The flames hurled at the King by his own daughter were intense enough to
melt even the suits of armor upon the walls of the Great Hall.
Kate's hands were blistered, her clothes were singed and still she continued. Her mother was screaming and tears poured down her scorched face, and still she continued. Through it all, the hate, the pain, the fear - Kate continued. She continued - that is - until a pair of strong hands took her by the arm and flung her from her feet.
She awoke in utter darkness, and for a moment Kate didn't know where she was, but the musty scent of mildewed hay wafted to her nose. A jail cell. Her head pounded and her hands screamed for relief from the relentless pain of third degree burns. What she needed was something cold to drink and a long, dreamless sleep. But when Kate tried to sit up, she found she couldn't move. Fear swept over her, chilling her to the bone in less time than it took for her to inhale, and made her weary body shiver convulsively.
IGet a hold of yourself,/I composure spoke into her mind, Icowardess will get you no where./I
Kate took a deep breath and stared at the wall she'd been forced to face. Step by step, she tested each limb and appendage, and found she was completely paralyzed.
Her hands had been bound behind her back with a bit of magic, a simple spell that even she knew how to operate. Her feet were shackled with simple iron cuffs, but since she couldn't move, she'd have no chance of picking the lock that bolted them.
A jingle of keys and the clomp of improperly sized boots was the only warning Kate got before the door to her cell creaked open, a gruff grunt emanated from the doorway, and a harsh voice cursed at Kate in one of the street languages of the Kingdom slums. "Gerrup, you traitor," he followed his trail of curses with the command and snickered. Of course, Kate was paralyzed and couldn't move even her vocal chords to snap a reply, much less 'gerrup.' "Ha," he spat, the disgusting wad of filth landing centimeters from Kate's nose, "Not s' strong now, are ye?"
When Kate still didn't rise, the guard seemed to take offense. "Alrigh'," he sniffed, "ye won' gerrup on yer own, I'll Imake/I ye gerrup!" He snatched a handful of Kate's waist-length black hair and used it to hoist her to her feet.
Kate's eyes flashed a dangerous black, her only way to respond.
Kate's hands were blistered, her clothes were singed and still she continued. Her mother was screaming and tears poured down her scorched face, and still she continued. Through it all, the hate, the pain, the fear - Kate continued. She continued - that is - until a pair of strong hands took her by the arm and flung her from her feet.
She awoke in utter darkness, and for a moment Kate didn't know where she was, but the musty scent of mildewed hay wafted to her nose. A jail cell. Her head pounded and her hands screamed for relief from the relentless pain of third degree burns. What she needed was something cold to drink and a long, dreamless sleep. But when Kate tried to sit up, she found she couldn't move. Fear swept over her, chilling her to the bone in less time than it took for her to inhale, and made her weary body shiver convulsively.
IGet a hold of yourself,/I composure spoke into her mind, Icowardess will get you no where./I
Kate took a deep breath and stared at the wall she'd been forced to face. Step by step, she tested each limb and appendage, and found she was completely paralyzed.
Her hands had been bound behind her back with a bit of magic, a simple spell that even she knew how to operate. Her feet were shackled with simple iron cuffs, but since she couldn't move, she'd have no chance of picking the lock that bolted them.
A jingle of keys and the clomp of improperly sized boots was the only warning Kate got before the door to her cell creaked open, a gruff grunt emanated from the doorway, and a harsh voice cursed at Kate in one of the street languages of the Kingdom slums. "Gerrup, you traitor," he followed his trail of curses with the command and snickered. Of course, Kate was paralyzed and couldn't move even her vocal chords to snap a reply, much less 'gerrup.' "Ha," he spat, the disgusting wad of filth landing centimeters from Kate's nose, "Not s' strong now, are ye?"
When Kate still didn't rise, the guard seemed to take offense. "Alrigh'," he sniffed, "ye won' gerrup on yer own, I'll Imake/I ye gerrup!" He snatched a handful of Kate's waist-length black hair and used it to hoist her to her feet.
Kate's eyes flashed a dangerous black, her only way to respond.