My head fell heavy against cobble, sinking stones into my cheek spritzing blood from jaw to neck.

“Mush, ya crook! o’ sharp yar legs lest I rend em frum yar height!”

He let his whip fly loose against my heels, kipping me back into motion. I attempted a commune with the prison master.

“Aye sir, on mush sir! Sharp I will sir!”

So I moved in line, clinking chains against my ankles, and their ankles, and their ankles. They had us strung like barbeque before the grill. By our wrists as well, and the necks too! Each segment of chain clad with the sharpest metal, but kept just loose enough such that we could fall on the uneven ground. They left just enough room for us to fail in their eyes. Just enough to give themselves an excuse.

“Ohh by Grevenmore! Save the lot Dear Grevenmore! Ohhhh by Grevenmore!”

a priest stood high on a wooden podium chanting for us, bargaining for our souls with the uncaring Grevenmore. His robes draped long and many attempted to raise their heights as to touch his holy cloth. If able, perhaps they would be spared their time!

“Bless me!”

“NAY NAY ME!”

“Myself father! Ive children!”

They all jumped but had their fingers snapped at the end of rods and whips from prison masters.

“Blessed ye are!”

“Lucky ye are!”

They screamed back, they screamed! Ending the final hopes of us walking through the columns. Bars of steel stretching wide over even our tallestest head. Narrowing with a width of no more than three of our smallest. The masters stood on platforms beating down. Whips were the heartiest pain, but each tool of theirs worked well enough. Not one of us wasn't covered in sloshes of our own blood. That flavor, iron on our tongues, would be the last we’d ever taste.

I passed under the father priest myself, but I refused to jump. If only I dawned the robes of honesty as had the priest! Then my guilt would be reclaimed for holiness! Instead, I walk through the columns in chains, blood on my tongue. Stinging tears attempting in vain to blind me of my fate. I held them back, I wanted to see.

And so I did.

An even row of flat dull teeth rested open, a head tilted backwards. A pair of tunnels stretching into flesh thick red blood seeping into and around the mouth. The tongue, dark and infested with rats, squirming writhing underneath the buds, extended in a bridge. We walked.

As was the guillotine of Grevermore

CONCLUDES, PART 1 OF 4