“So, Traitor, what do you say? Confess? Or die?” The executioner stared intently at my scrunched-up eyes and bloody face. That was their game: they threatened to kill your self-respect, and even if you said yes, they’d just plain kill you anyway. Some game. I refused to play.
I rose from my half kneel in front of him, pulling my feet back under me, straightened up, and stared squarely back into his face.
“You’re going to kill me one way or another. If I’m dying, I’ll die as myself.”
“Oh, but we’re not going to kill you,” sneered Shadela as she strode in front of me, wearing an elegant evening party dress, shimmering red. “They are.”
I heard the roar of the crowd rise again from ebb to tidal wave as the speaker called them out to face their enemy.
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