The air turns bitterly cold. The cold wraps around me. I let out a breath. My breath is as white as snow. The cold clutches me. I look down and I see the rose leaves freezing over. Ice forms on the leaves. There are no stars. Only black. I suppose I should get use to this bitter cold. 

Then I hear a noise. I turn. The soldiers they start moving. Their eyes turn green. A glowing florescent green. My eyes narrow. Clever Grimns, clever. They shakily stand up. They're like zombies. They stagger towards me with weapons. Swords. Whips. Clubs. I can't fight. This is part of my punishment. 

One jabs the sword into me. I wince. Their faces look corrupt. Look haunted. I watch as another one comes forward. Him I don't know at all from the battle. He slashes me with his sword. Most of these wounds will be caused by swords no doubt about it. Another sword stabs the other wound. I wince. 

Is this what I'm going to have to go through every night?