The Scales Don't Lie (Arthur Harrow x Fem!Reader Book)

Chapter 1: The Scales

You make your way through the crowd. There are people everywhere. You push and shove to get to the front.

Your senses are being flooded with stimuli from all around. You have to filter through it all to get to the important stuff.

Finally, you make it to your destination. You see Harrow standing there on the stage with a man. The man looked to be about thirty years old, with short brown hair, and a clean-cut beard. Their hands were intertwined, and the foreboding cane of Ammit swung between them.

You studied Harrow's features. His head was tilted back, his eyes shut tight. He was focused, concentrating hard on weighing the good and bad deeds that this man had committed in his lifetime.

The scale tattoo on his forearm swung back and forth, slowly and calculatedly deciding the man's fate.

Your eyes were fixed upon Harrow's face. You focused on the little things, taking in every detail, from the wrinkles on his forehead, to the way his thin grey hair fell over his face, and the concentrated frown he held on his lips.

You felt a churning type feeling in the pit of your stomach as you watched him. God, he was so incredible. You admired him so much, more than anyone or anything. His quest to revive Ammit was so brave and noble. He was so brave and noble (not to mention handsome). You just couldn't help but be drawn to him... attracted to him.

Your feelings for your fearless leader were something you kept very close to your chest. If someone found out, it could destroy your reputation within the clan.

As all these thoughts raced through your mind, Harrow opened his eyes wide. The scale tattoo turned green for a moment, then returned to normal. The man was good.

The people cheered loudly. Harrow and the man smiled, laughed, and wrapped each other in a happy embrace.

You smiled, glad that Ammit had allowed the man to live, but even more glad that Harrow was happy.

This joy would only last so long, however.

Just as Harrow was stepping down from the stage, an elderly woman pushed through the crowd, and stood in front of him.

"Please, I must know." She pleaded, a desperation in her eyes that matched none you'd ever known.

Harrow stared at her for a moment, intently studying her features. Then he nodded.

"Come." He said calmly as he took her hand and led her to the stage.

He helped her onto the stage (seen as she was old), and took her hands in his, placing the cane between them.

As the cane and scale began to swing, you took a closer look at the woman.

She looked petrified, she might've even been shaking. Yet, she was loyal to Ammit, and was willing to give her life to serve her.

You then turned your gaze towards Harrow.

He was in the same stance he'd assumed before, focused, concentrated, a hard look on his face. It made your stomach do flips.

But then his features changed, his eyes opened wide, and he looked slightly cross. The scale on his arm turned blood red, and cracked, falling apart.

You, and everyone else, knew what that meant. This woman was to be condemned by Ammit for her sins.

The fear in her eyes was multiplied ten-fold, but there was also a hint of confusion mixed with the fright.

"But, but... I've been good my entire life." She pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

Harrow looked at the poor woman, and you swore you saw a glint of sympathy in his eyes.

"I believe you." He responded somberly, gripping her arms so that the wrath of Ammit could pervade through her. "Perhaps it's for something you would do in the future."

The woman croaked miserably as her body turned grey, before falling to the floor cold and dead.

'Poor lady', you thought. But, if Harrow was doing this, it had to be just... right?

You watched as Harrow descended the steps, walked through the crowd, and left towards his apartment.