ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ/ᴄᴀꜱᴛ

[Includes strong language]

I've seen many days like this, children running on the hard cobblestone shouting, "I need a doctor! My mother has not but two more days to breathe!" As their hot tears streamed down their porcelein, thin faces. Humanity was dying, the world seemed as if it was reaching the end. My parent yet, had not fallen ill, but they did not have anything to support me. Right as the sun rose from it's hiding, a knock arose, pounding on our oak wood door, "You lads cannot supply this scag of food any longer." The tall, broad, Scottish guard took ahold of my thin arm. A dirk was visually attached to his vest of armor, "But she's too old to be taken to the orphanage, 18 in December she'll be!" My mother tried to reason with him, "We know of her age, lassie. We taken her to the castle that holds Prince Calum, sure she'll find plenty of work there." Before my mother could say another word, I was torn from her touch. The guards held tightly to my forearms, I was too weak to fight. Every breathe of air felt compressed, they weren't wrong in a way, my family had not but scraps to feed me every day. They shut the large iron door, attached to the large crate I was placed in, "I reckon Prince Calum will have fun with her." The same Guard chuckled devilishly.