Vesnas escape

**The Handmaiden's Escape**
In the turmoil of Zlatoreka's demise, Knyaginya Vesna Kira Božena Klasarov, soon to be known as the Handmaiden of Death., was captured and drenched in blood. The conquerors displayed her, alongside her mother and sister, through the city's avenues, their finest garments now marred with the red marks of their kin's torment. The gallows stood near, a grim platform where the city's guardians faced their dire fate.



Vesna's heart pounded as she was tied to a stake, the rough rope rubbing against her skin. Her brother Dmitry had been broken on the breaking wheel, suffering for an extended period before the executioner's blade ended his life. His defiance echoed throughout the plaza, capturing the unyielding spirit of Zlatoreka. However, even his strength waned, overpowered by the wheel's relentless torment, enduring agonizing pain until death offered him solace.
The executioners carried out their task with chilling precision, their cleavers swift and relentless. Blood flowed, cascading down the scaffold and running through her hair before pooling at Vesna's feet. She closed her eyes, shielding herself from the sight of her comrades' fate. Their fall stoked the flames of her anger, etching their faces in her memory—the smith who forged her sword, the baker who provided her food during the siege, and the young who sang songs of hope.
As the invaders shifted their focus to the civilians, Vesna's determination solidified. She refused to be a mere observer. Hidden within her corset was a small combat knife, a dire secret she had held close since the onset of the siege. The blade against her ribs served as a constant reminder of her obligation. Being escorted away from the scaffold, Vesna's thoughts accelerated. She had ceased to be a noblewoman; she had become a survivor, an instrument of retribution. The invaders talked about repaying debts, about atoning for the city's transgressions in the brothels of Lawhaven's waterfront. Yet, Vesna understood her mission transcended mere subservience. She was destined to liberate her people, one life at a time.

Days became a relentless march. The oppressed grew weak, their spirits shattered, their gazes hollow. Yet, Vesna's resolve only grew stronger. By the seventh day, exhaustion and urgency had driven her to the edge. The guards' overconfidence, born from their arrogance, turned into a chink in their armor. Under the cloak of night, Vesna struck. Her blade found its mark—the throat of the nearest guard. Blood gushed, and he fell, struggling for breath. The second guard lunged, but Vesna's training won out. She pivoted, parried, and drove her knife into his heart. His eyes widened in shock, and he fell.
The other prisoners watched, their expressions etched with astonishment. Vesna cut their bonds, whispering promises of freedom. Hesitation gripped them, sapped by their captivity. But the blaze in Vesna's eyes was compelling. She had cast off her noblewoman's identity, once paraded in defeat. She had become the Handmaiden of Death, her purpose clear.
Together, they overpowered the remaining guards. Vesna's hands were drenched in blood, her breaths ragged. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and liberation. The freed slaves disappeared into the darkness, their footsteps echoing with rebellion. Vesna watched them until they merged with the sea's waves. This moment marked the birth of the Zlatozhita Liberation Front. Vesna vowed to honor her brother's memory and pursue justice for her people. The dried blood on her skin became a badge of courage, a symbol of the gallows and the vengeance she was destined to enact. She would set foot in the seafront brothel at Lawhaven; her destiny was to fight tyranny with unwavering determination.
Hence, the Handmaiden of Death emerged into the darkness, guided by the spirits of Zlatoreka. The liberation movement would ascend, driven by retribution and aspiration, with Vesna at the helm—wounded, yet indomitable.

The Handmaiden's Escape In the chaos of Zlatoreka's fall, Knyaginya Vesna Kira Božena Klasarov, soon known as the Handmaiden of Death, was captured and drenched in blood. The conquerors paraded her, along with her mother and sister, through the city's streets, their finest garments stained with the blood of their family. The gallows loomed nearby, a grim platform where the city's defenders met their grim fate.
Vesna's heart raced as she was tied to a stake, the rough rope chafing her skin. Her brother Dmitry had been broken on the wheel, enduring prolonged suffering before the executioner's blade ended his life. His defiance echoed through the plaza, embodying Zlatoreka's unyielding spirit. But even his strength gave out, overcome by the wheel's relentless torture, finding release only in death.
The executioners worked with chilling precision, their cleavers swift and unrelenting. Blood flowed, running down the scaffold and through Vesna's hair before pooling at her feet. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of her comrades' fate. Their fall ignited her anger, etching their faces in her memory—the smith who forged her sword, the baker who fed her during the siege, and the young who sang songs of hope.
As the invaders turned their attention to the civilians, Vesna's resolve hardened. She refused to remain a passive witness. Hidden in her corset was a small combat knife, a grim secret she had kept since the siege began. The blade against her ribs was a constant reminder of her duty. As she was led away from the scaffold, her thoughts raced. She was no longer a noblewoman; she was a survivor, a tool of retribution. The invaders spoke of repaying debts and atoning for the city's sins in the brothels of Lawhaven's waterfront. But Vesna knew her mission went beyond mere subservience. She was destined to free her people, one life at a time.
Days turned into a relentless march. The oppressed grew weaker, their spirits shattered, their eyes empty. But Vesna's resolve only grew stronger. By the seventh day, exhaustion and urgency had pushed her to the brink. The guards' arrogance became their weakness. Under the cover of night, Vesna struck. Her blade found its target—the throat of the nearest guard. Blood spurted, and he fell, gasping for air. The second guard lunged, but Vesna's training prevailed. She pivoted, parried, and plunged her knife into his heart. His eyes widened in shock, and he fell.
The other prisoners watched, their faces etched with astonishment. Vesna cut their bonds, whispering promises of freedom. Hesitation gripped them, drained by their captivity. But the fire in Vesna's eyes was compelling. She had shed her noblewoman's identity, once paraded in defeat. She had become the Handmaiden of Death, her purpose clear.
Together, they overpowered the remaining guards. Vesna's hands were covered in blood, her breaths ragged. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and freedom. The freed slaves vanished into the night, their footsteps echoing with rebellion. Vesna watched until they blended with the sea's waves. This moment marked the birth of the Zlatozhita Liberation Front. Vesna vowed to honor her brother's memory and seek justice for her people. The dried blood on her skin became a badge of courage, a symbol of the gallows and the vengeance she was meant to exact. She would enter the seafront brothel at Lawhaven; her destiny was to combat tyranny with unwavering resolve.
Thus, the Handmaiden of Death emerged into the night, guided by the spirits of Zlatoreka. The liberation movement would rise, fueled by retribution and hope, with Vesna leading—wounded, but unbreakable.