The rain hadn't stopped since dawn. Normally, people would just hole up in their homes, trying to find anything that could give them warmth. Yet, the people came and swarmed the streets anyway. Huddled beneath soaked cloaks and umbrellas, they filled the square until there was barely space to breathe.
"You freaking witch!"
"Traitor! Go die!"
"Hang her with her cursed kind!"
Mud splashed as a stone struck the ground near Verona's bare feet. But she didn't flinch. Her pale toes pressed against the cold, slippery road as she kept walking. The clinking chains were barely audible against the thunder rolling somewhere far above them.
They'd dressed her in rough gray cloth that tore at the hem, showing her bruises here and there as she was led forward. Her dark hair, which usually neatly braided, was now all messy, dripping down her shoulders.
"Look at that disgusting witch," a woman spat from the crowd. "Vernhardt must be so embarrassed to have a disgrace like her."
Another voice followed. "She's lucky they're giving her a rope. I bet she can't wait to join her husband in hell."
Verona's lips parted slightly to take a deep breath. She didn't have the energy to talk back to those people. She stumbled once as the guard pushed her hard forward, and then took a step onto the platform.
When she looked up, she could see the rope scraped across the platform, swaying gently from the wooden beam.
Still, she said nothing.
The guard's captain yelled an order. "Bring the condemned forward!"
As she walked and got into position, her gaze drifted to the crowd, where though it was a blur, she saw her family.
The ever-honorable House-Backstab-Vernhardt.
And as much as she hated to admit it, her damn family.
Drian Vernhardt, her father, stood at the center with his shoulders squared and chin raised. The mighty patriach of Vernhardt with his great elemental fire. Their eyes met briefly, and there wasn't anger or sorrow in his gaze, just disdain.
Oh, the usual thing, nothing new.
Beside him, Gheo and Rheo, her two older brothers, stood tall, both wearing their family crest with pride, as though they hadn't handed their sister over to be executed. Her twin brother, Varon, was there too, his expression colder than she ever remembered.
And last but not least, Marien, her sweet-faced and soft-spoken sister, was weeping while clutching her shawl like it was the only thing that could hold her together.
Oh… please…
"Verona!" Marien cried out suddenly, and marched out from the crowd. The others didn't stop her, even made a way. Perhaps they thought her tears would serve as a nice addition of entertainment aside from her execution. "How could you?! I thought you'd change for the better! I thought you'd walk on the right path!"
Verona blinked at her. What kind of performance did she want to put on now?
Marien's lips quivered. "You sided with those things! Those monsters who wanted to destroy the Empire! You shamed Father, our family, everything!"
A bitter laugh slipped from Verona's throat. She screamed back, "You never needed my help to shame the family, Marien. You all managed that well enough without me, don't you think?"
The crowd started buzzing like bees hearing that. Someone hissed her name like a curse, but Verona didn't care.
She took back what she said. She suddenly had this energy and urge to say something, maybe because it was her family.
Her father stepped forward, his expression matching those carved stones. "Enough!" His voice rang loudly. "Verona Vernhardt, daughter of House Vernhardt, you're conspiring with the rebels and traitors of impure blood. You have brought disgrace to this Empire, to our name. I'm ashamed that you were ever born from my blood."
"Your blood?" Verona lifted her chin slightly. Her lips curved, slightly trembling. "Don't insult me. You never once treated me like your own blood. You were ashamed of me long before this, weren't you, Father?"
Her father's face tightened, but she didn't stop. She still had so many things to say.
"Do tell them, dear Father. Tell them how you looked right through me for years like I was a ghost. How your sons could do no wrong and how your only beloved daughter was Marien. Tell them how you only remember I exist when I make you and the family name look bad."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"You've lost your mind," he said sharply. "May the gods have mercy on whatever soul remains in you."
The guard tugged on the rope. Verona's wrists ached as she could feel the iron keep biting into her skin. She looked out across the crowd one last time. They blurred together into something that, for sure, was mocking her, but at the same time, also curious.
But there was one face she hoped to see though she knew it was so stupid of her.
Elric.
Her beloved husband.
Hell, even thinking about him and saying his name hurt.
She could see him as if he stood there beside her. His black hair clinging to his temple. A pair of purple eyes that always seemed to carry a lot of emotion. The faint curve of his mouth when he'd throw a joke during their brief, awkward breakfasts. His warm hand when he'd steadied her after she tripped.
"You don't have to fear me," he had said back then. "Not all beasts bite. But I can't help it if it's you."
And what did she do? She'd laughed coldly before turning away, too insecure to see the sincerity in his eyes.
Now, she was filled only with regret and a bunch of what-ifs.
Elric Aldenar, the fine young duke she'd refused to love, the brave man who had died branded as a monster when all he wanted was to fight for the rights of people like him.
Oh, how blind she had been. How cruel.
"Proceed," the guard's captain commanded.
The executioner stepped behind her. The rope brushed her neck, its rough fibers scraping her skin. The sound of the rope pulling tight hit her throat first.
She closed her eyes for a second. Rain ran down her cheeks, blending with tears she didn't even notice.
She thought she'd feel some sort of fear, but instead, there was this anger spreading through her. It was so strong she didn't have time to feel fear anymore.
Then she heard Marien scream again. "Sister! Please, repent before the gods!"
Verona's head tilted slightly. "The gods, huh?" she murmured. "Which gods blessed a father who sells his daughter, or brothers who turn their back when she bleeds?"
Thunder rumbled as if answering her.
A shiver coursed through the air. It was pretty subtle at first, but it got stronger.
"Hold the rope steady!"
Verona's pulse quickened as she felt something building inside her chest. It was hot and heavy, like all the world's anger had slipped under her skin.
A crack split the sky.
Lightning tore across the horizon, before followed by a violent wind. People screamed, pushing, tripping over one another.
But the executioner didn't flinch. He stood there like a statue waiting for his master to either release him or make him stay there like that forever.
"Cut her down!"
Then the rope tightened. The ground tilted, and Verona's body lifted with pain exploded through her neck. She gasped, her legs kicking weakly as raindrops burned against her skin. She could hear the earth groaning, the storm roaring, and people shrieking.
Then, through all those agonies, a voice.
"Oh, Verona. Poor child. Your power… awaken."
A light burst beneath her skin, so bright it hurt to see. Fire and water clashed around her while the ground cracked open.
Verona's vision blurred, and through that blinding light, she saw her family's faces filled with fear.
The voice came again, but more clearly this time.
"Don't be afraid, my chosen."
A hand reached out from the light. It was slender, glowing, and divine. Supposed to be an angel, so Verona reached for it.
Her body trembled, and her lungs burned.
"Elric…" she whispered, her voice breaking between the thunder and the crowd's roar. "Wait for me. I'm coming."
And the world went white.