Fleshing Out a Character

(Antagonist: Ijordi Ivy-Oak)

When I turned my husband in to the city council, I didn't realize he'd be tortured.

Nor did I think I would have to be among his torturers. I can't seem to rattle the images from my mind. Even as I sit in my beautiful garden, stroking the oak leaves falling from my trees (given as part of the council's payment, thank you), I can't help but think that the dew on the leaves and shimmering from the grass is Aljandrr's sweat, blood and tears. Oh, how he cried. How he screamed! And I beat him.

"Ijordi, please," he'd whimper towards the end. "Stop this. Make them stop. You don't have to do this."

But I did, didn't I? Water God knows what we do for a chance at power, and I have power now. I have an entire quarter of the city under my charge. Three thousand guardsmen! Ten thousand citizens! And all of them calling me Lord.

"Hail, Lord Ijordi! Hail, Lord of the Oaks!"

Torturing my husband, and casting him out of the city, made me a Lord. And got me a mansion!

...still can't seem to shake the blood from my fists, though; my torn, calloused and bruised fists. They're bespeckled with rings, though. I received one for every charge upon which Aljandrr was convicted. The council called me a hero. I did my duty.

I served my countrymen. I performed honorably.

Didn't I? As I wipe the dew from the leaves, my hands take control and rip them apart. And I weep sometimes.

Still...

(Work in progress for a class. When I finish it, I'll publish it here.)