As the day had lingered on, Ara simply sat in her cell in increasing agitation. She had begun to pace around the cell, her tail swishing and twitching. Her azure hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that was vying to free itself from its current position. The kingdom of Frankonia would hear of this. Well, they would think of her as good as dead anyway. Bretony looked better being a smouldering heap and burning down the last village hardly phased her. In fact, she swelled with pride thinking of the flames trickling up the sides of the thatch-roofed houses and her army rushing through the streets to cut down anyone in their way. Dark gray eyes peered up at what little light peeked through the cracks. She was probably going to be executed, but that... that was letting her off easy, she thought. If they wanted to actually punish her, they could at least exile her or throw her with the slaves and let them lynch her. A few other soldiers under her command had been captured as well, and they were already shaking their cell doors and crying out to whatever gods would hear them. There was no need for her.
It wasn't like they were doing it out of spite. Maybe the king was, but she was merely following orders. It was a shame her linage didn't grant her some sort of ability to break through stone or at least burn her way out. Her father had passed down the trait of ice and the immunity with it. She couldn't just freeze her way through, but the best she could do to escape was make a few guards a block of ice and keep them there. It was better to just impatiently await what fate was in store for her. Finally, she sat in furthest away from the cell door with her back to it, her peach colored wings shielding her.
A few jeers from the prisoners had no effect on her turning around or glancing up. She heard all the names and curses that came her way; it wasn't the first time the Bretonians blamed her for everything. If only they would shut up...
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