The sun rises in hues of pink, purple, blue, white clouds scattering as dawn breaks through the night. Merchants set up their shop, domestics hurry through the streets, the early riser bard tunes his citole to the birds’ song.

Life goes on.

It’s morning.

MERCENARY #1, outside

I can’t believe we’re finally going home today.

How long has it been?

MERCENARY #2

Depends on when you were hired.

‘Been 5 years for me.

MERCENARY #1

Dude! You’ve been running after her for so long!

I hope the pay is good.

MERCENARY #2

Better be, or he is gonna end up just like her.

Don’t care what he says, she was a pain to track down.

Better throw some more gold for the trouble.

She bows her head. Dying for thievery, dying for a lover. Wishing for a savior that will never come. Her fate is sealed. Today she dies.

She hopes, deep down, for her lost companions to find their way here. Cut her chains and help her flee. She dreams of strong arms holding her tight, her legs too weak to even properly stand up.

The breeze is cold, humid. It grazes the wet floor of the tiny cell, escapes through the narrow window, too small for her arm to fit through. She sighs. This is not how she imagined her last day would be, rotting in jail awaiting her execution.

They said it would be public, for all to witness her end. And maybe it’s for the best, after all, she always lived in the dark. Feeling the sun on her skin one last time is a pleasant idea. Being known to the world as the last of her kind alive, until she is not, be the center of attention – it could be nice.

She closes her eyes. Her heart beats slowly in her chest, with no ounce of fear or stress. It knows, too, there’s no need to worry. From the day she entered that palace to the second she jumped out of that window, a pearl necklace in hands, there was an expiration date, so very close, to her existence.

Yet, she always dreamt of a sweeter end. A cottage by the sea, or lost in the mountain. No mercenaries on her toes, no Lord to flee. Maybe some agreeable company that she imagines in the shape of broad shoulders and short brown hair. A cat, perhaps, lying atop a hammock in the arms of children. Oh, how wonderful it would be.

Keys jingles in the distance. Bells ring. Someone announces the events of the day in the distance.

It’s morning.

Life goes on.