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[Lysan Lurraxol]

A Saving Of Hemp

Too late to hope. Beyond absolution and redemption I stand. She walked slowly, the gallows looming overhead. As they did yesterday, and today, and all of my tomorrows.

They held her tight, marching faster, carrying her with them. Onward and upward. Wooden stairs creaking, cold wind sweeping around her, carrying the last of her fear. I shall show them how a Queen dies. She won't fall, not now. Her head held high, sweetly drowning herself in the silence inside of her. All eyes were on her. How they love me. Her eyes also. How they hate her. She fears me still; even now. The dawn was upon them. I shall be saved.

Hooded head nodded at her. He was almost gentle as he slid the rope around her neck. I am still their Queen. The hemp was not as rough as that which bound her. The mob watched in angry, sullen silence. They hate her, they must. The rope tightened. Her neck livid. And on her shaking throne her hands were white. She fears me, she must.

Her uncles watched blind from spikes of iron, her love from his not-yet-cold grave. She would rise, she must.
She felt her feet lift. The hemp constrained. All her once sweet decadence fell from her, as she ascended. Before her eyes angels of purple and yellow danced. Come to take me home.

The pretender was on the edge, her ivory throne trembling, around her the crowd pale with fury. Higher and higher, her life departing, replaced with dreams. She gasped with delight. A door opened, one foot forward, first her left and then her right behind it. The pale dawn's light upon her. She saw tears before her. Escape and tomorrow. So tight. So close. Beautiful. Final.
And then she dropped, she fell. And she rose. And she flew.