She had not slept. She had not eaten. She had not cried since being imprisoned.

Isadora had been locked in the tower since midnight, the metal chains clanking around her wrists and ankles as she waited for her demise at the hands of the elven army. 

The king had made it clear she would not return to the kingdom, that she would die, but when reality had set in she had tried to flee with one of her faithful priests.  

Unfortunately, they were caught. The priest's throat was slit in front of her. 

She rubbed her thumb over the dry blood staining her olive skin and white evening gown, a reminder of their foiled plan. Her cheek throbbed from a bruise that began to develop when she had been slapped by the king for trying to flee. Isadora was used to this pain. This disappointing pain having settled within the pit in her stomach. 

The path to becoming high priestess was torturous and this was the payment she received? 

She ran her tongue over her rough, chapped lips. The last oracle she received from her patron god, Astraos, God of the Wandering Stars, foretold that she would be betrayed and that the stars would dim within her. She should have left when she received that revelation. 

The metal collar around her neck tightened as she shook with anger. After everything. . . this death was to be her ending?

The sound of hooves carried to her barred window as she looked down into the large courtyard. Elven emissaries had arrived to take her to their war camp. 

Isadora grit her teeth, This cannot be how I die. Isadora thought as the chains clashed around her. She bit down on her thumb glaring at the courtyard below. The emissaries were being led in by knights of the order. 

In order to survive, she needed a plan to convince the elven general that they needed her. From her own knowledge, the elves had the ability to use magic, but their connection to many of the gods had been severed after the continent had split between the humans and magical lands. Four gods remained with the elves but were weaker than they were before. 

The gods had chosen the weak and feeble humans to watch over but gave the elves the ability to recycle magic from the land. 

Her ability to commune with the gods would give her some advantage in this war. 

The jingling of keys caught her attention as the heavy wooden door pushed open. "You must get ready to leave your eminence." 

Her former maids flowed in, bowing their heads. 

They're mocking me.  Isadora thought as she stood. 

"Unlock my chains and help me get dressed." She commanded. 

The maids undid the locks and stripped the high priestess of her gown. They wiped away the blood with soaked cloths. 

She could almost laugh at the situation. Being dressed for the god of death, what an honor. 

The dress the king had forced on her was her ceremonial robes.  The white robes were long etched with gold trimming on the sleeves and at the bottom of the gown. The maids had pinned her pitch-black hair into a bun. They placed the white veil around her head. 

They bowed and left the room as the knights entered. 

"It's time, your eminence." 

She held her head high as she left the tower toward her meeting with death.