[center][h1][color=c4df9b][b]Tayla[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
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Tayla furrowed her brow in confusion. Why was she not dead? Did the woman just want to taunt Tayla some more? She stared down the blade, all too aware of the deadly point just under her chin.

[color=6ecff6]"Stop the other cultists', now. Tell them to retreat and let us leave. You don't have many choices."[/color] The woman said.
 
Ah, so that's why. She wanted Tayla to order her own death. She felt the embers of hatred begin to glow. Tayla looked up defiantly into the woman's piercing gaze.

NEVER! She would never do such a thing! She was about to say as much when the woman's next words cut her like a knife.

Why? She wanted to know why she was with the cult? Tayla's defiance faltered. The corner of her mouth twitched once. Twice. Tayla grit her teeth doing her best not to betray any emotion.

Why? Because they gave her a home. A family. A place of sanctuary. Why? Because without them she was weak. Starving. A little girl whose everyday worry was her next meal, shelter from the cold, and a hiding place from those that would defile her. Without the clan she was nobody! Without the clan she had nobody! Without the clan, she- she-

Tayla's eyes began to well up with tears. Frustration. Anger. Hatred. Humiliation. Shame. All of those emotions bubbled to the surface at once. NO! She refused! She would not give this woman the satisfaction of bringing her to tears!

[color=c4df9b][b]"What do you care?!"[/b][/color] Tayla spat. [color=c4df9b][b]"You, who are so obviously more privileged than the other people in this town who live beneath you!"[/b][/color] 

She felt the first tear fall. Damn it all... [color=c4df9b][b]"Why do you even care?!"[/b][/color] She screamed closing her eyes in frustration.

[color=c4df9b][b][i]Damn this woman![/i][/b][/color] Tayla thought. More tears fell. [color=c4df9b][b][i]Damn her to hell...[/i][/b][/color]

Tayla's mind raced. She would not die by the hands of this woman! Whatever had hit her, had caused her to spit out the cotton tufts in her mouth. Instead, she tasted something else in her mouth. Blood. Salty. If she played her cards right she might have a way out of this. 

She grabbed the wrist of her wounded right arm with her left hand. She winced at the pain, while in-overtly she slipped her right hand out of the dangling cuff that remained of her tattered sleeve. She could use the remains of her sleeve as a shield block the blade from cutting her neck. All she needed was the right moment.