are." His words were quiet, meant only for me. Yet they echoed in my ears.

Slave. Slave. Slave.

I went where he told me to go, fought for what he told me to fight for, and I killed every person he set in front of me. His blood flowed within me, but I was as much a prisoner as every person watching. Perhaps, even more. For I could not escape him. As much as I tried, it would never be enough. As long as I ran, I would never get far enough.

He pushed me down harder, and my teeth shook with the pressure.

"My daughter bows to me." Clark addressed the crowd. "It would be unwise to think of her as anything but my servant. My enforcer. Mine." His voice was brutal, and I had no doubt every person there had heard him. Yet, it wasn't his words that brought bile up my throat but instead my complete helplessness to stop them. My inability to prove those words wrong.

He, slowly, removed his foot from my head and I lifted it only enough to watch him motion behind me. Then, I was grabbed by my arms, and forced up to my feet before I could even consider doing it myself. Looking to the men holding me, I saw Sam and Devon, their faces perfectly blank. It seems I wasn't the only one wearing a mask today.

The blood on my cheek had hardened but I felt new, fresh blood dripping from my nose. No swelling in my eyes that I could feel so I didn't think it was broken, but I'd have to wait to be sure.

"While my daughter may be strong, and while she is my Heir, even she will be punished for such disloyalty."

I felt the presence of someone behind me long before I felt their hands on my back. And with the sound of ripping fabric still ringing in my ears, I tried to accept what Clark had in mind. I'd been whipped before, for just as stupid of reasons. I had made no act of treason. I knew it, Clark knew it but most importantly the people knew it. That was the point, I realized, if even his general- the Heir- couldn't be spared from his wrath, then what hope did they have?

I was turned around, and gasps rang out, the first sound the crowd had made since the bodies were lit. I knew what they were seeing and I suppose if I hadn't seen it every day I may have gasped too. I don't believe it was common knowledge the abuse I had endured by the hands of my father. The years of torture I had suffered long before I became Heir and the relentless training I had underwent after I was crowned. There had been times when I'd been thrown into the pits, beaten and cut open, not seeing the sun for weeks on end. 'Training exercises' Clark had said. If I could not withstand torture, then I could not be entrusted with any of his secrets.

My back was marred with scars, the skin that had once been smooth and beautiful was now a ruined slab of flesh. And, now, it was exposed to the world.

Let them see it. Let them understand as best they could, that I too was enslaved.

"50 lashes for Orihime Inoue, given by the King himself." Clark barked, though I sensed his anger had somewhat faded; pride taking its place. He would ever admit it but I'd always chosen to believe he was proud of what I had survived. What I had been strong enough to live through.

A flash of red caught my eye and I looked to my left, past Devon, and into the crowd. I saw Bronze there, her face showing pure fury. I saw her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, and when I looked past her I saw men I vaguely recognized. Faces of the rebellion.

Judging by her face I knew what she planned to do. I knew she would rush up here to save me from the whip. From what very little I had learned about her, I knew she would do it for anyone. And while I didn't look forward to the familiar feel of leather ripping me apart, the rebellion could not save me and still remain hidden within the walls. Her hard eyes met mine, and I shook my head slightly, just barely moving it, not allowing Clark see where my attention had shifted.

I would take the whip. I would rather my blood spill on these stones than watch them be butchered. They may be reckless and foolish but they were still young and soon they would be ready to fight for something everyone wanted but were too afraid to dream for. They were young and yet they were willing to die so that other people could have peace.

I couldn't let such selflessness be taken from this world.

The first crack of the whip came as a surprise. Breaking eye contact with Bronze, I arched away from it, only allowing a minuscule hiss to escape my lips. Sam and Devon held my arms firm as I straightened my spine. I felt the blood flow down my back and into the remaining fabric of my shirt but I stood tall.

The second I was better prepared for. Yet even then, my body betrayed me, arching away, desperately trying to find comfort once again.

My stance remained firm as Clark continued. With each snap against my skin the whip grew harsher, ripping through mounds of flesh until nothing but bone remained. Through the thunder of the whip I heard sobbing in the distance. In a cloud of pain I had almost forgotten the audience, forced to watch as I bled. I was glad they were watching, that for once, I was not alone. 'I'm the same as you!' I wanted to shout. 'I'm trapped here too!' Though, I knew they would not understand.

My blood flowed down my legs and onto the marble, I saw it splattered on the floor around me and on the arms of my captors. I focused on the rough feeling of their hands on my arms. I forced myself to hone in on the sensation of it. It reminded me that other things exist outside of this pain, that there was something on the other end of it.

It was on the 32nd lash that my legs gave out.

I know because Sam was counting to himself, or maybe he was doing it for my benefit. So suddenly, as if a thread had been cut, my legs collapsed under me. My body became dead weight and Sam and Devon readjusted their grip, barely having time to steady me before the 33rd landed.

So much blood gushed from my back that I was surprised my body had enough of it left to fill my mouth. I spat it upon the marble, and stared at it. I watched it slip and pool, and wondered if, after this was over, I'd have any blood left in my body.

I believe it was lash 47 that knocked me unconscious, though I couldn't be sure because Sam's voice had gone nearly silent. And if I still had the ability, I would have been begging him to speak louder. I was in the blissful blackness of unconsciousness when the next hit brought me back. I felt the pain full force and nearly vomited. The soft sobs had changed to full blown crying and I wondered what I looked like. I wondered if they could still see me past the blood. I wondered if I looked dead to them.

In between the next blows, I heard Sam's voice yet I couldn't make out what he was saying past the sounds of the cries and mind numbing pain. But I could feel the soft droplets of water on my right forearm, surprised I had the strength, I looked up to see the silent tears on his face. Yet, his face was hard and if not for the tears he would have seemed completely unbothered. And then as I took the harshest and last hit, his voice rang clear.

"I'm so sorry."

The smallest of gestures and yet the words hit me deep. And if I could feel anything but blinding agony, I might have felt touched by them. And so, I tucked the words into my mind, where I could remember them later- when I had the strength to appreciate them.

"Dry them." I demanded quickly, my voice hoarse as if I had been screaming- yet I couldn't remember if I had been.

The tears were gone before Clark came from behind me, twisting his fingers into my hair and violently yanking my head back. My back arched along with my neck, and I swore the world turned as red as my blood.

I screamed then.

He leaned in close as my cry faded, his lips brushed my ear as he purred, "I hope this has reminded you of your place."

Then, Clark pressed his closed fist against the raw, gaping wounds of my back, digging his knuckles in deeply. I'm sure I must have screamed, but the sound was lost to me as the darkness took me at last.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you have any feedback!

Till next time-