Brigid stared glassily at Emily’s body. A dull ringing drowning her ears; an imaginary icepick piercing her heart.  Then, with a loud crash, another boulder collapsed atop the rubble, burying the blond prostitute for good. And that was the last Brigid saw of her first friend and lover.<br/><div style="text-align: center">****​</div><i>One week ago…</i><br/><br/>Life in the prison during small hours was a mixed bag. On one hand, the inmates enjoyed some respite and privacy from the guards. But the nights also brought frigid temperatures that turned the floor slabs into blocks of ice, made worse by the threadbare tunics they all wore. Petitions for blankets had been snorted at and dismissed.<br/><br/>The night shift guard, a rotund half-orc ironically called Little Rhodri, slumped heavily over a table, his guttural snores reverberating in the cellar. A single dying torch and slats of moonlight from an iron-barred slit high up the wall provided the only sources of light. The herbalist and the prostitute each curled up in their usual corners, twisting and turning, kept awake by the damp chilliness.<br/><br/>It has been an unremarkable day for Brigid – as far as prison life is concerned. The morning began with taking stock of the guards’ myriad complaints, after which she catalogued the herbs she required, neatly on a piece of parchment. To stay in their good graces, Brigid went as far as jotting down alternatives for each herb (knowing the city had been sealed off, and therefore supplies might be scarce). The afternoon was nonstop grinding leaves and brewing, to the point her wrists protested achingly. At bath time, with Little Rhodri sleazily on watch, she washed quickly with a sponge and a half bucket of water. Dinner consisted of bread hard enough to chip her molars, over boiled vegetables, and a thin slice of salted ham.  After dark, Brigid had the luxury of being left alone. The same cannot be said for Emily. She had returned from the dungeons tottering on wobbly knees and sporting a nasty purple bruise around her throat. Perhaps counting down time to the Empire’s advance – the guards are increasingly brazen and abusive.<br/><br/>Brigid was suddenly spoken to. “Ay witch! Lil' Rhodri dozin’ ‘n snorin’ up a storm, it’s yours doin’, innit? Casted some spell on that pot a’ tea ya cook’t ‘im, ah bet?”<br/><br/>“<b>No.</b>” Brigid retorted curtly, warily. “<b>And watch your mouth. I’m no witch.</b>”<br/><br/>Still, Brigid had to admit Emily’s melodic voice – tinged with the slums accent long beaten out of Brigid – was welcome on the ears. A break from the harsh orders, mockings, and threats she endured all day. And of course, Emily guessed right. Brigid had put Little Rhodri to slumber - dried chamomile leaves sprinkled into his herbal brew did the trick.<i>This could be our little secret. She doesn’t strike me as a rat.</i>"<b>Though I got an inkling he’d stay fast asleep… ‘til the fourth bell of the night at least.</b>”<br/><br/>A chuckle came from the other end of the cell. Chains rattled. Brigid sat up as Emily crossed the cell and - before she could utter ‘<i>What are you doing? Go away!</i>’ – Emily had plopped herself down, with no regard for Brigid's own space. Brigid tensed – this level of intimacy made her wary, no thanks to her upbringing. But Emily brought warmth, along with a musky feminine scent reminding her of opening a very ripe fruit, and summertime flower blossoms. Brigid subdued her instinct to scoot away even when Emily weighed her head onto her shoulder.<br/><br/>“Ah owe you. Fuckin’ Lil’ Rhodri, he the cruelest of ‘em all. He woulda kept me downstairs all night.” Emily cursed bitterly. In the dim, flickering light, Brigid saw for herself the half-orc’s nastiness: fresh, angry welts crisscrossed Emily’s inner thighs like a map of Eastborne. The sight dredged up a sea of memories. Brigid ventured a finger and caressed the tender flesh. Emily did not flinch away. Brigid’s heart, for reasons unknown to her at the time, quickened.<br/><br/>“<b>I could make you some ointment. Helps with the pain.</b>” Brigid said, clearing her parched throat.<br/><br/>“Thanks fer offerin’. But ah’d be fine. Ah’ve ‘ad johns outside cut me up worse.”<br/><br/>“<b>My master, she used to beat me too. I mean, she did take me from the streets which was charitable of her. But I was her house slave first, apprentice second. Woman was moody, mostly mean. Whenever I lagged behind on my chores, or mixed up my herbs, or talked like… you do, she’d get the cane. Never held back. So I had plenty practice making that ointment. Now I make it better than she ever did, if I say so myself. I used to have bruises and scars all over. Here, here, and ‘round here too. Look – can’t see them no more, yeah?</b>” She turned her head, tears stinging her eyes, and saw that Emily was crying too… with a fiery glint in her emerald blue eyes. The tips of their noses touched. And then Brigid was kissed for the first time.<br/><br/>The kiss started off light as a feather. Soon, they were as if trying to devour each others’ tongues. Emily tasted of musky saliva and salty tears.<br/><br/>The front of her tunic lifted. Emily’s deft fingers touched her in places no one ever did. Brigid was appalled, embarrassed, skittish, very conscious. Emily must have felt it. She broke off.<br/><br/>“New tah this? Ya alright?” “<b>Is… is this normal?</b>” “Girls like me n’ you? We ain’t neva gonna be normal. Ya want me to stop or what?” “<b>No. Please...</b>” “Ah know. You so wet, and delish. Mah pretty lil’ witch.” “<b>I’m not a witch, you… fat… whore.</b>”<br/><br/>Emily responded by roughly rubbing a spot that caused Brigid to gasp and blaspheme.<i>But I made sure to return the favor later on. And the next night. And the next next night...</i><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">****​</div><br/>Like a zombie, Brigid slipped through the bars and trudged up the ruins… right into the cauldron of battle.<i>Kill me. Let me die me so I can see my Em again.</i>The woman in the tattered prison garb just stood there, amidst all the spells, arrows, and clattering hooves.<br/><br/>She felt sharp pain as a massive gauntlet grabbed her by the nape of her neck. Lifting her off her feet and throwing her face down, ass up on horseback. The horse took off with a loud neigh, the saddle digging painfully into Brigid’s side. But the pain was nothing compared to her shattered heart.