The scarlet skies stained by the crimson moon that hung in the heavens as a reminder they would never feel the sweet warmth of the sun, shone upon Colton's roofless sedan chair of gold veined with black.
Four men scarred from the touch of whips and fire, carried him through the gathered slaves in the snow-covered courtyard. Strelitzia watched with a hatred that grew each morning and every night she lay her head on the cold stoned floor of her prison.
All the other slaves cheered in fear for the very man that stripped their humanity, leaving them as mindless puppets to dance upon his strings with each bark of a command. But not her. She wouldn't dance in joy or worship a depraved man that didn't burn the dead he left behind, but fed them to the pigs for them to shit out.
