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The Last Day of Mary Read's Life
Jul. 24th, 2011 06:11 pmPort Royale’s prisons were not known for their accommodations, but there was one saving grace; they were underground. Underground meant out of the sunlight, which meant that all she had to do was throw a blanket over Anne during the day and no one would ever be the wiser. At night, Anne would wake as though alive and protect her while she slept. The problem was dusk, when there was no one to protect her and she was really, very tired.
She knew something was wrong when she heard the crisp smack of boots on the stone floor. Rising to her feet, she walked over to the bars of their cell, glancing into the corridor. There was Rogers, swaggering in the direction of their cell door. Quickly, she stepped away from the bars, but Rogers scarcely seemed to notice. He paused by the hot fire in the middle of the corridor, between the rows of cells, twirling a branding iron like a sword. “And where is our Anne?” he asked.
“Asleep,” she replied. “She’s tired.”
( Read more... )
She knew something was wrong when she heard the crisp smack of boots on the stone floor. Rising to her feet, she walked over to the bars of their cell, glancing into the corridor. There was Rogers, swaggering in the direction of their cell door. Quickly, she stepped away from the bars, but Rogers scarcely seemed to notice. He paused by the hot fire in the middle of the corridor, between the rows of cells, twirling a branding iron like a sword. “And where is our Anne?” he asked.
“Asleep,” she replied. “She’s tired.”
( Read more... )
