Child of the golden stars, how do you plead?
He peers around the ornate room, the heavy weight of a golden medallion on his chest as he breathes. He expects dust and ash falling to the ground, the laughter of someone he loves in his ears, but there is only silence where he stands. He does not have much to offer, but still, he raises a tattered dream with small, thin hands up to skies. Words spring from his lips, his hands unable to stifle the harrowing words: ■■■■■■
Child of the desolate sands, how do you plead?
There are faceless people around them, dripping red, red into the stands. The one before him raises his arms in surrender, letting cold shackles form around his wrists and tightening around his neck. A placid smile that looks eerie and wrong plastered on his face as he raises his chin up. The same echo in his voice as he answers: ■■■■■■
Child of the impious idols, how do you plead?
The silk that wraps so snugly around him feels like the cruel grip of a trap, a spider's web in which he thrashes. Hollow eyes scream and weep without tears as he brings himself to smile, a lie on his lips. He can feel the dread creeping in, the voice of death in his ears. He offers himself up, splaying out his hands as he welcomes all to peck and tear pieces from his shattered self. His truth is already blatant on his lips: ■■■■■■
Child of a fallen star, how do you plead?
Confessions of blood and pain spill from cracked lips, an empty gaze that stares through him as tears fall unbidden from their eyes. Palms upturned, waiting a blow that will punish them further, blackened skin on their neck, and they can not breathe. They speak, and they speak until their voice is raw and their throat is bleeding. Scorching sunflares on their skin, embers burning their bones, and smoke clogging their lungs. They gaze up at the face of their goddess, a gaze that closes upon them thrice over. They are a wretched thing, yet they are cradled ever so gently in the palm of the one who presses a blessing into their soul.
"Guilty."