It is all still hazy for me. It is true what they say, the things that scared you the most, seem to simply disappear from your head.
My memory is a broken thing, but I will tell you what pieces remain.
It was a sunny day, with the Purple Cycle coming to an end, the trees were turning back to their regular green. The city square had been decorated with lanterns and purple fires, as tradition demanded. And the pole, almost three stories tall, engraved with inscriptions and prayers, looked mighty, standing strong in the center of the square, towering over everything. Tied to it was a creature unrecognizable as human. Dried blood stained every inch of its naked skin. Its head was bald, beaten in. Its flesh, pale and bluish, clung to the bone.
I was only seven. It was too much for me. My eyes began to tear up and my stomach began to churn. I immediately covered my face with my hands.
Grandfather lightly held my hand, and spoke to me in the soothing cadence that regularly drove away my nightmares, "Dear, you must not look away. It is justice that is being given to her. She is thankful for it."
But it didn't look like a she. It didn't look like anything human.
It looked like a stillborn thing—bloodied, breathless.
The crowd slowly gathered around the pole, their hushed whispers and sly comments swelling into a buzzing hive of jeers.
I had still kept my eyes closed, but I could imagine grandfather, his sharp white beard proudly basking in the glory that his people were giving him. The wench was burning. The land was pure. Why? Father Imern keeps it pure. All hail Father Imern.
That is when I felt a small burn in my palm, that I had pressed over my eye.
"Ouch!", I hissed. And checked my palm. Where had that come from?
I looked to the bloodied corpse, and perhaps I imagined it, but I definitely saw her dried lips stretch in a gut-wrenching smile.
And then another drop fell, but this time, on my shoulder. A small hole burnt right through the fabric and left a mark. Grandfather looked at me with worried eyes, and as the drops of acid grew more frequent, he knew what was to come.
"All those who have gathered must leave immediately! Seek immediate shelter!", he yelled.
Chaos spread amongst the people. Everyone began running around frantically. Grandfather, began uttering a series of prayers, whilst looking around the stampede, and gave one last look to the corpse, which was still smiling. He then bent down to me, and shouted in my face against the roar of the crowd.
"RUN! Run back to the temple and do not get out! DO YOU HEAR ME, MARZI?", he said, grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me violently. I immediately turned around and ran. Ran as fast as my little legs took me.
The acid ate through my skin like molten iron, and when I had reached the temple, it had become a downpour. I fell unconscious under the confusion and the pain, and the last thing I remember is a slow laughter, resonating throughout the city.
The rain had melted the marble structures.
Burned the citizens alive.
Collapsed every roof.
Killed everyone I loved.
Even the temple Grandfather told me to run to was not spared.
How I survived, I do not know.
Every day, I look at my body riddled with the pock marks that the acid had left, and I think of Siseriandria, and her bloodied, naked body, tied up to the pole.
She did get the last laugh after all.