(1310-06-17) Ding Dong
Summary: Desarae writes of Naimah's trial and execution in her journal.
RL Date: June 18th, 2018
Related: All logs and memoirs relating to the Bloodshed at Béziers plot.
desarae 

June 17th, 1310 - Marquise de Chavaise Suite - Ducal Palace


The trial of the Bhodistani Witch was today.

She was judged guilty for every sin that she perpetrated against both my family and the people of of Béziers. I sat beside my father during the proceedings, and he held my hand throughout. When sentence was passed, I rose quickly to my feet, the black wings of the Morhban Raven beating so strong in my chest that I thought it would burst right through and take flight. When everything that you know and love is taken from you so harshly — all you can think about is anger, hatred, and revenge — and no one can save you but you. I petitioned my Aunt there and then to be allowed the honor of carrying the sentence out.

It was just two hours later on a podium in the Grand Plaza with the witch kneeling in chains before me, that I was handed the broadsword of the Executioner. He explained in detail how I should hold it and how I should swing it. It was heavy and unwieldy in my hands. I cannot confess to being sorry that I had not the strength nor aim to take her head cleanly. It took several ill-aimed blows before I severed it completely from her neck. It rolled but a little way from her body, and I could see her lips still moving for a few moments while the blood pumped outward from her body and her head. I quickly leaned down and picked it up, her eyes still open and aware as they looked at me. I willed the bile back down my throat and forced myself to look into those eyes for the few moments before awareness dimmed from them. I wanted to be the last thing she saw. I wanted her to see the hatred that burned in me. Within seconds she had slipped away, her blood running thickly between my fingers, under my nails, and down my forearms, staining them brightly.

It wasn't until I was back in my suite and away from questioning eyes that the earth swam away from my feet and I fell to my knees. My maids peeled my bloodied clothes from me and settled me in a copper tub before the fire in my bedchamber, and I cried as they sponged me free of the stain of her.

I cried for Anais. For Javier, Genevieve and Gabriel. I cried for my mother and my father, and for what they had to witness in the courtyard of Castle Chavaise.

I did not cry for me.

The witch is dead. I will cry no more.

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