She could see how much work had gone into these ornate palaces for the noble few who claimed to be divine. So entitled to a skewed portion of the resources, power and wealth. While babies of the poor died of starvation and neglect. She could imagine the blood mixed with the mortar in each wall. So well constructed by people who would never spend a day in the castle. By people who lived in shacks full of poisonous bugs and reptiles, of disease spreading rodents. Under the shadow of these glitz and glitter ridden monstrosities. Icons of greed for the few.
Habited by people who saw the poor and their children as fodder for their sexual and violent obsessions. If they refused, they were tossed under the castle, in dungeons that were little more than caged holes. Or shamed, naked in the courtyards for their rebellion. With their families begging them to cooperate.
Appealing to the priests did no good. They were living far too well to upset the status quo. Why would they help the people?
She could see the evidence of their crimes among the rabble she was turning over. And again, it broke her heart for the people. Such entitlement was no longer allowed in her time. Tears were sliding down her cheeks as she sorted through the shards of what they thought was the ultimate civilization. To know now they had given their lives for this and nobody but the historians of her time even remembered their names. What a shame.


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