The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
The Day After
Morning in the Slave Quarters was always a hectic time. Slaves scurried about in the narrow hallways, getting about their tasks or preparing to head up and serve within the upper levels of the Divine Throne. Despite the abundance of slaves, there were no taskmasters or supervisors. Every slave had their orders, and would be severely punished by the slave crest if they were tardy or disobedient.
I had things much easier than the typical slave, bound only by Father Ithris' schedule. Fortunately, he had a tendency to sleep in, which gave me some leisure time each day. The morning after Soltair left, I awoke feeling clear and refreshed. Lying in bed, I hummed softly, recalling our conversation from before. I took a deep breath, inhaling what little remained of his scent and rose to prepare for the day.