So there I was. At the brink of death, destined never to see light again.
When I'd ever had to think of them, I'd always imagined the temple dungeons as dark and the guards as cruel. There were no guards as those who were held in there had no prospect to flee but the priests were cruel. And unfortunately they knew me full well.
“My, my, whom do we have here?,” the high priestess had asked when they’d brought me. “If that isn’t my creator’s highly esteemed breeding slave.”
And she'd smiled when they’d left me in the cell.
Since then, she’s been the only one to look after me. Brought water. Asked me how I was.
Guess she just wanted to be prepared when she’d walk in someday and find my dead body. The prospect shook me, not because of fear but rather the certainty that she’d actually enjoy that sight.
Though I was afraid. Very much, to be honest.
I’d always feared death. In the tribe where I’d been born, they'd taught that fear to each boy even before he’d learn to walk. You don’t shove aside that easily what's been drummed into your mind and conscience since earliest childhood.
However, there were others. They turned up unexpectedly, mostly in small groups. They gaped at me, showed their disgust, scorn or fewer their pity. And they didn't care whether the abhorrent stories they told about the reason of my sentence were true or not if only they made for a nice moment of shock.
Never in my whole life had I been that ashamed to hear of things I had not done. But only some days later, their reproaches had become so real that I almost believed in them myself, just because they did. All that shame...
Yet some others really had reason to be there.
To stare at me with hatred.
To yell in anger and humiliation.
But for all that, the king of Dekanos was the only one who didn't swear at me, who didn't tell lies, who never raised his voice for a sole word.
He didn't have to anyway. His presence alone made me tremble.
To expose anybody- I'd never wanted that, especially not a king. They were far too mighty and vengeful to be rivaled. I'd just been so sure that I'd love my queen enough til it was too late. And I still did.
Then the day arrived when I finally got that the goddess wouldn’t claim my soul so soon. Not that I was in a hurry. Afterlife didn't hold many pleasures in store for a culpable slave.
How long would this last on? Ten days, twenty? Even longer? The only thing I knew was that allowing me to drink was but another cruelty because it prolonged my life. But as often as I was resolved not to touch the liquid something held me back from making sure. So day after day, I ended up drinking the water against better judgment. Of course.
I couldn’t even figure out whether I was more afraid of dying or of waiting for death. It changed all too often depending on my mood. Slowly but surely the constant dimness, the warm humidity of my prison and the solitude drove me mad.
In times like those, when my sense of time had already got lost long ago and hunger had taken form of racking pains, thoughts used to come over me of what I could’ve had.
Of the people that I’d called my friends and had been forced to leave.
At some point I gave up to care about in which state they saw me or what they called me.
There was nothing any more I hadn't heard yet. And they were justified in their hatred after all.
But as much as I’d secretly feared the moment when I’d be forced to face my former queen, as much as I hoped she wouldn’t show up; when I saw her face I knew for sure I'd broken her heart.
And if anything else didn't, this certainty would kill me.
Poses by joannebernice, WyattsSims, beverlyallitsims, flowerxsims and orangemittens
Lot by fabtiffsims