T
tragicomicnight
Guest
Tall and stark, his face sad but handsome, Judge Hartwell sat at his imposing desk. His beard had grown long from neglect over the past few days, but he was still considered an attractive man, though a severe one. His few joys in life were from punishing the wicked and prayer to the god that let him do so. He was the hand of divinity used to administer the law. And today, he had a kind of satisfaction, knowing that the hanging of a thief would happen the next day. He almost smiled. ALMOST. It was not his way to smile.
And then, she came quietly into his chambers, subtle feet like a cat. She had the kind of veneration that only nuns could have, a respect even for the man who would let her brother hang. There were at first no tears on her face, for she felt God was with her and God would help her brother. God was one of few who could help with Judge Hartwell. He looked at her, knowing the answer to his next question, slightly ashamed that he admired the beauty of her face. "What business have you here, sister Miranda?"
And then, she came quietly into his chambers, subtle feet like a cat. She had the kind of veneration that only nuns could have, a respect even for the man who would let her brother hang. There were at first no tears on her face, for she felt God was with her and God would help her brother. God was one of few who could help with Judge Hartwell. He looked at her, knowing the answer to his next question, slightly ashamed that he admired the beauty of her face. "What business have you here, sister Miranda?"
