Last Evening.
Bedroom Chambers, Citadel.
Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.
*************
"Help," a whimper echoed loudly in the quiet room.
The energy in the room was taut and the wind shook the candlelight, "Help me, somebody" she gasped again.
Liza laid writhing on the cold, unforgiving floor of her chamber, her yellow dress soaked with sweat and stained with blood. Each breath she took was a laborious struggle, her cries for help grew weaker with each passing moment as blood trailed from her lips.
Her brown hair clung to her damp forehead as she clawed at the floor, her fingers scraping against the stone in desperate, futile attempts to find some relief.
The evening shadows deepened around her, and the room seemed to close in, suffocating her with its silence.