VALORIA WILDEROSE
I'm taken away by the maids, and I'm grateful for it. I cannot stand another second in the same room with him—with the wailing, the nauseating stench of blood, and the eyes that watch me be vulnerable.
Yet, even after leaving, I can't stop hearing her screams or seeing the deep crimson oozing out of her disfigured body like a gushing fountain.
I'll never forget what she looks like—how her bloodshot eyes wept and begged for mercy that was never given.
I'm taken away like a prisoner, dragged to the lowest corners of the servants' quarters, stripped out of my silk pajamas, dressed in clothes not even maids would wear, and forced to work in the filthiest of places.
While doing manual labor, I am scorned and mocked by each of the servants I encounter—tainted and twisted by the sickness that is Azrael, unaware that we aren't that much different in front of him.
A litter of rats fighting over scraps just to entertain him.
