Take My Breath Away

All rights reserved, 2012, please do not copy any of my work. Thanks you.

Take My Breath Away-A short story

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"Princess Estelle Zentura, please come forth." I ascended the stairs at a slow, appreciated pace. My head held high, my heels clicking loudly as I made it to the top stair, my heart thumping at an unhealthy rate. My glazed, emotionless eyes swept over the three figured who stood before me. One a priest, he stood reading out a small paragraph, giving me his graces and promises that I will be granted entrance to a heaven up above. The other, my executor, he held the thick-roped noose that would end my life in a matter of seconds. Lastly, my father stood in the middle, a grim expression on his face.

"Princess Estelle Zentura, my daughter, you have committed a crime that is only punishable my death." He announced to the folk of the village, his people. Nobody made a sound as he spoke, not daring to interrupt an important event as this.

"You help one of them escape." He spat, glaring at me with pitiful eyes. I didn't respond to this accusation, it was all true; there was no point in denying it. I looked down at my hands, resting gently in front of my waist, they were as still as death. My dress sprouted out into a puffed out skirt, material spiralling down in intricate patterns as it descended to my high heel clad feet. My brown curls framed my petite face, climbing my head into an up do that was created for the many looks I received. I had lush, rosy pink lips, flawless porcelain skin, almond shaped blue eyes that other women were jealous of.

At seventeen-years-old, here I stood, void of emotion, staring death in the face.

"We captured Sir Westley Hunter in suspicion of his being involved with the dark magic. He used this on my daughter and now she is under his spell."

My father had it all wrong. Dark magic was not real now, nor has it ever been. Westley and I had been associated with one another for years, since I was but a toddler.

One day a week, I would sneak out to the outskirts of town and meet up with him for a small chat. I would bring bread, butter and cheese with me for a light snack. 'Sir Westley Hunter' was not high in status, not that I cared, but my father begged to differ. One night, my father announced he was selling me to the other side of the country to marry the Duke of Evinsbrough. At the mention of such a horrid scenario, I stood and vowed to never to marry any man that my father sold me to. Enraged at this comment, he sent his guards to follow me, leading them right to Westley.

They seized him, pinned him to the ground, all the while I stood shouting at them to stop. They threw him into the dirty pits of the underground prisons and left him there to rot. After dark, two days later, I ran down the creaky steps with a lantern in my hand, swiftly passing the sleeping guards.

"Estelle, it is not safe for you to be here. Leave." He had said, dejectedly hanging his head against the iron bars.

"Do not fear, my Love, I will free you. We shall run together, far away from this place, we will have our happy ever after." I replied.

I picked the lock with one of my many pins that crowded my hair and before I knew it, he had me in his arms. Our moment was short lived when the guards woke startled capturing us in seconds.

Here I stand today, my head high, not bowed. I did nothing wrong. I glared at my father who beckoned me forward to the outlined squared beside him. He only told the town's people of Westley being involved with dark magic to have a reason to lock him up and kill him; he didn't want me in love with a peasant. I walked forward to my designated place and my executor roughly placed the noose around my neck.

"I wish it didn't turn out this way." My father stated, faking sadness. I took a deep breath and looked away from him. I imagined the face of my one and only, Westley. His high cheekbones, chiselled jaw, deep green eyes and shaggy blonde hair, I had every one of his features memorised. I wanted my last thought to be of him, the only one I lived for, not of my father's disapproving look of shame.

"Any last words." I opened my eyes and glanced out into the crowd and saw everyone looking at me in anticipation. Not for my speech, more for the snapping of my neck, my death.

Looking further behind the crowd, I saw him. He came back for me.

My heart lifted at the sight and a small smile etched its way onto my face.

"I don't regret a single thing." My father's eyes widened at my words, the crowd began murmuring things and soon enough my executor pulled the dreaded lever. With one last look at Westley, the door beneath me opened, and I fell down, waiting for the rope to steal my breath away.

Just like Westley had.