The young woman sat calmly in her cell, as if she were resigned to her fate.  Her dark brown eyes frequently sought the small window high above the floor of her dirty cell, the only indication that her spirit was still strong and a part of her hoped for some other escape.  A weaker woman would have broken and given into despair months ago, perhaps even taking her life before the executioner could do it for her.  But not this woman. 

            A strange contrast to her disgusting prison, she was dressed in a pristine white cotton dress.  She had been given a stool to sit upon for the occasion, instead of wallowing on the floor like a caged animal.  Refuse and straw mingled on the floor in irregular piles.  Scraps of once-fine clothing littered the floor, remnants of the silken dress she’d worn - and torn to pieces as she fought the stone walls - in her first days of imprisonment.

            Her long hair, once beautiful and shiny, was now dirty and limp, hanging down her back like an old, worn-out rope.  It was the color of straw and it had become the texture of it as well, sometime during the long months of her imprisonment.  A white silk tie held it back from her face.  Her long legs and graceful arms were caked in dirt and smeared with blood.  In the beginning she had raged against the walls imprisoning her, as if she could break through the stone with her fists and will alone.  Her once admirable fingers had become broken and twisted with no one to heal them properly.

            Sighing, the young woman spoke softly under her breath.  She whispered a constant prayer to her Goddess, whether it was to keep her sanity or beg for her release, none but the Goddess knew.  Her eyes were clear and bright as she looked around the room.  The insane outbursts of her initial days in this prison were long gone and she waited in weary silence.  Strong and sure, she would die for what she believed.  Perhaps not her first choice to prove her ideals, it was the only path now open to her.  Her death would bring her into the Goddess’s embrace, despite the accusations of heresy by the keep’s priests. 

            The heavy door opened slowly, its old rusted hinges grating loudly.  A guard peered inside, a scar down his face a reminder of the need for caution around this woman.  She seemed so gentle and beautiful, with her hair and slender limbs, but a wildcat lived inside of her and fed her spirit.  He would never believe that fire extinguished.

            She turned her dark brown eyes on his when he stepped inside the cell and he faltered, nearly tripping over a pile of refuse.  Almost drowning inside her deep, sorrowful eyes, the young guard bit on the inside of his lip, concentrating on the pain and blood to break her spell.  She sighed and nodded, rising to stand before him, her head bowed slightly.  A satisfied smile spread across his face as he took her gently by the elbow to guide her out of the cell.  To her release, not in freedom, but in death.

            The short walk down the stairs to the central square of the keep seemed to span the entire continent, each jarring step reminding her of their ultimate destination.  A newly erected platform filled the square.  A once peaceful and beautiful place, with a garden and walkways, a place of happiness and love, was now a hideous place of death.  Wrongful death.  The woman held her head high, staring out over the crowd that had come to witness her execution.  Her eyes swept over them as if she didn't notice them, and perhaps she didn't.  Her prayers to her Goddess continued during the entire walk.  The guard had tried to hush her, but how can you threaten a woman who is doomed to die?  Mortal words no longer had power over her, only the looming death to come.

            Climbing the steps to the guillotine, the doomed woman stepped away from her escort and approached it alone, her head held high.  She would not be the weak woman the priests wanted to see.  Standing before the gruesome device, she wondered briefly if they would save it for others like her, or if it would be dismantled and forgotten like her.  Sadly, she wished her sister a silent goodbye, where ever she may be.  It was useless now to wonder what would have been different, had she chosen to go with the others.  The argument between them was still clear in her mind.  Convinced she could make them understand and change she had remained, instead of abandoning the keep altogether.  Only to die for her sister’s crimes and their shared beliefs.  Her eyes scanned the crowd one more time, smiling ironically as she spotted her husband shrinking into the crowd. She caught his eye and saw them flash with recognition and resentment.  He cringed.  She couldn't help taking a morbid pleasure in it, just as he couldn't help taking pleasure in her death.  A good wife was what he had wanted.  Submissive and passive, not strong and full of opinions as this woman.

            Kneeling slowly, she rested her neck in the slight groove, a slight shiver sliced through her body at the touch of freshly cut wood.  She would christen this device today, with her blood.  She wondered if they would name it, like they did boats.  But they didn't christen boats with blood. The rough hand of the masked executioner brushed her hair aside and it dangled into the basket meant to catch her dismembered head. His rough whisper reached her ears.

            "Please forgive me, Jaylaenne."

            “Owen..”  Her mind cried out the young man’s name.  She had known him only briefly, meeting by chance in the garden.  This garden.  He had been intelligent, full of wonder and questions and not at all unwilling to share them with a woman.  The injustice stung her soul and tears rose up, stinging her eyes.  She easily dismissed her own self pity, but the knowledge of this young man’s innocence to be lost overwhelmed her.  Choking she nodded slightly and whispered her forgiveness.  This poor man was caught just as she was.  Would his spirit die this day, as her body did?  How could they do this to him?

            A never ending stream of thoughts filled her, many prayers directed at her Goddess, as her lips no longer carried her whispers without bringing tears to her eyes.  She heard the executioner swing his axe high above his head and bring it down on the rope that suspended the blade high above her neck.  She heard the rope snap and the woosh of the blade racing towards her.  She closed her eyes and composed her face to the calmness they had known in her in life.  The first bite of metal touched her neck and the shock coursed through her body as her neck was severed.

 

She felt no more.