D.D. Ward is Writing

I saw my mother. My birth mother, from Earth. She was a small wan looking woman. She might have looked pretty with more makeup and without the scar on her cheek. The scar was from when my father hit her with a wine glass. The glass shattered and the edge cut open her cheek.  She stared at me, “He died because of you.” “He was horrible to you.” I answered back. “All I told them was the truth. The truth.” “They didn’t understand. He loved us. In his way.” I shook my head. “He didn’t love us. He wanted to own us. He didn’t love anyone.” “I needed him.” I felt something on my neck. Liquid of some sort.  “No you didn’t.” I said. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do it.” “I was nothing without him. And you took him away from me.” “That isn’t fair.” I could feel my voice rising. “You were a terrible daughter.” I struggled to find my footing. I felt something pouring down my throat.  “I was nothing without him. You made me nothing. So I went away. I couldn’t stand the world without ...

Duke Xander rose to collect quill pen and paper. Somebody screamed in the corridor outside the prison. I looked up. Duke Xander drew his sword. Another scream. And then a rattling of keys.  The door burst in and Fiona stepped through the doorway, saber drawn and bloody. She had changed from her evening gown, back into her usual breeches and claw hammer jacket. The two royal guards moved to draw their own weapons. But Fiona drew a flintlock in her left hand and dropped the first guard before he could draw his sword. The second guard got his sword out of its scabbard. Fiona, meanwhile, had dropped her flintlock and drawn a second one. She aimed and fired as the second guard began to charge towards her. He dropped and rolled to a stop in front of her.  The torturer grabbed me and grappled me into a headlock. He then placed a bizarre and very sharp looking instrument against my cheek. I got the message.  “This is madness. What are you thinking?” Duke Xander said, his voice ri...

“I see that we have already begun.” A man’s voice said. I looked up. The torturer was a slim short man with a bald head and prominent nose. He looked like he belonged in an accounting firm. He had set up a folding table and placed a case on it at some point. The two guards brought in a weird contraption. It looked like a clothing rack but for a person. They locked me into it, arms spread, feet dangling inches about the floor. The thing put all my weight on my shoulders, and the pain felt agonizing.  I don’t remember the guards leaving. Perhaps they didn’t and I didn’t notice.  I hung there in the middle of the room.  “Get on with it.” Duke Xander said.  “A moment.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “This has been painful so far. Yes? You should know, I will be worse. I see auras. I will not merely break your body. Do you understand?” I considered this. I’d been talking myself into confessing a moment ago. But would that actually fix things? Would it save anything? I woul...