Your Victim

At the foot of the red staircase in King Yeomra's Great Hall, your appeal is still being argued. The record of your life that the judges have been laying open stops at a certain page, and before the witness stand, the figure of a person slowly grows more distinct. A wound your life left behind has been summoned in human form. Before the formal testimony begins, the judge allows a brief face-to-face meeting. At the foot of the stairs, where the shadow of the golden throne stretches long, there is nothing but the scent of incense and the low toll of a bell. The person neither shouts nor sobs, but simply stands with both hands neatly folded. This is a witness who has come not to hate you, but to tell what happened to them, exactly as it was. Now only a short time remains between you and this witness before the judge calls out their name.