Guilty

By Xenia King

Her fingers, so nimble, trembled so slightly no one would notice. Her shoulders taut and her ebony hair a contrast to her pale skin. Her black veil gave away nothing but underneath bore a million words—betrayal, anger, shame, but not fear.

Across the room, curious stares and accusing murmurs weaved through the court. Rumors among the townsfolk have come and gone claiming her use of sorcery and witchcraft.

“How do you plead?” The king asked as silence ensued and tension grew thicker.

“Guilty.” She spoke with such venom on her crimson-painted lips.

Guilty for loving, trusting, tainting her hands red.