I would like that I fight back the urge to cringe at my lie.

I dont want to be taken care of, especially by those who did the opposite to my family. I dont show this.

Are you hungry? The offer was kindly meant but I feel sick to my stomach.

I look down and mildly shake my head.

He does not say anything for a moment, but does seem to see something in my action. Do you want anything?

I look up again, and this time, I hate it. I hate him. I hate my life. I hate everything that has made it to this point. How am I supposed to accept him? He is cruel to be kind. They were monstrous when mean. I want to yell at him to stop. Make him stop. All I do though is shake my head and turn away to his room.

When I am safely inside, I let the tears come. I let the fear come. I let the anger come. I think of nothing and everything. I am alone. I am alone and there is nothing I can do about it. I cant hear myself, or anyone else. I didnt want this or any part of it. Why am I here? Why has it happened so fast? What am I asking myself? What is the point of this?

I cant calm myself for the next several minutes and remain standing, shaking, and unsure of what to do. I dont know how time passes, but I wake up again the next morning. I wake up and feel hollow. I wake up and feel soulless. I wake up and feel like even individuality has left me.

Chapter 13.

I make my way unhurriedly down the cobblestone street, bracing myself against the fog and trying to find something for distraction. I do not hurry. I know that before me lies time and behind me lies my past; neither of which I wish to be habituated with.

I stop at a fruit stand and let my eyes wander over the pomegranates, bright red in the dreary environment. Feeling watched though, I keep walking on, towards a further stand without any intention.

It seems that all grains are still out, and meat gone as well. The butcher is missing from his stand, and only a few small close-shore fish are at the sea stand. Nothing is precisely flourishing. This should not surprise me, but I suppose being in the household of a Spanish soldier, you are blocked from the truth for others.

I see a few children with the fruit trader to my left, and dont know how I could look on a child again without seeing Meyleias petrified face in my mind. I have stopped in the middle of the stands and have no real want or need to move. If I was not obligated with being watched I wouldnt. Nadeje follows me, keeping at a distance behind. I know of only one thing which I could strategize to lose him, but I am gripped with the guilt and anger at the guilt so that I couldnt perform it on my own. I dreamed of it last night and I know it is possible. I could there pay debt to moeder and Meyleia, maybe I could end this for good.

I know he thinks I need to be outside, maybe he thinks I want to just stay outside in the market to leave the house, but that is only half of the truth. I want to leave him too, leave the market, and leave the street. The one sanctuary, the one place I wish to go to is only one, one which I can barely bring to mind myself.

I tighten my hands into fists and hesitate. Could I escape the market? Could I make it there? Was I ever fast at running? Not too well, but it could do. Would I know the way? Yes. I could sense my way after hearing so many unfortunate souls who were brought there from their homes. I feel like I am wronging too many. Would it be a sin? No. Dangerous? Yes. Could I succeed? I stand here, unconvinced of my own plan. Am I strong enough?

I glance over my shoulder and find that Nadeje has been distracted with the children who are begging upset stands. I am thankful to the cause. I watch long enough to glance him drop several copper coins onto one of the stands and hear them still conversing. Before I cant, I turn away. Did he just do what I believe he has? I think of the coins and the sound of them clinking through the market. Could I be in the wrong? Should I stop?

I move on, quickening my steps as I get farther. I head straight and around a slight bend and sharply turn into a dark alley and hurry to the opposite end. I then go left, into a quiet empty street. Hoping I am not in private property I hurry past some homes and turn out of the street. I turn again into another alley which bends and meets up, farther off, against the eastern wall. I know here it is tricky if I encounter anybody, for there would be nowhere to run and no one to call too for help.

I am circling the city the more steps I take. I turn left and find another darker street, and quickly make my way into the outskirts of the businesses. I walk on through the route and finally find another alleyway. This one leads me out into a small square, where I hesitate only a moment, then continue forward to a framed entryway leading to where I wish to be most.

I look around me and see no one. I am alone. I look back to the egress and look at the sign hanging from a chain hooked across the entrance. The sign reads two words, and these two are all I need for the cold to finally reach me.

Hanging Gallows.

I breathe breathlessly in a soft manner, trying to remain quiet in case there is someone near. I hesitate. Should I? The sounds of water dripping onto cobblestone echo in my head. I look once more for any danger. No one.

I shakily step forward, making my way through and ducking under the chained sign. I am inside. I glance back and see the cobwebs and dust on the back of the sign. Since the siege there werent many hangings, all were too busy trying to save the city to concentrate on an occasional criminal. I dismiss it and turn back to my path. I ignore it as I hint the smell of mold across the walls and continue to step down the route. The passage has stone walls and was built evidently for the usage of a few to enter at a time, looking from the size of its girth. I had never been inside before now. Moeder would not let me.

It is dark and the torches above carry no flames, this contributing no doubt to the chilly air. The atmosphere is getting slowly denser, and I cannot help but notice the stale smell of odor becoming more potent. I continue on. I walk for at least a minute until I reach another archway leading out of the tunnel-like route. I stop a moment to listen to what is around me. Once more there is nothing to worry for. I embrace what now lies ahead and move on.

The moment I enter the large open room, I smell it before I know I am there. The aroma is thick with mud and a drafty sort of dust appears to carry the waft of mildew. The room feels like a prison, but without bars which you could look through. You see nothing but everything. The walls are sealed tight despite their cracked stone fittings, and the floor is swept with dust and cobblestone. Embedded in some of the rocks on the wall are scratches as though for marking dates. Lining the walls are occasional torches, which seem to have been of more use to people than the ones in the passage. Somehow despite the stillness of being in a closed in space the temperature drops. So does my ability to breathe in the fragrance of this place. My eyes gravitate towards the center of the room, but as my gaze finds the occupation there, I find I have less want of this place.

I watch as it sits there, the very damnation of this room. The ropes and splintering wood beams all making up the horror picture. My heart beats uncomfortably as I can think of nothing but the poor souls, who were here once, could be here still, if they had not been taken. I am lost as I try to find any rationality in using such a machine, how society takes any pride in such treatment to their fellow people.

I swallow hard.

This is truly one of mans death mechanisms.

Then, I notice some other still shapes lying in the far off shadows. I am stopped. No. It cant be that they wouldbut it is. My breath is caught and I stand frozen, chills run down my legs and I grow faint. How? How could they actuallyis it humane? I feel sick. I knew I would see this. I had wanted to see something of death, but dreaming evidently is much easier than seeing. I briefly scan over the figures, searching for what I beg not to find. Please. Please God in your grace grant me this one thing if nothing else...please.

I want to look away, more than anything I want to ignore it and run from this place. To leave for good. My eyes continue to search as though it is survival. I am torn between knowing the truth and protecting my innocence. Evidently I am taking truth over wellbeing. I try to breathe, but it is harder now than ever. My lungs feel collapsed and my stomach is upset. I need fresh air but there is no will in me to move from my spot unless I am delivered the motivation to make myself move.

I grow impatient. I feel my eyes sting and feel my throat closing up. I want to cry out, scream, sob, fight, and yell, even though I know there is none here to hear me except the dead, and none here to feel my blows but myself. I battle with myself to remain calm, but in about 30 seconds I have lost that battle. My heart falters and vision blurs, I feel nothing but grief, guilt, ruin, depressionbut these start to fade.

I grow cold and fear my mind as it grasps at the sore spots in my heart where I keep moeder and Meyleia. I realize how quiet it is for the first time and it scares me more than the sounds of armed forces would. The worry grows as I think of Nadeje, and how more than anything I wish he wasnt away from me too. I scare myself. My tears grow to an unstopping point as I try not to admit it.

I am alone.

I cant remember how long I have been here. I am lost, alone, scared and want to leave. I want to go. I feel haunted. I cant possibly move. I cry. All I can do is cry. What if men find me? Will I be hanged? Would I be taken away? Killed? Be thrown in that bloody pile as those were before me? Only three words come to mind in description of my pain; paralyzed, shocked, and frightened. I am too involved with the thoughts spinning around in my head to process the sounds of boots hitting the cobblestone ground. My body feels tense and cold. I cant feel or sense anything. I want to curl up and hide, like a child, fearful of the most harmless things.

Then, I feel it. There is a gentle sensation and touch against my hand. It is warm and no more than a light presence, but ever so softly Nadeje moves me to him. In moments I am shielded from all the cruelty and ghosts of the room. All I can see is his shirt. I let it happen, not knowing what else to do. He is warm and undeniably comfortable. I almost immediately let my sobs unfold and feel no resistance towards the salty tears which I cry.

I can think of nothing, only the tears which pour down my face can dwell in my mind in this moment. All I can feel is guilt and shame, grief and fear, from what I am now aware of to be in this city. I feel loss for moeder and Meyleia and for all the souls who departed here. I cry out all I held inside, releasing what I have been burdened by for so long. I let it out; all of it.

I half feel Nadeje against me, half feel only the clearing pain inside. I lightly grip him and try to breathe deeply once. The breath catches in my chest and I exhale quietly, trying not to choke on the air.

Then all I feel is nothing. I dive deep within myself in search of further pain but find no more. I let the last of my tears leak down my cheeks and breathe slowly, regaining control. I then let a few silent drops fall as it ends. I smell no blood. All I smell isI open my eyes a little to find the fabric of Nadejes shirt. I close them again and I feel myself slowly wake up to the present circumstance. I feel suddenly fearful, not of Nadeje, but of myself. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I realize this is the longest I have been held by anyone since childhood. I cant think of anything straightlyapart from him.

I unsurely move my hand a little up and curse myself as I falter at the rise and fall of his build. This isnt allowed. I never have gone against law. I had reason. It is not suitable enough for others to judge though. The chance to let them judge it is also unsuitable and precarious. I feel shaky, but I remain only a moment longer.

I unsurely press my hand to his chest in request of him to move for my release. I slowly raise my face from his chest and look up. His eyes watch me, reading mine and my expression.

Are you finished? His voice is gentle, warm and sincere.

I shy a little and can only manage a nod, even though I dont feel I could ever be done.

He slowly releases me, and I wipe away the drying tears which still rest on my face. He moves only enough away so that it is not uncomfortable and I am thankful. He waits a moment as though to see if I am alright, and giving me space he steps ahead to the passage. When not too close and not too far from my place he stops and turns back for me.

I glance at the dead bodies still lying there once more. The uneasiness returns from the gore and unpleasant sight. I wish to leave. He lets me come a few steps of him and then turns and leads me as before, only it feels less rigid. I keep my distance as earlier, though no longer mind being within reach of him. He leads me in silence down the route and I am left to wander through my own thoughts. I try to avoid the thoughts of what I just saw and wish to see what I feel better with.

Nadeje walks slowly, and I cant help but watch him as well as where I step. I shiver and try to not act like a child. I cant seem to think exactly of what happened or where I had just been by my own choice, or of whom I had been saved by not my choice.

We make our steps quieter on the cobblestone as we near the egress to the city streets; us seemly knowing the risk of night watchers. We are almost there, when he stops and turns to face me. His face is shrouded with shadows, but the features I looked up to from his hold are unchanged.

Why did you choose to come here? His voice is soft and undemanding.

I watch him a brief moment, not sure of how to respond. II thought I could handle it. I just never thought it to be asnever expected it as I pause, not sure how to end.

He amends it. As it was.

I look him in the eyes. That much cruelty...

He watches me. Any killing is cruelty, Ms. Thimlet, he responds calmly.

I look down. I agree, but this wassomehowmuch more so.

He watches me. Lyra, I hear the gentility in his voice. There is only so much the world can hold of goodness.

I look up at him and he waits a moment. He turns again and starts off. I swallow thinking of his words and the informal way of him calling me by that name. I wait, but knowing my surroundings are unsafe, I follow.

Chapter 14.

It takes us a little longer to reach the market than I remember my travel to the Gallows, and this is appealing because I know I had hurried there. I feel the verge of a headache closing in and decide against listening to the shops closing up along the road and instead pay attention to our footsteps. When I find that also too strenuously repetitive for my head, I look up to the houses and air.

The sky is a pale blue beyond the grey clouds. The suns light has dimmed through them, making it so that it is more of a charcoal grey than a lighter atmosphere.

Finally, we are outside his house. He leads me to the front door and unlocks the bolt. I am unused to this way of entering (it is safer to get me out unnoticed using the back way along the wall) but I am grateful for this door, so that we did not have to enter in the dark of the alleys shadows. He lets me enter first, then follows and locks it once again.

Once he has turned, it only takes a brief catch of his eyes lifting to me to get me shy again. I turn to the room where I can rest and go silently through the kitchen. I quicken and hope I do not look as though I am trying to get away. The flutters in my stomach return.

Ms. Thimlet, his voice is once more soft, but bearable.

I stop and am forced to turn out of politeness. I face him only partly, and do not raise my head all the way.

Are you in lack of anything I could get you before you sleep?

I look up to him, my mind spinning with no set thoughts. I push away the fear rising inside me. No, nothing.

He looks unconvinced, but seems to agree for my sake. Goodnight.

I turn and step to the door and put my hands to the knob when I stop. I hesitate, but turn my head towards my shoulder. Mr. Gilch.

He looks up from moving and stands still.

I feel my chest tighten but hold my ground. Thank you.

It comes out to soft, to brief, to barely, but it lingers. I know he hears me. I step into the room and dont look back as I close and lock the door.

I awaken the next day sore and yet better after my trip from yesterday. I dress in a slow fashion and ready myself for todays endeavors. I pause a few moments by the window to look out on all the sights of the street. It is mostly empty, most probably at home or contributing to the protection of the wall. I turn away and go out through the door.

Nadeje is out of sight but eggs and porridge cook steaming on the stove fire. I find silverware, plates, and bowls set on the table and mean to look for something to be useful at, but not a moment later Nadeje enters through the opposite entryway. He takes care to lift the oatmeal from the fire and sets it upon a few layers of heat-sustainable linen and then does the same with the eggs. Once he has stood straight he turns and sees me.

His eyes are unreadable, but his voice is as common kind. Did you sleep well?

I nod lightly. It was warm in your bed, realizing how odd this sounded I continue. It was cold outside thoughbut it was comfortable to sleep there He watches me.

I feel entirely impulsive. You slept welltoo?

He picks up a ladle and begins to stir the porridge. Well enough, he stops and turns to the cabinets and takes a pear from the fruit bowl.

I watch him a moment, wondering over the thoughts I had yesterday. Before I lose the courage, or think I am hearing Moeder scream in my ears again, I allow the words to come out of me. What do you believe in?

He turns and regards me unhurriedly, looking almost uncertain. I do not understand you.

I clear my brain and try to stop my voice from trembling. I meant what is your religion? Or faithyou believe in God dont you?

He turns to the stove a moment then back around.

I believe in a force that is like God. It doesnt have a name, but it is there and present at all times, ready to serve and take. Like a creator. I suppose I believe in the spirit, not the Holy Spirit, but differentspirituality.

I have never heard of something so absurd, but I feel absurd myself, and only want to have further absurdity.

Is itwhat is it?

He is quiet a moment. I would think it would be freedom and service, hope and love for the world, an understanding, and a way of life.

Can you teach me your religion? It comes out softly but sincerely.

Once more, I dont understand you.

I understand why he wouldnt. I didnt understand it last night when it came to my mind either. Arturo told me you could teach me about yourfaith. Would you teach it to me?

He watches me calmly. Yes, it is soft, with hardly any emotion.

I feel a little hope flicker inside. I dont know why I want to learn it, but since last night I had been thinking over what Arturo said about my religion, about how it made you feel sin, and about how that sin made me act yesterday. I didnt want sin to control me, or me to let it control myself if that is how it went. I just wanted to learn how to let it not. Nadeje was the only option for this to come about.

We could start today if you want? It is gentle and calm.

I nod in response.

The porridge looks finished. Would you like to eat?

I nod again.

First, we begin with what you believe in. Nadejes voice is calming.

I watch him from across the table, unsure of what he is implying.

Between us on the table are two journals. Both look used and dusty, but I have an urge to open them and start to scan the pages.

Tell me everything you know, he says assuredly.