?dentity v || Oneshots

There are always second chances, but in this life you were driven only by a thin string of luck. A strand so thin, you never noticed when it had been cut with a glinted blade.

The hallway was as long as the one back at the Desaulniers estate, but evidently the elegance of marble floors, and golden carvings along with pristine paintings were replaced with more grudging interior. The lanterns were lit with fire, the burning ashes trailing behind like a taunt of whispers. Just enough to see, the dark and decrepit tunnel-like hall reeked of last breaths, past victims leaving behind murmurs of forgiveness and regrets of sins alike clustered into a narrow and gloomy passage. The guards had waited for you to do the same, to cry and beg to be released for entertainment. But holding your ground, walking on soil littered with a past of blood had been more than enough to silence you whole.

It smelled of death, and you knew what it had smelled like. It had been a while, but how can you really forget the place where your family mercilessly were slaughtered?

Every step you took almost sent flashes of distress, screams and yelling of familiar voices of relatives shout for release- but they themselves knew begging was considered the last reach for sympathy. But sympathy never worked for the nobles. Almost like a beckoning wish to hurry, pleads would often come off as impatient.

Wanting to come back to reality, you had faced a far worse scenario than this- at least that's what you had tried telling yourself. A sea of bodies, a forest of doubts, the growing sensation that dug a grave into your chest had drastically caved in deeper. Like a swelling, the pounding ache housed a plethora of thoughts. There will be no light of day, and in this journey, you've came face to face with the eyes of an executioner- one you were certain had the same look as when they beheaded your mother. Had this really been your sentence to death- because you fell in love? No, and for once you were relieved that people still had common sense as to send someone to death just because of a feeling that wouldn't be able to go away. But at the same time, the main course of this dinner hadn't been your "filthy scandal," for the main dish had been like a fake meal on the plate. To which it was, you had been given fake crime by the Nairs so it would've been a valid reason for treason.

But as pathetic as that plan was, it had worked. With a simple slice, the judge had eaten the fine piece of plastic on solid plates. Taking the bait had been easier than ever. That being said, you've left nothing but crumbs of vengeance.

"What's this Doll's crime?" The guard that stood by the exit scoffed, almost uninterested despite his question. His metallic chest plate was almost glinting, and you could barely see your reflection staring back. The fringes of your hair were smothered in a pitiful wet-like mixture of soil and ash, face disdainful and resistant. Your lips were chapped, and everything lower than your collarbone was almost distasteful like a mere decrepit page of a book. The piece of cloth you were forced in were basically rags, sleeves ripped from the several days being kept inside a muddy cell. A Doll he called you? Ironic. Dolls were supposed to be groomed until every inch was perfect, a graceful and delicate flower that would be loved by all. You couldn't even compare to that of a simple paper figure.

"I heard she had killed one of the Nair's twins. Chloe? I think that was the twins she had murdered," the other guard's eyes had wandered onto the shell-like irises of your own, and it was evident enough that he was almost suspicious about the accusations placed upon your own. Of course it was quite strange, since Chloe Nair had died almost two years ago. Why would a lowly maid still work within the walls of a home where she had stolen a life? Of course it would be a bit too suspicious if you had left by then, but who said those accusations were true? Certainly the judge didn't care, who would anyway? You were a maid, fighting with an influential family household that dangled jewellery on their body as a hobby.