They did not allow me to wash before bringing me before him.
That was a deliberate attempt to make everyone see me in a disgusting form.
I was weak and terribly hurt from the pigs' daily sprouting at my feet. The stench from me made some of the maids close their noses and turn their sight away from me.
Two guards dragged me from the enclosure at dawn, their grips firm but not brutal. Brutality would have implied anger. This was colder than anger. This was a presentation.
The mud had dried and cracked across my skin in stiff plates. My hair hung matted down my back. My lips were split from dehydration. When they pulled me through the courtyard, I felt eyes on me from every balcony and corridor.
Let them look.
Let them see what their Luna had been reduced to.
Or rather, what they thou
