Miriam stood at its edge. Looking down the face of the wall, she was grateful for the blood and sweat that put it there, to protect them from beyond. It was darker on the other side, but they came just the same. People or things, clawing at the stones, trying to get in. She did as she was told, not because of the telling, but because it was in the best interest of the collective. They screamed as the oil melted their skin. It was not a matter of conscience to her. They were imposing. Miriam did what was right.
The prompt is Wall, courtesy of Velvet Verbosity. I'm pretty sure writing something happy might kill me, that my flesh might melt away like the witch of the west or all those people below the wall. Tonight's theme is apparently women who do horrible things and feel justified by them. I don't know if that's telling or not.