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She's taken out to the place of execution, where stands the big, ugly device, instrument of her forthcoming degradation, pain and suffering.
Terrified, she faints, collapsing in front of it. Recovered, she pleads for release from the torture, but to no avail; she's tied to the big frame.
There she's made to embrace the dreadful object, embrace too the imminent prospect of being tied to it and left to hang from its topmost bar.
Her initial pain is the emotional one of shame . . . wrists are freed and she is given the order to strip - naked - for the descent into degradation.
Stripped of even the scraps of cloth that protect her modesty, hands bound, she's compelled to stretch out, suspended from the beam.
Then, mounting a bench, she is made to stand against the upright to let her arms and feet be bound to the scaffold.
Now she must hang, writhe, endure the wracking torture that is her fate, knowing there is no escape, only blackness.
She is alone, she is condemned, she is crucified.
[the images are not new, but are now in my folder, in a new order and with a short story]
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