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Once we've gotten a good-sized portion of the wall broken, we squeeze in, one by one.

The world inside has pure fear thick and damp in the very air of it. We instinctively cling together, my arms around Kata's waist on one side and Lilith's waist on the other.

Statues, tall and large and intricate and shining and looming, fill this courtyard to the brim. A silver, jewel-encrusted chain snakes around each and every statue and every which way in the courtyard.

They're terrible.

Towerpeople looming tall standing up straight as flagpoles, brows arching with disdain and pride.

We pass by a lot of ornate statues carved into a battle scene. Small, wretched-looking dirtpeople. Lying on the ground cut into by the sword or spear of an armour-clad towerperson. Twisting in the arms of warriors in gleaming uniforms. References to The War I'm sure. It's even worse than how I pictured it when I was in church. I cling to Katapa and Lilith harder.

We pass by a new group of statues. Slaves low on the ground, on their knees scrubbing floors beside towerpeple lounging on ornate sofas. Towerpeople draped over ornate canopy beds with sheer curtains, dressed in silk and reading or talking while ragged-looking dirtpeople slept tied up on the stone floors under the beds. This is a practice done by some towerpeople, to make sure their personal slaves are always close at hand. I'm incredibly lucky that it hasn't ever been done to me. I can make no guarantees about what fates might be befalling the young ones. There is a chain of platinum, studded with jewels, wrapped over the statues. These new statues are not propaganda of a war that never happened. They're a depiction of the horrors that inhabit real life. That inhabit our lives. Except instead of being portrayed as the abominations they are, they are portrayed with a grosteque sort of glory. I look at Katapa. Her face is clouded with abhorrence. I look at Lilith. Her face is filled with rage. I look at Anderei. And I can't read what's on his face but he looks so small.

We come to a large, stretching group of statues that depict dirtpeople as faceless masses bending over or kneeling down and tending to fields while towerpeople stand over them in high verandas that almost look like alters gilded in luxury and decadence. They are picking cotton, a staple ingredient in fabrics and clothing. Our people are bending forwards, close to the ground while the Towerpeople stand tall. The chain wraps around these statues too. I used to work in a field, albeit not a cotton field. It's hard, thankless work under the hot sun. There are too many people who hunger and strain to grow the things that keep the Towerpeople's world going. It is probably the work my family is still doing. I ache at remembering them, and their sorrow.

Now there are statues of lines upon lines of dirtpeople, faceless, nameless, sitting on the ground toiling in a factory. Towerpeople overseers, dressed in fine clothes and flowing, bright capes that trail on the floor, stroll through the aisles with their noses in the air. The dirtpeople are sanding wood down into fine, smooth shapes. Again the chain is present. Lilith used to work at a furniture factory when she was but a small child. She carried pieces over the breaks of the assembly line. She said it was dangerous there. That she fears for her family. I look over to her. Her face is a blank sheet of pure rage.

The next group of statues are of slaves at work in a sugar plantation. They bend low, hacking at the sugar cane with their machetes. Their heads are down and their backs are bare. Even the women only wear skirts and wrappings around their breasts. They look wretched. At the end of long rows of sugar cane there is a Towerman sitting reagally on a horse cart loaded with cut cane. He sits above the low dirtpeople loading the cart. The chain coils and wraps its way through the scene. Seeing the way sugar is gathered almost makes me feel guilty of all the times I wished to taste sugar. I clutch Katapa closed to me. Her and Anderei's eyes are filled with sorrow, Lilith's with horror.

The statues we pass by after these are ones that depict a diamond mine. Slaves hang their shoulders, dark and thin and horrible, chipping away at rocks. A Towerperson sits at the base of a pile of diamonds, a large stick in his hands. Katapa's horror and sorrow is slowly giving way to increasing anger. Lilith's anger is a deep, contemplative sort. And as always Anderei's anger is protective. Anderei picks us up when we're at our lowest. Reminds us that we deserve more. For this I am grateful.

The statues we are in front of now show dirtpeople picking fruits. They bend over backwards under towering hard trees, in messy winding rows. Their hair is messy. Their faces are wretched. Their skin is dark and dirt stained. Their feet are bare. They look exhausted. Yet still they work. Walking down the rows of dirtpeople, dressed in fine clothes and wide-brimmed hats, are Towerpeope. They carry large sticks. Their backs are perfectly straight. Their forms are filled out. Their faces confident and smug.

The next statues depict dirtpeople at a factory making jewelry. The forges glow. The metals shine. The people's faces and eyes are absolutely devoid of any light. They sit hunched over on the floor. Their hands are burned and cut. The tools twist and writhe in their hands. The chain drapes around and over them. It also drapes around and over the overseers. They sit on sturdy chairs and look out over the workers. They wear belts of fine leather and rings of fine gems. All of us look at each other. Though we are too overcome by shock and fear to say anything, we find strength in each other. We always find strength in each other. Thank the universe that we're together.

The statues we walk past now show the image of a glass factory. And then we pass by a gold mine. After that is a flour mill. Then a bakery. We pass by a construction site. A cacao plantation. A carpet factory. Each time the statues revel in our wretchedness, and exalt the masters' regality.

We pass by a store that sells fine fabrics. It's worked by a young dirtboy. He kneels in front of a Towerwoman, looking up at her. He looks a little bit like Pavlin. My heart breaks. I can't take this anymore. I can't take my life. But I remember what we have to do.

There are also statues of only Towerpeople. Standing on podiums or mingling at parties or doing a lot of lazy, ostentatious bullshit. They get to live the good life while we have to work. Hatred wells up in my heart.

We pass by more statues. Beautiful Towerwomen with long silken hair stand talking with arrow-straight posture while dirtpeople bend and stoop around them, fitting clothes and jewelry onto their bodies. Towerpeople glower from plush, soft, brightly coloured litters carried on the hunching shoulders of dirtpeople. Lines of dirtpeople looking meekly down as they serve the Towerpeople.

I hate all these statues so so so fucking much. The pain and rage and misery and fear and desolation and humiliation and ... everything ... they make me feel is inexpressible. We were too shocked and horrified to put words to what we felt before. But I feel the shock of the horror crumbling away leaving rage in its place.

"Ugh universe these bullshit statues remind me of too much nonsense," Lilith starts. "But one time when I was six, I was standing in attendance for 'Mistress' Amalita and her friends. More or less I was filling up theirs plates and glasses. And I was being so quiet and meek and obedient just like I was supposed to be. And I hated it. But they were talking about their slaves, including me. Talking about how obedient and efficient they were, comparing human beings as if we were new dresses or like ... things to be used. They were talking about me like I was a thing, like I was property, like I was some kind of tool and not a person. They were not talking about me as a person with feelings and thoughts of my own and rights and dignity. They were just talking about how useful and efficient and obedient and fucking convenient I was, my people were. I had to stand there and be silent and be silent and be polite to people who were being rude to me and take it and take it and I couldn't anymore. I told them to go fuck themselves. I have no idea why I said that. Amalita told me to get on the ground. She ground her fucking shoe into my mouth it hurt so much but even more so it was fucking humiliating. They withheld food from me for two months after that." Lilith's words are steady but she is crying.

"We're going to destroy their entire system, Lily. We're going to burn their world down, don't worry babe." Anderei's voice is full of deep-seated rage, with all the silence of embers growing in heat, ready to break out into wildfire. It is filled with love for his wife. And for his people. Once I heard the Towerpeople talk about how the dirtmen hold no love for their women, not like Towermen do. But seeing the sweet raging selflessness Anderei treats all of us with, I wonder whether it's even possible for a husband or a brother to show more love.

"We've all been subject to unbearable degradation," I tell her, "And we've deserved none of it."

"We've all toiled under their heel for too long it's time that we drown them in their own blood." Katapa is so protective and motherly. And that protection now takes the form of white-hot, blood-red, blinding rage.

"When we win we won't need statues to sing of our victories." Anderei is trying to be optimistic.

"Their blood will sing us victory enough." Katapa states this as simple fact.

"These statues remind me of being a fruit picker on a plantation back when I was just a little young king, back with my family." Anderei's eyes are both reminiscent and sorrowful. "It was hard work. Bitter work. We were tired down to our bones. Even the children."

"They shouldn't make people work like that." Katapa've voice is sorrowful and understanding. "They shouldn't make children work like that. And not their mothers. Not their fathers. Not their parents and aunts and uncles and titis and friends."

"The Towerpeople don't care about children or families," I state honestly, "they don't care about anything but themselves."

Anderei and Lilith share a quick kiss, both of them looking to the other for support and healing. Katapa strokes my hair.

"How about you, Nancee?" she asks, "anything you need to get off your chest?"

"We're all ... we're all so used to working and seeing it from our point of view," I begin, introspective and thoughtful, "but we've never really seen it from the Towerpeople's perspective have we?"

My people hum in approval.

"It's strange. Seeing it the way they probably see it," I continue, "and it hurts."

"They are utilizing our suffering as an ego boost." Lilith's voice is full of resentment. And good for her. "They think that they're so much better than us wretched people. But joke's on them. We're better."

Katapa bursts into laughter. We look at her and start laughing as well.

"They can build all the statues they want." Her voice rings clear like water over smooth rocks. "But it won't change the fact that they're lazy and cruel. It won't change the fact that we're not."

"You're right Katapa," Anderei smiles, "and you always know what to say. Hopefully your words are enough to tide us over. We have to stay strong. Through everything, we have to stay strong."

"We will." I don't know where this optimism is coming from. But each of us is holding it and strengthening it and passing it on to the next person. "We have each other don't we? And we'll always have the love we share with each other even if they tear us apart."

We come together in a group hug. And everything hurts. And my grief drips thick and heavy through me, pulling at my muscles and tendons and bones. But we are, and I don't know how we are, but we are hopeful.

We keep in walking, through the gallery of horrors.

"What do you think of these, Katapa?" Lilith asks.