Prologue.

I hadn't really ever thought about my life, thinking about stuff isn't a strong point for me. But to think that I would someday die was horrifying, not only that but to think that I'd die so young, only seventeen, well... it scares me.

    Scared? Surely I should be worse, but how should I be reacting? Scream? No one would hear me, no one that would actually care.

    Like me, he - the one who truly owns my heart - was bound at his hands and feet. Unlike me he lay unconscious in the corner to my right. His rescue attempt had ended with his body now motionless on the cold, hard, stone floor.

    More fortunate, I had yet to truly suffer. No physical pain. Just psychological.

    Sitting. That's all I was capable of. Legs bound to the chairs’. Arms tied round my back, refused me the ability to go comfort my wounded soldier.

    The door directly opposite opened slowly, the creak echoed throughout the vast emptiness. My executioner. A glint in his eyes, a smirk on his face it was my turn...

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Please note that I am considering having aspects of the story told from another character's first person view point. As this could fill in possible gaps.

updated May 7 '09 by southerner-creates