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Lessia's POV:

I found myself standing in the middle of a crowd. All of them, faceless men with accusing fingers pointed at me.

They all wore suits, and their faces were blank with not a glimpse of anything one would refer to as as a characteristic of a face. Eyes, noses, lips, missing. Just a blankness with nothing to show as an identification.

"I didn't do It," I cried out, but lacking in any sense what I was really crying about. It seemed to be that my lips moved on their own. And in me I felt a huge sense of fear and guilt.

“You all are hypocrites,” I roared.

“Maddox Slater bought me from my family, to be his sex slave. He kept me as his prisoner for years, fucked me day and night, and decorated my body with injuries that would later become scars whenever I refused to let him fuck me, or I got him angry. None of you bloody hypocrites came to my aid then. Yet you all seat here accusing me of murdering the tyrant, when you all secretly wish he was indeed dead. I hope you all meet t
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