Drace knew she should not have lost control in front of Vayne. Now she was as good as dead. Her career, ashes. Her weapons, taken away. Lord Larsa... somewhere, far awar, and no means to know if he was safe.
As good as dead, yet alive, and it was her duty to carry on and fight.
(For the warmings “attempted non-con” and “graphic depiction of violence”, I will specify it at the beginning of the chapters during which they will occur, this way you can skip the chapters)
The hell is twenty paces by thirteen. Noah knows this because he watches Larsa pace it often. He cannot walk, cannot make his legs straighten to hold his weight, and so he watches Larsa move instead, and he is certain that it was--is--worth the price.
The walls are white and empty, and all the furnishings are quite plain. Larsa frowns upon it, always says, "It should be better," and the day he adds, as though it's a common thought, "for you," Noah feels a pain.
"It's enough," he says, and it is, for there are twenty paces by thirteen, and Larsa walks those paces by Noah's bedside.
Post-game. Gabranth will always be Larsa's judge. Prompt: June 11 - Final Fantasy XII, Larsa/Gabranth: Under orders - "As you wish, Highness." Influenced by Twain, Heller, Carroll, and Shakespeare. Um.