Nurnhoth

By a nameless slave of Mordor, upon being released after the War of the Ring.

In my breathless cell, in clinking chains,

Some little part of me remains,

The tall, looming steel of the walls stood, strong and unbreaking. They could not, would not, ever break. Imposing, choking, the massive walls towered up to the heavens. Yet, even the heavens were barred. Putrid, heavy clouds of rolling ash choked out any feeling of light from above. She was left, on the ground, cold and enslaved.

Continued...

It was after a long day. The five year old girl was dragging a large fish, almost twice the size as herself, towards the slave quarters close to the lake. Hiding amongst the bushes and using a much smaller fish as a decoy, the little girl panted as she paused. Orcs had a history of stealing good catches from the Nurnhoth, which was why the girl was acting extra cautious bringing the large catfish she was lucky enough to harpoon back home.

She looked up at the architecture of the walls she was guided in. It had been... a long time since she was brought here. The woman looked through the fabric of her grubby hood, at the purple stain glass windows and the shadows and silhouettes of guards shifting through the many halls. She knew every pathway here, even if the last time she set foot in this place was two decades ago. Two long decades...

A crimson and black dress was adorned on a young girl, barely eleven years of age. She was dressed like dark royalty, wearing a black crown upon her head. Her hair had grown long, neatly brushed back in curled locks. Her skin was white like snow. Her eyes were a dark gold brown. Seated upon a throne far larger than her, she held a sorcerer's scepter in her little hands, gazing out the red stain glass windows in the dark throne room belonging to her father.