Blurry Faith

Reykr stared at the man with the bald patch in the middle of his head, a perfect round circle like a halo amidst the fluffy brown hair. That stupid bald patch was the only thing he could see from this angle. His throat lay on carved wood, his back bent at a painful angle, half kneeling and half standing. A wickedly sharp blade hung suspended in the air above him, hovering like a wasp ready to sting. Reykr could imagine his jaw trembling as he stood there, terrified of what was about to unfurl.

The Queen beside him heaved a sigh of annoyance, twirling one strand of white hair around her finger. Fury welled up in his chest, breaking out into hot waves going through his body over and over again. How could she be so indifferent when an innocent man was about to die? How could she bear to witness the slaughter of such a helpless creature? More importantly, how could Forseti and the rest of the Vanir let this happen?

Ever since he was a little boy, he’d idolised the gods and their seemingly all-powerful states of being, even going so far as to tell everyone during training hours that he was the son of the god of justice and balance, Forseti. He was marked by his light skin as an outcast and the injustice he’d served in his youth made him think that he was sent to this place to right the wrongs that continued to plague this proud nation.

But now his faith was shaken. Shouldn’t he do something? Stop this from happening before it was too late? He could already feel the decision crippling his conscience, driving him towards the depths of despair. Did Forseti want him to stop this madness?

The guillotine shuddered violently and suddenly it was too late for him to do anything at all. He gasped at the sudden movement and gripped the armrests of his seat when the balding head hit the ground with a sickening thunk. Gods above, what had he done?