When a blindfolded woman walked to the middle plaza, the men grabbed her arms tightly and jeers broke out at her dishevelled sight. Lips with a nay a sip of water for days , stretched taut, in harmony with the anxious anticipation hanging in the air.

Bloodshot eyes followed her every step.

They surrounded her without a word.

Watching her so she wouldn't escape.

It was so gratifying that she wasn't dragged like an animal but hoisted instead.

The people in the back, men and women, young and old, stared at her with undisguised contempt. Curses spilled from their mouths, each word sharper than the last.

Around her or those closer than others leaned forward, eyes glinting with something darker than contempt. At last, someone started showering her with cows' dung , starting something.

Rotten fruit and stones flew from unseen hands, thudding against her body causing her each step to bruise her feet further, leaving them swollen and blue, the skin scraped raw and bloody, barely recognizable as human. Behind her a trail of blood. It was ghastly sight but not for the crowd.

Especially for the woman, no better than 12 years of age.

The crowd slowed for a moment, then paused entirely. She was lifted onto a platform, her thin, faded dress whipping in the wind. A gust of air lifted the hem like a ghost. Fluttering it high, for people to see underneath. Even as some eyes audaciously leered, she remained silent, unmoving, as the world waited for her to crumble.

Unfortunately for them, her spirit refused to crack.

Her clothes may have hung loosely and her hair may have been clumped with filth, but they could not conceal her porcelain skin and her hair the symbol of a noble family.

Her ethereal visage respected and revered, now an image ridiculed by the masses.

Such is life.

"Silence!"

The compelling voice parted the sea of noise to stillness. It's authority impeding the outrage from escalating farther.

Their tongues curled and lips zipped, their gaze fixed on a dashing young man dressed in splendid garments and showered with gold. Each footfall is thunderous and a rhythmic clackin was heard, his back is straight, and his posture is correct. One you'd see in someone who've trained for years.

"May the sun eternally shine upon our Empire,

May the stars guide us with wisdom,

The Holy Empire blaze in glory forevermore."

The commoners slipped to their knees to greet their crown prince. The nobles simply bowed in greeting, as did the knights.

Except.

Except for two.

The executioners attempted to assist them, but it just led to further mayhem. Without a sound, the woman tried to get rid of the men who were still holding her. Men who had the audacity to touch her, she thought.

She refused to concede without struggle.

At this point, The prince stood next to the convicted felon, their faces barely inches apart. Maybe the girl felt it, because she instantly calmed down. A sneer upon her delicate lips, still looking soft but if you look close enough. It was already cracked and dry.

The men eventually pinned her in place. However, her head raised high and her stern gaze masked behind the blindfolds indicate otherwise. She turned abruptly to face, that familiar breathing and spat!

Spitefully and accurately, at that same hatred-filled gaze.