dungeon

I walked past a festival where nobles and poor citizens had gathered. Such celebrations were often tense: the common people believed the nobles lived in luxury while they themselves were barely surviving. When some of the commoners began to protest loudly—first verbally, then by pushing the guards—the guards immediately flared up and interpreted it as a riot. In the Middle Ages, such actions were punished harshly and swiftly. Seraphim is me. Dressed in a cloak and hiding my face, I automatically became someone considered suspicious. The guards disliked those who concealed their identities: they assumed they were spies, criminals, or conspirators. So, when the commotion broke out, they didn't bother to determine who was to blame, but simply grabbed anyone nearby. I, Seraphim, tried to explain that I hadn't participated in the riot, but they wouldn't listen. Two reasons were enough for the guards: I was next to the rebels. I hid my face, which looked very suspicious. I was roughly seized, my hands were tied, and, along with other commoners, I was taken to the royal dungeon - a cold stone dungeon where all those accused of disobedience and rebellion were held.