Chapter 35

• Darkness. Cold. The air was thick with damp rot, the stench of decay and filth clinging to the stone walls. The dungeons.
• I had been here for over an hour. My gown was soaked in blood—some mine, some belonging to the rogues I had torn apart. The wound on my arm had nearly closed, but the gash on my leg still bled sluggishly. Infection was inevitable. I had ripped the hem of my gown into makeshift bandages, but it was useless. If no one treated me soon, I’d rot down here before they even had the chance to execute me.
• A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat before morphing into a choked sob. My emotions swung wildly between hysteria and fury, between despair and laughter.