The courtroom was silent, the kind of silence that weighed heavy in the air. The judge sat in his chair, watching the room with an unreadable expression. The crowd stood tense, their gazes fixed on the young man at the defendant's dock.
He stood with pitch-black hair, his frail, malnourished body a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere. His face was gaunt and lifeless, and his eyes betrayed no emotion—he seemed to have already accepted his fate, or perhaps he simply didn't care. It was as if he had no attachment to the world at all.
The judge's voice cut through the stillness. "Mr. Rosenberg," he said, addressing an elderly man in the gallery. "What punishment do you believe this man deserves?"
The old man answered slowly, his voice trembling, as though he were on the verge of tears. "My lord," he said, his tone heavy with grief, "I know exactly what he's done to my child... and to others' children. I am aware of his wrongdoings."
He paused, his gaze distant. "I have always believed in God's ways. I have placed my faith in Him. My decision for this man is...■■■"