File Number: XIII
Below the very paths frequented by travelers and strangers, in a place cloaked and encased by the darkest intentions of magic, lay a writhing Kallossa. Her robe was turned down to expose the delicate smoothness of her once unmarred back. Her Master stood by the fire with spellbook in hand. His chanting resumed and with it came the guttural scream of agony from his protegé. It rose over the crackle of the intense blue flames and magic charged air.
The dirt held the signs of her determination as her fingers dug in, raking through. Pain was a necessary course of action for what lay ahead but it was no easy feat. “Please,” she whimpered, “a moment?” A moment to breathe and hopefully regain what little composure she had left.
“It is best you learn tolerance now.”
Her green eyes hardened, though, not for long. The only moment given was the one it took for him to look down to the book. She knew the limit to his patience and the extent of his compassion; there was no room for error. That was why instead of talismans that any could find, she would be marked. Her back burned hotter with each line. The intricate mark of protection, power, and control was picked by her own hand and it made the branding process longer.
As she cried out she reminded herself of her purpose; she would turn the tables. It was her destiny to ascend the rungs of society and claim her spot at the top. The ones who turned blind eyes to their people would know suffering, they would know abandonment and helplessness, they would know what it was like to have everything ripped away from them.