On the twelfth day of the fourteenth month, the imperial records show it was a particularly sweltering day. The sun was said to have beat down both noble and peasant alike. Some were even said to have died from it, but the lanky thief with hair of red did not feel this heat, for she lay alone in the deepest depths of a very cold dungeon.

Her cell, a special, royal oubliette, was less of a cage and more a concrete hole where she was to slowly waste away, with no space to even lay down, much less stand up as they had long since cut her tendons. All she could do was sit, and stew in the pain, the cold and the regret. But the thief could care less about the pain and the cold, and she didn't regret anything save for not stealing more food from the feast, as she'd grown rather tired of the moldy bread and rotten meat.

Despite her condition, she knew that they wouldn't simply let her die, not yet. They brought a medical expert every couple of days to ensure she didn't get infected from her cuts or become sick from the cold. They wanted her alive, and they wanted her to suffer for every second she remained so. The suffering was supposed to make her pure, to feel the pain of her mistakes and mend the error of her ways, and show her a noble path through which she'd be welcomed in the pure fields of Le Dragon D'or upon her final breath.

She never saw this better path, only the dark wet walls of her cell, briefly illuminated by passing guards, and the fog of her own mind searching for something to focus on to block out the pain. Not many in the empire would be treated to such a lovely form of prolonged torture, while your run of the mill thief might've been killed on the spot, had their hands cut off, or maybe even been sent to the far colonies, she was no common thief. 

Either way, she was here to rot, to be an example of what happens when you try to steal from the nobility- and in her case, the emperor himself. Had she been more careful, or more lucky, she might've succeeded in her little heist, become an even greater legend than any who had come before, but fate had other plans for her. 

It was now during one of her many attempts to attain some facsimile of sleep that she dreamed, for the first time in a while. It wasn't a dream worth noting, but it was one she'd had before. The smell of a lover's perfume in the air, she walked through the streets of a city she'd never been to, as people screamed a name, her name, in adoration and praise, they screamed with hearts full of love a name she had long discarded, and one she longed to never remember. Then with a loud clang, she awoke.

 Above her the cell door popped open, and a guard began to yell at her. The pudgy fellow kept bouncing his crooked jaw around, screaming something, spit launching out of his maw with every damned syllable he made, only to mercifully shut his mouth and spare the thief the flood. He wore the guard's uniform, a dirty yellow emblem shone on his chest, the symbol of the empire, a dragon and a woman, facing each other with a setting sun in the back- Or was it rising? She tended to forget. 

"I said get up you wicked tart!" He screamed once more as he gestured for her to stand and get out.

She pointed to her cut tendons, and so the pudgy guard called another to help pull the thief out. They held her up by her arms, before letting go and leaving her to stand on her own, to which she quickly fell over in a new refreshed pain, splayed out like a helpless fawn on the hard cobbled ground of the prison. She could hear the guards yelling again, but the pain deafened her to it. She did her best to prop herself up, only to see a pair of expensive shoes standing there in front of her, polished to an ebony mirror shine with a pair of gold buckles holding them together tight. 

"Stand and bear witness to his noble highness, the grand Duke of house Soleil, Seth de Armentaria!" Said one of the guards, presenting the man with the very nice shoes. 

The thief pushed herself up and moved to her knees, now looking up to get a better look at the man. He was tall, very tall, two heads more than even the knights that accompanied him. He had a much darker complexion compared to most nobles as well, with rich brown skin and sharp features with strings of silver and gold brown hair and a well-trimmed beard. He seemed out of place in this odious dungeon, a sculpture cast out of a divinely inspired mind.

"Well hello there, Madame Red, you've found yourself in quite a bit of trouble haven't you?" The duke said, smirking, kneeling down to one knee, yet still looking down on her like a lion to a mouse. 

"I do have to ask, is that even your real name? Madame Red? It's rather fancy for someone of your... character, I must say."

The thief said nothing, but gave a blank stare into the duke's radiant irises. They stared at each other for a few minutes before he backed away, almost disappointed and spoke once more in his booming yet buttery voice.

"I can respect your silence, child, but I did not expect one with a reputation to be so lacking." He stood back up pulling a piece of parchment from his coat pocket, and began to read it out. 

"By the decree of his majesty, the emperor of the empire of Iris, Lord of the eastern sea and leader of house Raoul, Oceiros XII, along with the approval of the house of nobles and the Holy See. The criminal known colloquially as "Madame Red" is hereby sentenced to death by quartering, to be overseen by his royal highness and an entourage of chosen nobles in a closed ceremony, with aid from the royal executioner and a witness from the archbishop of Festa, may Le Dragon D'Or bless the empire, and may justice be served upon this most heinous of criminals." He droned on through the decree, as if it was a chore thrust upon a bored teenager, before crumpling the letter back into his pocket.

"Now that it has been said, in case you don't understand child, you're to be executed in two days time, and as the noble witness to your transfer and final execution, I will be seeing that you have a pleasant final few days." he now squatted down and smirked at her.

Quartering, the death brought upon those who committed treason. While letting her rot might be the more effective punishment, she knew the nobility must've been restless, and out to deal with her in a manner more palatable to the perceived gravity of the slights against them. Blood was in the water, and she was more than ready to let the sharks feed. The thief gave the slightest hint of a smile back to the grand duke, as he studied her closer, smiling even wider.

"Ah, there it is, the undaunted eyes of one who'd be willing to steal from the emperor himself." He laughed a deep hearty laugh as he turned and gestured for one of his personal knights to come pick her up. 

The knight strolled up to her, gleaming armor, and the emblem of the ducal house of soleil shining on his pauldron. He picked the thief up, and placed her over his shoulder, and carried her away from the duke, as she began to doze off.

"Sleep well child, I'll see you again soon."

She heard only the faint clanks of armored steps as the knight carried her out, the pain, the cold all fading away for a brief moment, as she returned once more, to that dream of adoration, the dream that always ended in the same way, with her going to sleep in a warm bed in a home she calls her own, and never waking up.

On the twelfth day of the fourteenth month, the imperial records show it was a particularly sweltering day. The sun was said to have beat down both noble and peasant alike. Some were even said to have died from it, but the lanky thief with hair of red did not feel this heat, for she lay alone in the deepest depths of a very cold dungeon.

Her cell, a special, royal oubliette, was less of a cage and more a concrete hole where she was to slowly waste away, with no space to even lay down, much less stand up as they had long since cut her tendons. All she could do was sit, and stew in the pain, the cold and the regret. But the thief could care less about the pain and the cold, and she didn't regret anything save for not stealing more food from the feast, as she'd grown rather tired of the moldy bread and rotten meat.

Despite her condition, she knew that they wouldn't simply let her die, not yet. They brought a medical expert every couple of days to ensure she didn't get infected from her cuts or become sick from the cold. They wanted her alive, and they wanted her to suffer for every second she remained so. The suffering was supposed to make her pure, to feel the pain of her mistakes and mend the error of her ways, and show her a noble path through which she'd be welcomed in the pure fields of Le Dragon D'or upon her final breath.

She never saw this better path, only the dark wet walls of her cell, briefly illuminated by passing guards, and the fog of her own mind searching for something to focus on to block out the pain. Not many in the empire would be treated to such a lovely form of prolonged torture, while your run of the mill thief might've been killed on the spot, had their hands cut off, or maybe even been sent to the far colonies, she was no common thief. 

Either way, she was here to rot, to be an example of what happens when you try to steal from the nobility- and in her case, the emperor himself. Had she been more careful, or more lucky, she might've succeeded in her little heist, become an even greater legend than any who had come before, but fate had other plans for her. 

It was now during one of her many attempts to attain some facsimile of sleep that she dreamed, for the first time in a while. It wasn't a dream worth noting, but it was one she'd had before. The smell of a lover's perfume in the air, she walked through the streets of a city she'd never been to, as people screamed a name, her name, in adoration and praise, they screamed with hearts full of love a name she had long discarded, and one she longed to never remember. Then with a loud clang, she awoke.

 Above her the cell door popped open, and a guard began to yell at her. The pudgy fellow kept bouncing his crooked jaw around, screaming something, spit launching out of his maw with every damned syllable he made, only to mercifully shut his mouth and spare the thief the flood. He wore the guard's uniform, a dirty yellow emblem shone on his chest, the symbol of the empire, a dragon and a woman, facing each other with a setting sun in the back- Or was it rising? She tended to forget. 

"I said get up you wicked tart!" He screamed once more as he gestured for her to stand and get out.

She pointed to her cut tendons, and so the pudgy guard called another to help pull the thief out. They held her up by her arms, before letting go and leaving her to stand on her own, to which she quickly fell over in a new refreshed pain, splayed out like a helpless fawn on the hard cobbled ground of the prison. She could hear the guards yelling again, but the pain deafened her to it. She did her best to prop herself up, only to see a pair of expensive shoes standing there in front of her, polished to an ebony mirror shine with a pair of gold buckles holding them together tight. 

"Stand and bear witness to his noble highness, the grand Duke of house Soleil, Seth de Armentaria!" Said one of the guards, presenting the man with the very nice shoes. 

The thief pushed herself up and moved to her knees, now looking up to get a better look at the man. He was tall, very tall, two heads more than even the knights that accompanied him. He had a much darker complexion compared to most nobles as well, with rich brown skin and sharp features with strings of silver and gold brown hair and a well-trimmed beard. He seemed out of place in this odious dungeon, a sculpture cast out of a divinely inspired mind.

"Well hello there, Madame Red, you've found yourself in quite a bit of trouble haven't you?" The duke said, smirking, kneeling down to one knee, yet still looking down on her like a lion to a mouse. 

"I do have to ask, is that even your real name? Madame Red? It's rather fancy for someone of your... character, I must say."

The thief said nothing, but gave a blank stare into the duke's radiant irises. They stared at each other for a few minutes before he backed away, almost disappointed and spoke once more in his booming yet buttery voice.

"I can respect your silence, child, but I did not expect one with a reputation to be so lacking." He stood back up pulling a piece of parchment from his coat pocket, and began to read it out. 

"By the decree of his majesty, the emperor of the empire of Iris, Lord of the eastern sea and leader of house Raoul, Oceiros XII, along with the approval of the house of nobles and the Holy See. The criminal known colloquially as "Madame Red" is hereby sentenced to death by quartering, to be overseen by his royal highness and an entourage of chosen nobles in a closed ceremony, with aid from the royal executioner and a witness from the archbishop of Festa, may Le Dragon D'Or bless the empire, and may justice be served upon this most heinous of criminals." He droned on through the decree, as if it was a chore thrust upon a bored teenager, before crumpling the letter back into his pocket.

"Now that it has been said, in case you don't understand child, you're to be executed in two days time, and as the noble witness to your transfer and final execution, I will be seeing that you have a pleasant final few days." he now squatted down and smirked at her.

Quartering, the death brought upon those who committed treason. While letting her rot might be the more effective punishment, she knew the nobility must've been restless, and out to deal with her in a manner more palatable to the perceived gravity of the slights against them. Blood was in the water, and she was more than ready to let the sharks feed. The thief gave the slightest hint of a smile back to the grand duke, as he studied her closer, smiling even wider.

"Ah, there it is, the undaunted eyes of one who'd be willing to steal from the emperor himself." He laughed a deep hearty laugh as he turned and gestured for one of his personal knights to come pick her up. 

The knight strolled up to her, gleaming armor, and the emblem of the ducal house of soleil shining on his pauldron. He picked the thief up, and placed her over his shoulder, and carried her away from the duke, as she began to doze off.

"Sleep well child, I'll see you again soon."

She heard only the faint clanks of armored steps as the knight carried her out, the pain, the cold all fading away for a brief moment, as she returned once more, to that dream of adoration, the dream that always ended in the same way, with her going to sleep in a warm bed in a home she calls her own, and never waking up.