Once I was left alone with my thoughts and nothing else, of course, I tried and failed to release myself from the restraints he’d placed on me. The locks weren’t overly large, but they were strong. I attempted to break them off by force, which was stupid in retrospect because it left me with little to show for it other than a bruise on my neck. When that didn’t work, I considered trying to cut through the leather collar but noted with frustration that Judge had taken care to remove any sharp instruments from my immediate surroundings and locked the closet before he left.

I tested the limits of my chain to see how far I could go, which, in the end, wasn’t that far. It allowed me enough length to reach both ends of the stables but no farther. I was well and truly trapped, and given that I’d already wasted a considerable amount of time trying to find a way out, I had no choice but to accept my fate. It was either clean up horse shit, or have my ass thrown in the cellar with no creature comforts at all.

It was a painful task dragging myself back into the stalls. The smell of urine was overwhelming, and it burned my nostrils as I worked. But worse was the fact that I had zero protection on my body. The straw chafed against my skin as I stepped over it, and replacing it with fresh bedding was no easy feat. My entire body was scratched and raw. On top of that, I had stepped in a pile of manure when I wasn’t paying attention, and I had slipped and fallen into the soiled bedding. So I was quite certain I smelled and looked disgusting.

It was truly awful, and I was really feeling sorry for myself until I remembered why I was here in the first place. That woman I had killed. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, this was probably the best alternative I could have hoped for. If I didn’t have the protection of The Society behind me, and my brother’s swift cleaning of that mess before anyone could find out, I could easily be sitting in The Tribunal’s prison for the rest of my life.

There are moments when I still wonder if it’s what I deserve. Those thoughts war with my justifications. The reminder that she tried to kill my brother. I want to believe she got what she deserved because it makes me feel better about what I’ve done, but it doesn’t bring me any peace. Nothing brings me peace.