Today was the twenty fourth of November. The day my mother had died. The day she'd been burnt alive on a pyre in front of my very eyes. The day my eyes had finally been opened to the horrors the Yerpen committed on a daily basis, the day I'd run away, and joined the Anarchy Heist.

I remembered the day as if it were yesterday. I was sleeping in my parent's room that night. Well, the room the palace had let us stay in. My father was a vizier to the Yerpen, and had gone on a trip for a month without me or my mother. I'd joined them while they were sleeping because I had a nightmare that night, also because it had been a long while since I'd had the comfort of both my parents at the same time. But then I couldn't feel their bodies next to me, couldn't feel my mother hugging me, the warmth of my father's back seeping into mine, I'd woken up. I couldn't find them. Where they'd lay, were only rumpled blankets and cold sheets. I looked at the clock, and it was still early morning. The sun would've barely been out. I didn't bother dressing, and asked one of the maids where they were. I didn't remember how I got to the courtyard, only that some butler or maid led me there. But by the time I'd reached, the sky was pink. I saw the back of my father, and had run to him. He'd asked me what I was doing here, and I told him I couldn't sleep, and wanted to know where they were. He told me to go, but I'd already seen my mother by then. Her image had scarred me. Bruises and blood covered her body, she was in her nightgown, still, and tears ran down her face. She was tied to a vertical pole, tears were running down her face and falling into the spit of fire below her. She was being turned on it like she was venison to be roasted. Her face burned. It turned from smooth to red to patched. Her skin melted off her face, bit by bit. Her beautiful, rich brown eyes had turned lifeless, reflecting the red flames of the fire she burned in. Younger me had been horrified. I remembered, in a nightmare, I'd seen blood running from her eyes instead of tears. I had asked my father to stop that night. Begged him to stop. But he didn't tell them to. His eyes didn't water, his face held no emotion. He'd only told me, "She deserves it." I begged everyone there, every person, the guards, the other viziers, the other ladies. But no one listened. They had to drag me back to my room, and I had silently mourned for her. When my father had come back, I didn't speak to him. He didn't speak to me. He only spoke once that night. He gave me a bloodred dress, and told me to wear it. That night, a banquet was held—to celebrate my mother's death. That was the night I'd escaped.

It wasn't easy. Running away from your whole life at ten, climbing the ranks of a movement that you were supposed to be against. But I'd made my way the hard way. I'd spilled considerable amounts of blood, delivered many corpses, skinned too many people. My respect and fear was earned, anyone who said otherwise would learn.

But sometimes I thought—what would've happened if my mother hadn't been burned alive? What would've happened if I hadn't run away?

I supposed I would've grown to be the fucked up bride to some fucked up lord with equally fucked up views on women and the world. Sometimes I was glad she'd died—she wouldn't have had to deal with the tortures of my father anymore. Didn't have to witness the monster I'd become.

But I still mourned. Every year, on the twenty fourth of November, I wore blue. It wasn't tradition to wear blue after a funeral on the day of the death, but I couldn't wear it when she'd died. Instead, I was forced to wear red, the shade of my mother's blood. The same shade as the colour of the Yerpen. It was why the Anarchy Heist was symbolised with blue—it represented the fallen lives of innocents. Though no one actually wore the blue, it was still related to it.

You'd think your superiors could spare you a day to silently mourn for your mother. But here I was, listening to the screams of some random man who'd been caught searching their tents.

"P- P- Please." The man begged. On any other day, I could've felt a shred of remorse. Would've felt a shred of remorse. But today, this bitch was in the way of my mourning. I would make sure he felt the pain I had when she'd died.

I couldn't deny, it was a better coping mechanism than training the recruits harder, punishing them and forcing them to be stronger, better, smarter. I mean, it was for their own good.

But torturing a man would do.

"You know," I sighed. "We could do this all day." I didn't want to do this all day. He just needed to think I wanted to.

"I- I have a family." He squeezed his eyes shut as I picked up my dagger. He angled his head away from me, bracing himself. Tears streamed from his shut eyes, sticking to his skin, which gleamed with sweat.

They all had families. They all were the wrong person. They all claimed they were innocent.

They couldn't fool me.

I shoved my dagger under his index finger's nail. He screamed as blood spilled from the sides. He screamed again, it was shrill and raw and ear shattering.

This was not how I wanted to spend today.

"Why were you rummaging through the tents?" I asked as I pressed the dagger onto his mangled nail bed. His answering scream bounced off the stone walls, echoing through the dim chamber. "Answer the fucking question." I shoved the dagger through his nail bed, and his lips trembled as he gasped for air between his relentless sobs. He was lucky he wasn't burning in a pyre right now. "I–" He started, and he shook his hand. His blood splattered onto my blue uniform, and I gritted my teeth. The fucker got blood on my blue uniform. My mother would be disappointed.

"You what?" I pressed the dagger harder, and the scream that followed made me want to cover my damn ears.

I swear if he screamed again, his throat would be next.

"Why were," I shoved, and he screamed. "You rummaging," I pushed the dagger up. His nail was hanging by a thread. "Through the," I pressed the metal onto his ruined nail bed again, and he continued to beg. "Tents." I finished, lifting my dagger up. I ripped the nail off of his finger. He screamed again, louder than before.

Whoever told people who tortured people enjoyed torturing was fucking wrong.

"I- I- I don't know." He blubbered. His blood mixed with his spit as his saliva spilled from his mouth. It dripped to the cold stone floor. The wound from his head dripped blood as well, and the two created a rhythm that went drip, drop, drip, drop.

"You all are so fucking stubborn." My dagger clattered to the cracked and filthy stone floor as I got up.

"Wh- What are you doing?" He whispered. I heard him tug at the ropes binding him, heard him squeak when the ropes wouldn't budge. And I heard him take in a breath before he let out a noise, he burped, and let out a belch before I heard the sound of him retching.

I whirled around, and found him doubling over, vomiting onto himself. In the light, his face was oily, his shirt drenched with blood and burns, his burnt and torn pants soaking his piss. The only part of him I hadn't touched were his feet.

I looked at his boots. They were untouched, only his vomit and a bit of his blood stained them. It wouldn't hurt to bloody his feet a bit. No escaping, then. Not that he'd be able to escape, either way.

Not that my mother had been able to escape.

But what caught my eye was the gleam in his dark eyes. The small flicker that said, she believes me, she thinks I'm innocent.

How wrong he was.

I scoffed to myself as I walked to the row of tools at the front of the cell. I ran my eye over each one of the tools. Maybe not the heated poker again, he'd gone unconscious after that one. Maybe the hammer... The hammer would definitely make him confess faster than the poker.

I was about to turn around and ask him how he'd like his toes to be removed, but the door to the cell opened.

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AN TIMEE

Omg I keep telling myself to do an AN, but I keep forgetting XD. Glad I remembered this time lmao. HOW ARE YALL LIKING THE STORYY, I swear we'll get some progress soon XD. I'm so sorry for uploading so late:sob:

Enjoy it *grins*

xoxo

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