A prompt/writing entry a day |
Snow filled her footprints, no trail left behind. Mattered not, for no one would care enough to follow. Wearing only her black widow's weeds, she walked away from all that had transpired. She brought nothing with her although she'd left nothing behind. There was nothing there for her now; no family, no loving man, nay not even a home for it was lost to her even as much as he was as they dragged him away. He had done nothing but no one listened. They wouldn't listen to her at any rate. No matter he was innocent of any crime except being in the wrong place at the wrong time and hearing words that should never have been said. He had no power, no recourse against those in charge. Lord Abernathy, actually his chosen few, held everything in their bloodstained hands: villager's lives counted for nothing beyond which they could plant or gather to feed the table of the mighty. She never looked back. Only ahead and the next village where she would try, again, to fit in. Perhaps another man would care for her, but she was used to being alone. As the snow, once more began to fall, as flakes layered upon her cloak, she smiled a small, cold smile. She couldn't overwhelm their strength nor stop the hangman's rope but she carried with her a secret that would destroy them. 244 words |