"Resting her crown on the fleeting mattresses of luxury was almost as reclining upon the wavering surface of the sea and drowning into its seething depths of vagrancy:
Life is the Bivouac, where no settlement is eternal."
~
The Underground Oubliette of slavery,
Northern Faction,
Kingdom of Hyll-Decanta,
Night without moon,
The first Thursnight of the Second month,
Fiftieth Year of the Reign of Adon-Vericus IV
The chill, darkness of the cell stood no chance to the hearts of the selfish.
Coils of burgundy hair spilt over her forehead as Mercedes looked down. The single swaying flame of the lone and melting candle reflected in the fair-blue eyes of the damsel whose fingers gently gripped the hems of a parchment.
"Unforgivable."
