After I Died, My Ex-mate Begged for My Mercy
He wrapped his arms around me, locking me in his embrace.
“Are you afraid of the thunder? Why?”
“I never was,” I admitted.
Sucking in a deep breath, I whispered, “The rain had a calming effect on me and the thunder seemed to bring the same ease but after being beaten black and blue, made to toil day and night even in the storm and locked in a room with a dying slave, it was the first time thunder had truly scared me because with each labored breath the slave took, the sky rumbled.”
I shuddered, pausing as I recalled the night.