It never ceases to haunt me.
Mercy.
* * *
One day, the prison guards brought 43-1-12 outside.
She sat against a sun-saturated wall in a small secluded courtyard, reminding herself how it felt to be warm. Judging by the temperature and the cheerful sound of birdsong, she guessed it was spring in the outside world. The thought evoked images of flowers and tall grass swaying with the breeze outside Hamath. Though she could visualize colors, she could not recall the fragrance of flowers. She remembered sitting among the blossoms when she was a little girl, dreaming the daylight hours away. She missed the cheerfulness of their presence, the soft flesh of their bright petals.
Her reverie crumbled with the clang of hammers and pick-axes on stone. Once a great Alöwean city, Tïrmen was now bei
