>>6313488>>6313457>Full success on DUBS of 8s of all thingsanon playing with forces beyond our comprehension
and now, the news…
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“The first of the Seven is <span class="mu-i">dead!</span>” shouts Bragia Lacresta, addressing the crowd. The unwraps the wizened head she is holding in her hands and raises it high, as every man woman and child in the audience draws a collective gasp, many holding up the middle three fingers of their hands as a protective sign, invoking the presence of the Sun-Birther to shield them from the corpse of the Sister.
Merope’s head is already starting to wither to dust.
Bragia’s slender chest heaves, her eyes monitoring the crowd. You see Candeloro standing besides the low-lipped well in the middle of the village. He crosses his arms, looks above at the darkening sky, and then at his beloved again. He seems deep in thought, troubled even in victory.
You look for her other two companions but cannot see them amidst the crowd.
“Your chains are broken, and you will have nothing to fear from now on! The Seven Sisters can be <span class="mu-i">killed!</span>” She raises her voice to a joyous shrill.
Glancing at the preset-time Bragia, you see her lower her head, as if in shame, her white hair covering her face like a curtain. “Give your all to the Sun-Birther, for it is thanks to Her that we can now face the future with shining hope! It was thanks to Her that my mace fell straight and true! Let’s all raise our hands in prayer for—”
The Stilladìa moves her fingers and the scene changes one again. When you try to look at her face, you find her livid, her lips tightened, her free hand clenched so hard her knuckles shake.
“My apologies, Argia Candente. I just wish not to linger on the fool that I used to be.”
“You truly loved Ansàrra,” you mutter, your healthy hand rising to knead your arm. “It is hard to watch, I agree—” the difference between the smiling, brave and joyful Bragia, so full of faith and hope for the future and the graven visage next to you reminds you of a waxen mask, carved from pain and loss.
And betrayal.
Your hand pulsates with pain.
Ansàrra <span class="mu-i">rejected</span> you hard enough to burn your hand to a suppurating black crisp. What does that say about your chances at the Trial?
What does that say about whatever chances there might be for Willow?
For your family?
[cont.]
