Die Another Day (#WTV+Movie)

Chapter 3

MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY! Engine burning! Emergency landing! 

An explosion just violently rocked the plane, and the pilot's call is barely audible. A bomb blew a large hole in the aft fuselage.

"Damn it! We're gonna crash. Hang on, guys," one of my companions shouts.

It's panic.

The ground is closing in on us at an insane speed.

Rosie! The baby!

Warren might die.

Why does this only happen to me?

A terrible shock, a searing pain that pierces my chest!

It's total darkness, emptiness. Then a male voice, deep, worried. "Mistress... Ann? Please, wake up."

"Hmm..."

There's that damn headache again. It's a nasty habit now. 

I open my eyes, hampered by sunlight.

"At last!" he says.

He's looking at me carefully, seems relieved. He has a perfect face as if carved in an eternal marble to preserve his wild beauty and make it immutable.

Dark and thick hair, disdainful mouth!

Oh, God! It's Gabriel.

I stand up, fists clenched.

I'm a GI.

I'm about to smash that motherfucker's nice head in. "Get away from me! You bastard!"

He remains still, visibly surprised. "I thought you didn't like me and didn't see me or barely see me. I didn't know you hated me so much, Mistress Ann."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. This guy is a monument of hypocrisy, deceit, falsehood.

Damn! What happened to his fancy officer's uniform?

He's dressed entirely in black, like all men of his condition. The fabric of his frock coat is coarse, worn, and his hat has no ornament whatsoever. Yet, despite this modest outfit, Gabriel looks like a prince. One of these fierce conquerors coming from uncultivated lands where terror reigns.

Terror! So aptly named!

It's horrible times that cost me my head. A long shiver runs through my whole body, makes me stagger, and Gabriel rushes to me. "Damn it, Mistress Ann! You just fell off your horse and hardly stand on your feet. This stallion, this 'Dancer' you like mounting so much is a real demon," he groans.

Dancer! 

I dropped an incredible number of times with him. However, I loved riding this horse every summer when I was allowed to leave the convent for a few months.

Nuns taught us what was helpful for girls to marry. Piety, virtue, modesty were priorities. Reading, writing, History, Latin remained secondary and depended on our dear nuns' knowledge in these subjects.

It was also necessary to count perfectly.

But I don't like numbers.

Our mathematician nun was always complaining to my father about this. Except a housemistress should be able to keep her accounts.

Of course, my family was planning my future wedding.

And such an infirmity was unacceptable.

My youth and beauty compensated for my family's meager means. We weren't needy, but we weren't exactly rolling in gold, either. And my father was hoping for a good marriage. So potential fiancés, bald, fat, rich, would soon parade through the castle to ogle my buttocks and breasts.