Snippet #1715394

Bordeaux Town Jail: April 19, 1455: 11:47 PM

The entire escape, Ariane couldn't remember a single thing. Ariane lived in a sick, putrid haze of pain. Cuts. Cuts all over her body. The torturer sure had his fun with her. He had ben gleeful in his cuts and slashes he dealt to her body, just as gleeful as if he were a little boy with a birthday cake. As if that were everything he ever wanted. Nearly everyone in the cells was afraid of him. Too terrified to even learn his name. His squeal of delight as he slowly, forcefully pulled her arm back until the eventual snap. His demented laughter as he caught her toenails one by one in the tweezers, and pulled them out slowly, tanalizingly. Ariane figured he was a true psychopath, with no remorse for his actions. But that was irrelevant now, as Ariane was mostly shuffled along by nameless people itching for freedom.

The witches. The march of the witches.

Ariane smirked a little, a small grim, sad, and bitter smirk. They would be off to some random island, pretty soon. Away form everyone and everything. She had wanted to patch things up with her last family member, Pierre, but that was hopeless. He had either moved on or died, and he never came to visit her, not even once. Because his hatred for the Anglo people would probably never die out. And that meant William. Ariane wished that Pierre could have been okay after the war, wished that he could have been the happy boy she grew up with, but Pierre had seen his twin identical brother blown to smithereens in his fac, in literally the final battle of the Hundred Years War that lasted even longer than a century.

Jessica had starting wailing and shrieking into Abel Lefebvre’s face. Her brother, dead. Ariane remembered it, somewhat. They had both been sent to the torture chambers, Ariane and the brother of Jessica. However, only one of the made it out that day. The guards had wanted to play around, and take two prisoners and torture them both until one died. A cruel, sadistic game, but she supposed that in Bordeaux, she could be nothing but a pawn. And that's how the world works.

But the plan orchestrated by Celeste had worked. She hoped so, at least. Better to die trying to make it, then die in the torture chamber, although a part of her will always still be in there, hearing the screams, her screams, his screams, but then his screams would die out. But in truth? As shaken up as she was, she was glad that he had died, and not her. Glad that she made it through. But she'd never say this out loud. She looked to Duke, and decided to confess. Warn him that in her condition, she wouldn't be apt to do anything to help. She grabbed his arm gingerly.

"I am injured, Mr. Lefebvre." She told him respectfully. "It hurts a lot. I'm sorry that I cannot be of much help."