I sit cross legged upon the cold stone floor, wearing brand spanking new leather pants, and a tailored, well made, and utterly comfortable black shirt. They are mine now, and it was sort of a cleansing process for me, to watch everything that was mine, burned and turned to ash, the smoke carrying with it some sort of redemption. Something that attempts to put an end the event that has my mind is such turmoil.
Before me, the surface of the cool black stone calls to me, and I place the palm of my hand upon it as I close my eyes and begin. "Think back" the voice is in my head, its my own, but does not truly sound like me. It is a masculine, calming voice that snakes through my mind, and digs into the shadowed places, "poison the mind, infiltrate their thoughts". My lips move as these words dance over my mind, but no sound is emitted.
A list of questions stand at the ready in my head, and for a moment I resist the process. "I am sick of questions!" I cry out silently against the black backdrop of my brain, the world around me fallen away, the cool stone beneath me no longer felt, now that I have been delivered into the private world of my mind. "Sick of questions! I don't know!!" I insist to the echoing voice, rising around me and drowning out my disobedient anger. The thing is, I do know, I do and I am too angry, too hurt, too wild to focus on the answers and I feel myself raging at the black mist that surrounds me.
"Why did they come at you like they did?" the first question rises in my mind in spite of my best attempts at blatant rebellion. "Why the Soldier second, why the Noble third?" the questions continue no matter how much I resist them. "Why did they attack at the time they chose? Why did they choose where they did to attack?" Finally I sigh, and allow the questions to push out the instinctual rage, the natural disobedience, the urge to rail against them and slice and cut and hurt and kill and force them all to pay. Finally, I let those spinning balls of chaotic memories to be slowed, contained and shelved for reflection later, so I might concentrate upon the questions.
They came at me like they did, because....because.....think woman think! It was the end of my shift, nearly dawn. The streets were practically deserted. It was dark and there was almost no one around to interfere. They shot me first. Not so difficult to calculate, I was the greatest threat in the area. Why the Rookie second? She was simply the next logical target. Her being there was not likely accounted for. More likely...they expected to catch me alone. The guard, the one posted by the corner. He attacked the group that had ambushed us, and then just as quickly, quite unexpectedly, he fled! I remember it, he fled and called the man 'my Liege!'...yes, I do remember it... 'Spare me my Liege'. The words were directed to the one that shot us, first me, then the Rookie and then the Baron, in that order. At least one of the Militia, already in his control. We have already been infiltrated.
I was the target. Why? That one was easy. I am the highest ranking female officer in the Militia. Close to the Commander, the highest ranking female, with access to almost everything he does. They thought I would crack, they presumed because I -am- female, I am automatically weak. They thought, I would bend and cry, and beg and plead, they presumed I would break and they would get usable information out of me before they made an example out of me for the rest of the women in the city. I would be set out there for all to see, to terrorize those who still seek to be free of the repression placed upon them. After I broke, after they had gleamed all the information they could from me, they would display me as a message to the rest. Unfortunately for them, they presumed far too much.
So, why my own home? Why take me there? Certainly it was a calculated risk, that no one would come look for clues in my house, and their gamble paid off in that respect. But no, there is something more to it. Something else, I am missing. But what? The fog roles around my mind, black, cold, cleansing and I take a deep breath far away and redouble my efforts to find the path through. Not...just..my home. Something else...what...else...???
Then it hits me. Why not my house? Where else? They could not use my neighbours house, it might actually be one of theirs! Or someone close to an enemy, or a friend! That's it! I DO know these men. I do! They are our street sweepers, and our bankers. They bake our bread and keep our horses. They tailor our clothing and deliver our milk to our doors. They protect us while we sleep, and fill our plates with food. They are just common men doing common jobs and every single one of them knows about me. They know about the Rookie, they already know where that girl lives. They already know who their next target is. They are already watching the Women who control too much, who take too many liberties against them. They have already chosen the next one to be made example of. They are simply waiting for the right time to set their plans in motion.
My eyes open and without fail I begin to put my thoughts to parchment, the materials to do so had been left here for me before I even arrived. The quill scratches over the page, flowing and continuous until I had it all down so it made sense. I retrieve the parchments upon the stone and rise, turning and moving down the corridor, my bare feet cold upon the damp floor. The heavy steel door opens before me and a tall, blank faced male looks at me. "prepare my things, and ready my horse, I will be leaving shortly" I announce, and to my surprise, he does as I bid him without question and I head to the familiar heavy wooden door, my thoughts in hand. He likely will not be the least bit surprised when I tell him I am going back.
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