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TW- Sexual assault and gore.
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The sound of drops hitting the cold stone flooring gave Ivy an ominous feeling as she sat in the cell, knowing it could be one of many things. Water, blood, rum, or semen dripping from the governors latest victim. Or maybe even saliva dripping from the clacking jaws of the hound by the door.
Her days were limited, she was well aware of it. She could only pretend not to understand them or be a mute for so long until eventually they got a translator for the language she'd claimed to speak. Well, she did speak it. Just not as a native.
Her eyes drooped, she hadn't had genuine sleep in a long while.
She heard the large oak door be pushed open, and three sets of steps began traversing the dark halls of the dungeon. She pressed herself against the wall even more, dipping her tan skin into the shadows. They stop at the cell right in front of hers, and Ivy sees the richly fat man this county calls a Governor stand there poised with his hands folded behind his back. He brought the stench of piss with him.
She recoiled against the wall even more.
"Where's the other foreigner?" He speaks in thick Latin.
It made Ivy disgusted to think that a man of her kind was so sick.
"In the cell behind you sir. However, I advise you not to touch her until we can get the Roman information from her." The guard answered him.
"Very well." He said before opening the other cell and approaching the Saxon woman inside.
Ivy nearly threw up as he began to undress as the guards cuffed the woman to the iron bars of the cell. She began to cry, aware of what was happening. Ivy buried her head with the dirty blanket made of rags she was gifted and bit into her arm to hide her sobs.
None of them deserved this place.
-
It was another two days until the translator arrived in a run down wagon, the horse pulling it looked ready for the earth to swallow him whole. Ivy realized this would likely be the day of her downfall, her death even.
The guards would feed her better food, trying to sugar coat the way she and others have been treated by the governor. She accepted it, knowing a majority of them were actually good men.
At least she'd die with a full stomach.
But, how did she get here? In this cell?
Simple, really. She'd killed a King.
The King of Rome, actually.
She was only twenty-seven, but she was proud of how she'd be dying. She'd be returning to her King's side. The rightful king of Rome; Remus.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
