Dacian sat in the small cell, head in his arms and back pressed against the wall. Today was the day he was supposed to be executed for witchcraft. In just a few hours, he would be shackled to a pyre and burned at the stake. Or so they'd try. He didn't burn easy.
His clothes were stained, his hair a mess. Dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. To put it bluntly, he looked awful, blood and dirt staining his clothes. He was shaking, clearly malnourished. He swallowed, slowly lifting his head and moving to the bucket of water in the cell with him. He reaches in, moving his hands to his mouth to drink the water.
Footsteps could be heard, and he quickly lifted his head to look out the cell, drying his face, his eyes narrowing as a shadowy figure stood there. He says nothing for a moment. Something was off about this figure. "You are no ghost. What are you, creature?" His voice was raspy and pained.
@sebaelis
