eldorne_girl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eldorne_girl) wrote2005-06-30 01:52 pm
eldorne_girl) wrote2005-06-30 01:52 pm
OOM: post-trial
(Guilty of High Treason = Traitors’ Hill = burnt alive = death = ?
Home.
Home =Eldorne? Milliways + Josiane + Indy + Charlie + Penny + Thom + Alex + safety.
Pretty much, anyway. Better then Tortall. Better then four bare walls and a door and a bed and a chair and a…window.
Window for air, for warmth and coldness. Window to taunt and drive mad. Mad?
Madder.
Let’s start again.
Guilty of High Treason = Traitors’ Hill life imprisonment???? = insanity - bastard! He knows I hate closed spaces! He knows!
Bastard
Guilty of High Treason = life imprisonment = insanity + no home + no Indy no Josie noanyone.
Laughter or tears, which is more acceptable? Tears are typical, expected, laughter means I’ve gone mad already…
Ah, fuck it. Neither. That’s a choice, too.
So, original plan screwed up, thanks a lot, Jonathan. But…window. Sheets. Blanket. Petticoats, if need be.
Window. No, not in reach…hmm. With chair? Oh, thank you, Mother Goddess, thank you. This will work…
Shitshitshit, I can’t do this! I…can’t. No, it’ll be alright, I’ll just stay here and…
Slowly go mad. Without them. Oh, Indy, gods, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love…love?
…oh
Fuck.
I can’t…
Ok, maybe tears are acceptable in these kinds of situations. Screw what the guards think.
So, let me try this yet again. Original plan can’t work, obviously, and I have a window. And promises. Promised them. Three people. None traitors. No reason it all shouldn’t still. Sacrificing life and…futurechildren to clear blood-guilt, bound by promises.
Gods honorable? Better be.
See, this can work. This will – I won’t be forsworn. No. Not again. But, didn’t swear oath to Jonathan, not forsworn? Whatever, not important. Just getting home, I just need to get home…
I can do this.
And, by the way, Roger? Damn you to the Black God’s mercy.
Seriously. Damn you. When I get back, I’ll shoot you myself. You are not worth this. Josiane is. Indy is. You are not. So, damn you.)
She is found in the early hours of the morning, before dawn. Chair tipped over onto the bed so it didn’t make a noise, the blanket folded into a rope and tied to the bars of the high, small window before forming a noose around her neck.
The nails are broken on her slender little fingers – she didn’t want to die. Not really.
She just knew that she had too.
Home.
Home =
Pretty much, anyway. Better then Tortall. Better then four bare walls and a door and a bed and a chair and a…window.
Window for air, for warmth and coldness. Window to taunt and drive mad. Mad?
Madder.
Let’s start again.
Guilty of High Treason = Traitors’ Hill life imprisonment???? = insanity - bastard! He knows I hate closed spaces! He knows!
Bastard
Guilty of High Treason = life imprisonment = insanity + no home + no Indy no Josie noanyone.
Laughter or tears, which is more acceptable? Tears are typical, expected, laughter means I’ve gone mad already…
Ah, fuck it. Neither. That’s a choice, too.
So, original plan screwed up, thanks a lot, Jonathan. But…window. Sheets. Blanket. Petticoats, if need be.
Window. No, not in reach…hmm. With chair? Oh, thank you, Mother Goddess, thank you. This will work…
Shitshitshit, I can’t do this! I…can’t. No, it’ll be alright, I’ll just stay here and…
Slowly go mad. Without them. Oh, Indy, gods, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love…love?
…oh
Fuck.
I can’t…
Ok, maybe tears are acceptable in these kinds of situations. Screw what the guards think.
So, let me try this yet again. Original plan can’t work, obviously, and I have a window. And promises. Promised them. Three people. None traitors. No reason it all shouldn’t still. Sacrificing life and…futurechildren to clear blood-guilt, bound by promises.
Gods honorable? Better be.
See, this can work. This will – I won’t be forsworn. No. Not again. But, didn’t swear oath to Jonathan, not forsworn? Whatever, not important. Just getting home, I just need to get home…
I can do this.
And, by the way, Roger? Damn you to the Black God’s mercy.
Seriously. Damn you. When I get back, I’ll shoot you myself. You are not worth this. Josiane is. Indy is. You are not. So, damn you.)
She is found in the early hours of the morning, before dawn. Chair tipped over onto the bed so it didn’t make a noise, the blanket folded into a rope and tied to the bars of the high, small window before forming a noose around her neck.
The nails are broken on her slender little fingers – she didn’t want to die. Not really.
She just knew that she had too.