Magical Testing

Eulalia [/div][/CENTER]
Eulalia had been in worse situations, she was sure of it.

But as the heavy rope around her wrists once again bit harshly into her skin with every movement she made, she couldn’t presently think of one. She couldn’t tell if she was more concerned about her heart racing in fear or the bright flush of rage on her cheeks. The latter was mainly due to the fact that her jewels had been unceremoniously ripped from her. Her bag of handcrafted goods were now mixed on the ground with the pieces she’d been wearing that night, much to her annoyance. She’d spent months in her workshop on a few of the necklaces and circlets that were now smeared with dirt.

Her bag seemed to be mostly in one piece, which was a small blessing. A handful of notes and letters were hidden within the inner lining that she’d been tasked with delivering during her usual trade route. She’d traveled this specific route more times than she could count, and yet, she hadn’t been prepared for an arrow to sing from the bushes and drive itself into her tail. It’d been enough to keep her from darting off before they could reach her, and unfortunately, there were only so many people that she could fight off.

Her lips twisted into a displeased scowl at what her cousin would say if she knew where Ula was at the moment. She’d always warned her not to travel alone, yet Ula had ignored her. To be honest, she enjoyed the solitude. After spending so much time sucking up to aristocrats so that they’d either buy her merchandise at a premium or would spill secrets useful to the rebellion, she found satisfaction in being alone or with those whose words didn’t have a million different meanings.

“Are you certain that you’re pronouncing that correctly?” Ula drawled at one of the chanting cult members nearby. The woman regarded her coldly and didn’t answer. Ula considered making the woman forget why she was there, but the nasty bruise on the right side of her face was a reminder that others seemed to have noticed when she used her powers of alteration.
A shame.

She had watched as the twenty or so humans had begun a pyre, leaving her tied to a rickety carriage that she was surprised wasn’t added to the blaze. She shifted again, inkly locks unbounded and wild as she tried to shake some feeling into her arms again. Having them bound above her head for so long had left them pricked with pins and needles. But she figured that she wouldn’t have to worry about it for much longer if she was thrown into the fire before her. She squinted at the fire, trying to figure out exactly how many hooded figures chanted and sang around it but gave up after they all remained inkly blobs.

“May I ask another question?” Ula sat up, glancing at the woman again. “What exactly was that concoction you put on me earlier? I smell like my mother’s garden.”

The woman only began to sing louder as Ula began to feel her wrist slipping from one of the ropes.

“If you plan to eat me, I would recommend at least fattening me up a bit.”

The woman’s voice only grew louder and more piercing. Ula tugged at the ropes once more, feeling one beginning to give.

“As for the seasoning, perhaps a dash of-”

“It is not seasoning.” The woman finally hissed, glancing over at the lamia. “It is a part of the ceremony.”

“May I ask the details of the ceremony? Seeing as I am the guest of honor?”

“You’re a sacrifice, you daft creature.” The woman snapped, giving up on trying to rejoin her off-beat and off-key brethren in their singing. Before Ula could give a lazy smile and continue tormenting her with half-witted questions, a man approached with a blade the size of Ula’s forearm. The chanting grew in volume with every step he took, crescendoing into a blur of mispronounced vowels as he finally stopped in front of her and knelt.
Ula attempted to look unbothered as the blade dug under her chin, not yet drawing blood. Half of her hand was tugged out of her bindings, but she paused her struggling as she eyed the blade.

Perhaps this was the worst situation she’d found herself in. At the very least, it was in the top five.

And without any hope that anyone would be able to hear, she inhaled deeply and let out the most piercing scream that she could manage as she tore one hand free from the ropes and punched the man squarely in the throat. While one hand was free and there was no longer a blade at her throat, she was still tied to a carriage and surrounded by poorly dressed humans.

Lovely.
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