Pain wrung throughout her frail body as she hit the stone ground, the smell of blood and mold, even rotting flesh, pungent in the air. She rested against the cold rock, dirt stained cheek pressed against the rough surface, eyes shut tight and her lashes, clumping together, resting against her skin. The mad cackling of others echoed in her ears, hollow and empty and it made her heart wrench in pity for them. What stood out the most to her though were the heavy footsteps of boots hitting against the floor and the cruel chattering of the guards, socializing between themselves. She listened as the door of the dungeon slammed shut, noisily ringing throughout the cells and as it sounded, she stood slowly to her feet, her bones protesting by causing sharp jolts of pain. She ignored them however and stood as straight as she could, stumbling forward a bit to collapse against the bars.

“Joseph?” she whispered, voice hoarse from the screams that had escaped her minutes before. There came no response, and she gripped the bars of the cell, hands loosely grasping the cold steel, knees pressing through, and her eyes frantically darted about looking for him. “Where are you, Joseph?” she cried, ignoring the continuing cackles of the others.

The door opened again, its hinges creaking noisily so that she could hear it. It clattered shut, thundering down the stairs into the cells, and he walked down the steps with the authority of a king, head held high, position straight, arms stiffly crossed as he examined the occupants of each cell, stopping only at the last one to stare at the frail almost sickly girl inside clinging desperately to the bars.

“Joseph! Why… why am I in here?” she asked, her voice rushed, a whisper, but it was clear in in his voice as he looked at the girl, studying her weak figure before he loosened, no longer being as rigid as he was before.

“Aida,” he acknowledged, reaching a hand to touch her face and frowned further as she leaned against it, eyes closing somewhat.

“Can you believe of what they’re accusing me to be?” she gasped suddenly, grabbing his hand between her smaller ones, pulling him close. Tears were filling her eyes.

“A witch, am I not correct?” the blond haired man muttered, and Aida swore she could hear just barely resent in his voice. She watched him longingly as he pulled away.

“Quite so! How ridiculous is that? Me? A witch? I can’t believe they’d say I am!” she prattled, though he sensed she knew something was wrong by how she seemed to trail of just a bit.

“I haven’t a clue, but if they accuse you of such treacheries, then it must be so,” he stated, raising his head somewhat and Aida knew it was with disgust. She looked away, bitter, finding it so very hard to think the man she had practically given herself too was agreeing with the monastery.

“You still love me at least, right?” she asked just suddenly, and realized how it all suddenly seemed quieter and how her voice seemed lost amidst it.

“Of course I do.”

She watched him leave, the silence harsh to her ears, and without really thinking, collapsed to her knees, head pressed in between the bars. The urge to cry faded, and the tears seemed to dry up and suddenly her throat felt hoarse, and suddenly she felt an emptiness inside and the most slightest of hurt. Was this what it felt like to be betrayed?

They dragged her out two hours later and tied her to a wooden stake, and all the while she stared at the man she (still) loved with empty brown eyes.

She looked up at the sky and allowed herself to go limp and pretend this was all a dream. As she felt the fire touch her feet, she opened her eyes again and looked sadly to Joseph. “Words means so little behind prison bars…”

But her own words were drowned out by the screams that soon filled the air.