A/N: Consider this chapter rated M. Warnings for torture, body horror, death, some gore/blood, mentions of suicide, and general sadness. Mind the tags, please, for this chapter and the next four or five.

19 April 1621

Simonn was right. Of course he was. He knew about Candas, about how this would end. I wish I'd listened. I wish I'd tried harder to persuade Sigmun to keep her at an arm's length. I wish I could go back in time to the first day Sigmun told me he had an idea and refuse to go.

I have to write about this. I have no one left to talk to about it.

It started in the afternoon on the tenth, when we were all sitting around the table at home with tea working out the larger plan, how to mobilize large groups of regular people around the country without some way to communicate instantaneously. I heard a knock on the door and since Candas said she'd sneak out to help us with strategy, I assumed it was her. It was Candas, but it was also two dozen guards ready to take us away. I panicked and screamed and tried to run but the guards were on us in an instant. I tried to reach out to hold Sigmun's hand, and then Simonn's, but they were both torn away from me and I could feel the cold shackles and I remembered everything Simonn ever told me about his nightmares, and I could see he did too.

We didn't march through any villages, just the forest, and it was night by the time we were in the city. I have no idea if they wanted to surprise the world or what. I suppose I've always been afraid of the dungeons in a vague sort of sense, but I didn't really understand what it's like down there.

We were all in the same block of cells, but we were each alone. The walls were thick, but since the front of each was just an iron cage we could talk to each other, even if just a little. It was some comfort, because heaven knows I have never survived anything like this without my family. The guards stripped us and threw us in those cells. I don't know why they didn't shackle us to the wall, like I know they do, but I don't care much. I know as well that true torture is going out of style but it seems that Candas's family held onto some of their old equipment, or perhaps she just really hates what we tried to do. Obviously we were given no food, and only enough water to keep screaming.

I wish my love was here, because I just want right now to be held, and so I can hold him and comfort him and tell him I'm alright, I'll live. I wish Simonn was here because I just want to talk to him and because I know he would need someone to talk to, too. I wish Dolora was here because she is my mother and because for once in my life, I want to do something for her.

I have to write about the torture. I can't just keep it in-I think it might just kill me for good.

They mostly just whipped us and beat us. It hurt terribly, but after a while it just stopped getting worse-I stopped feeling anything at all. I just felt numb inside, like when my baby first passed and I just walked around in a bubble for months.

I could stand the whipping, the bones they broke, the fingers they cut off (just the two, perhaps because they liked to taunt me for reading and writing). But…they worked out that Sigmun and I were married, either from Candas or our rings, and decided to whip us in front of each other. I have never heard him scream like that and it just tore me apart inside. I tried not to respond because I knew it would hurt him but it hurts me to see him in pain and when they hit me it hurt so badly, more than anything my mother ever did to me.

By the time they were done with us for the day on the…the third day, I think, I felt dizzy and confused, and quite weak too. Everything hurt and all I could think to do was lie on the floor on my stomach and try very hard to breathe.

"My love?" Sigmun called.

"Yes?" I said, maybe.

"Come to the door."

I dragged myself to my feet and leaned against the wall to get to the door. "What?"

"Here." He handed me his cloak, and I could just barely reach it from him.

"How did you…?" I tried to ask, but my voice hurt and I couldn't get my thoughts in order.

"I don't know. They didn't take it," he said. "Use it for your back."

"You need it."

"I don't. You can hardly speak and I'm fine. Take it."

"I…alright," I said. I took it from him and tried to bandage my own back but I was still disoriented and dizzy, so it was a mediocre job at best. Nonetheless, it worked well enough that I'm not dead-I think, anyways. I didn't bleed to death in the dungeon.

By the time they sent us back the fourth evening, my love was completely hysterical and I tried to talk to him, to tell him I was there and I wasn't dead but he couldn't hear me, not over those voices in his head. I wasn't in great shape either, because I worked out the third day that the water they gave us was laced with some sort of poison. I know that because it made me throw up so badly my throat burned. Even now I feel weak and tired, and I don't know if that's the blood, the poison, or the terrible sadness. Maybe I'll die from the poison now and I won't have to keep living. I don't want to keep living. I swore to my love that I would but I don't want to, not anymore. There's nothing left for me here. Everything that matters is gone.

They did not cut off my ring finger and so right now I am wearing my rings but it makes me hurt to look at them. They knew we were married even though we were at home so we weren't wearing our rings. I put his on his finger before I buried him but I don't know if that means anything or if he cares wherever he is now. I don't know if he is anywhere now. The last time I saw him…he'd lost a leg, all the way to the hip. If he is anywhere, I don't know how he is. Is he in pain? What about his leg?

On the second-to-last day, I remember I finally asked him about something I was wondering about for a long time but never really found the…I don't know what, courage I guess, to ask.

"My love?" I asked.

"Yes?" he said, and his voice was thick and hoarse with blood.

"How was it so easy for you?"

"What, seeing you hurt? My love, it's not easy."

"No, no. I mean. Being good. You were always just so…good."

"I…love, everyone is good."

"But you…I was always so angry! The people who hurt you, who said and did terrible things for their own power or gain-I was so angry at them and you seemed to always be so good."

I didn't hear anything from him for a long time, and then, "My love, do you remember when Luke…died?"

"Of course I do."

"And you remember how I broke that vase?"

"Yes."

"I was angry then. You weren't."

"It's had to be angry when you're just empty inside."

"I know. I just mean…you weren't angry. And I was. I…I'm exactly as angry as you all are. I guess I'm just the best at covering it up."

"You really think everyone is a good person, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"You think I'm a good person."

"I do. My love, I've known you twenty-one years, and loved you almost as long. I proposed to you. We've been married almost seven years. I know you're a good person."

"I couldn't have kids."

"Then the church is wrong."

He's implied that a lot, before, but never outright said it. "My love, aren't you heretical enough?"

"Not until the church helps instead of hurts," he said.

I let out a sigh, and then slumped against the wall closest to him. "Love?"

"Hm?"

"Five things you like about yourself."

"You're not serious," he said.

"Dead serious."

"Please don't say that, we're dead in days."

"I know. Five things, love."

"Fine. I'm clever. I loved everyone we met. I…I've forgiven her. I'm brave. And…I changed the world. Your turn."

"Ugh."

"Fair's fair, love."

"Fine. I'm a good teacher. I'm intelligent. I loved those people we met. I…I love you all. And I think I changed the world, too."

"Of course you did," he said with that voice of his, the one that could convince anyone of anything.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too," he said, and then the guards came back to torture us again.

I can't get his screams out of my head. Even now I can hear him screaming as they whipped me, crying and begging for them to stop. I think I remember…I think I remember, the last night I was there, when I'd lost a lot of blood and they'd hit me hard on the head and I didn't feel real, hearing Candas herself down there. She told my love…she held a knife to my throat, I think, and threatened to slit my neck right then and there. I didn't have the presence of mind to do anything about it but I think I remember my love begging her to take him instead and I wanted to tell him no, never, but I couldn't make my lips move. I couldn't stop it.

And then on the last day, I think, my love…he…I can't explain it. It just all came crashing down.

"My love," he said. "My love, I'm so sorry."

"What? Why?"

"This is my fault. If it wasn't for me, none of you would be here. If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be…be hurting this way."

"It is not your fault, my love. Not one bit. You had no way of knowing this would happen. I-if anything, it's my fault."

"No it damn well is not. Why would you even say that?"

"Remember how I wasn't telling you something?" I asked.

"Yes…?"

"Simonn dreamed this. He dreamed that we would fail. And he told me and we never told you or Dolora because we knew you would drive yourself mad trying to protect us and-and-" I was crying again, and I'm not sure why. "-And so it's my fault. I should've-I should've told you…"

There was silence for a long moment, and then I heard him say, very quietly, "No. You were right."

"What?"

"If you'd told me…I am mad, but I would've driven myself so if you told me. It's not your fault." Then, after a moment, "It's hers."

"Hers?"

"Candas's. She's the reason we're here. We can't blame ourselves when she is the one who brought us here, literally."

"Yes," I said vaguely. "My love, I know we've fought and everything…but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I always will."

"I love you too," he promised. "More than anything."

"Can you tell Simonn and Dolora and Hannah that I love them?" I asked.

"Of course," he said, and a few moments later he said, "They all say they love you, too."

So that last night there was a little moment of peace before Candas woke us up on Easter Sunday to bring us to watch my love executed.

She didn't kill Dolora or Simonn. She sold them. Mariek "bought" Dolora but that look on her face…I don't think Mariek is quite sane anymore. Dolora was crying, quietly, her hair long since fallen out of that perfect way she styles it. I wanted to reach out for her but this guard-a young one-was holding me back, pinching my wrists in the most painful way he could. Candas "bought" Simonn herself, and…in his dreams, when he can't see. Someone cut out his eyes. There were just these gaping holes and I almost fainted seeing that. I saw her hold his hands behind his back and I saw her whispering to him, and she must've been saying terrible things to him…

I couldn't find Hannah, and I'm afraid because I thought I heard someone talking about her daughter and nothing gets to Hannah like her daughter. I don't know what could've happened but I'm afraid. I don't know what happened to Neolla either, but I hope her status protected her, somehow.

They took my love next. They made him stand with his one leg on a pile of burning coals and stretched his hands above his head and put his wrists in these awful, white-hot irons. I could hear him screaming and I heard Dolora cry out but I tried not to listen because I couldn't stand it, I couldn't. I could see the sweat beading on his face and he was crying and screaming and it hurt. I pulled his cloak tighter around me (we were allowed to wear clothes for the execution, I guess so we'd be decent for the public), but kept the hood down so he could see me.

When he had run out of tears he started…well, he wasn't preaching. It was nothing like his old speeches. It was all the anger he never expressed, every time he shattered a plate when our little Luke died, every person who hurt us when we were young who pushed him to start this, everyone he trusted who betrayed us. I've only ever heard him curse before a few times but this was laden with every foul word Dolora told us never to use. But his voice gave out after too long and he was just crying quietly and I wanted to scream but I couldn't make a sound.

I saw the executioner raise his bow and arrow and I knew that they were going to shoot him in the lung, symbolically I'm sure. I knew it would make him die slowly and I wanted to stop it, to make it okay. I started fighting the guard holding me back, because I knew if I could get up there they might not shoot me, because they wanted to drag out his pain as much as possible.

I finally broke free of the guard, and I think I might've broken my wrist in the process (it's hard to tell). I threw myself towards the stage I didn't even feel the coals searing my feet (though now I have scars there, too). But I wasn't tall enough to protect him like I should have. I wanted to take the arrow for him. I wanted to guard his life with my own but I couldn't.

When I was standing there, shaking all over, I heard him choke, "Run. Go. Please…"

"No," I said. I don't know how I could talk.

"Go…"

"I love you."

"Don't die for me."

"I won't let them hurt you anymore."

"Don't, please…"

"Sigmun, I would do anything for you."

"Please…I'm dead. I love you. You promised me…go live."

I was crying again but I couldn't bring myself to be ashamed of it. "I'm not leaving. Not now."

"I love you," he choked, and he tried to say more but his voice was gone.

"I love you too," I promised, and then the executioner fired the arrow and it hit him right in the heart. He coughed again, and then he screamed, and then he died and I wanted to scream but I felt paralyzed, frozen, and his head fell forward and they cut the chains and he fell into a heap and I couldn't breathe around the heartbeat in my throat.

A guard-the young one, I think-forced me to my knees, and I couldn't muster up the strength to resist. I felt the coals on my knees and I didn't care anymore. There was nothing left for me, nothing at all. Everyone I'd ever loved was dead or so far gone I doubted I could ever bring them back-I saw the look in Dolora's eyes and on Simonn's face when my love screamed his last. I welcomed death.

When I looked up at the executioner, I recognized him all at once. It was Patrik, my old friend. I don't know if I hate him for it but he murdered my love and was about to murder me for my support of something I thought he understood. The arrow was on his drawn bowstring, exactly the way he taught me when we were young, ready to fly and let me die my bloody death.

I met his eyes and I was angry, angrier than I've been in a long while. And I've spent the last two years of my life being much too outspoken for my own good. Patrik had the arrow aimed right at my heart, but he didn't fire just yet. So I started talk to him.

"Are you really going to do it, Patrik?" I asked, and he looked shocked. I saw his aim waver. "We've been friends since we were children. Remember I taught you how to make crowns out of flowers when we were seven? And you taught me how to use a bow and arrow when we were thirteen. And now you're going to use what you taught me against me? You're going to use the only thing that kept me alive to kill me? This-all this-and these people, do they still matter to you more than your friends? Don't you remember not a year ago when you and I sat down over tea and just spent time together, like friends? Do you remember when we were fifteen and you stopped talking to me because you were above talking to commoners? You didn't talk to any of us for a year! Don't you see how you lost friends for this? Don't you see what's happening? You said it yourself-we all bleed red. If you shoot me right now my blood will be as red as yours!

"You killed him, so why don't you kill me?" It was an insane thing to say, but I was feeling a bit out of my mind. Sigmun's corpse behind me, the coals under my feet, the chains, my family sold to people I thought were friends-it all felt so unreal. "There's no reason you shouldn't. We were friends once, but I don't imagine that means anything anymore. If power means so much more than love, then kill me."

I stood up and held out my arms, and I knew I'd crumple and fall and die and then I'd never have the chance to do anything else, help anyone else, but I just didn't care anymore. I might've been a little mad, but I wanted to die.

He dropped the arrow.

I don't know where I found the strength, but I lifted Sigmun's body on my shoulders and ran into the woods.

I escaped with my life because the entire guard was in shock for a long moment before they pursued me. I grew up in the woods, anyways. I hid in the ditch we fell into all those years ago when we were just sixteen and Sigmun hit his nose on my head so hard it bled. But it's the strangest thing; the young guard, the average one, caught my eye for just a moment when I was huddled in the ditch, cold and afraid. But I might've imagined it, because he shouted, "No one here!" and left. I'm sure Patrik will be granted some pardon for his noble status. I will receive no such luxury. But then, I do not want a pardon. I've done nothing wrong.

Grantt and Orvill and Candas were watching the whole time, of course. They were watching the whole tragedy like some sort of show, like it was an amusing play Mr. Shakespeare just finished. I don't know if I hate them, either, but a big part of me wants them to hurt. I want them to understand what they've done to me-to everyone.

At any rate, I barely made it to the clearing, which was closer than the house, before I broke down crying again. My whole body hurt-it still does-and everything else ached so badly. My love and my only child, dead. My best friend and real mother, sold. My other friends, gone. I've lost everything I've ever loved. I've lost everything. And they all went through so much pain before they…died. And my love…he tried to trade his life for mine. He saved my life with his cloak. I want to start crying again and I'm sure I have many years of crying left, but right now I need to finish recording this.

I buried him. I put his wedding ring on his finger and buried him in the clearing where we lied in the forget-me-nots and talked about our futures, where our little Luke is buried. I marked the spot with a stone I'll have carved if I ever have the money or strength and when I know what to write. They say you can only go to heaven if you're buried. I want him to go somewhere better than this forsaken world.

Maybe I'll find the strength to go back there someday. If not, the forget-me-nots can speak to him for me.

I hope one day I'll find that strength.