Prisoning Truth
Imagining This. (40th Chapter)
…The Next Day…
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Giselle's POV:
.........................
Crying was what drove me to sleep, last night. Crying was what made me express my fear. Crying was what I did, since I am a helpless case. Why did I risk Harry’s life, by trying to contact him? Why did I lie for the first time in my life, just to hear his voice? Only one answer is sufficient to all these swarming questions; I love him.
I love Harry and I can’t stop thinking about him. His image in my mind, was the only light that shattered away the dark empire, which crowned me as its princess. I am worthless, hopeless, and weak. Yes, that’s who I am and I am aware of my traits now more than ever. Only god knows what Santers has in mind for my saviour.
Harry came through my life like a gust of thunder; he swept me in his capture and tamed my heart under his love vows. I won’t allow Harry’s existence to be harmed; I will not stay here thinking and crying like a reckless child. No; I will have to think of a way to protect him. But then again, how will I if I’m already locked up in my own empire? I woke up a while ago, and had my routine dress up from the two girls of my age.
I was like a pale sheet of paper, thin and lifeless; yet easy to have my movement controlled. The two employees noticed how numb I was, and as a result they had to literally stand me up and sit me down. I have no will to move, I have no will to serve my body and life with optimism any more. A knock startles me a little and allows me to pause my depressed thoughts; while the door opens slowly.
The man with the black tuxedo stands like a stonewall at the entrance of my room. “Your father wishes to see you, in the dungeon. You’ll have to follow me right now.” Dungeon? What kind of mansion would contain a dungeon? Well, I guess I shouldn’t be asking myself this question, since the owner is as twisted and evil as his actions. I stand up slowly, noticing that my slumbering body is deadly stiff.
The bodyguard begins to travel down the staircase, while I follow him slowly. If only I could open that huge door and rush out to Harry, if only I could warn him before my domestic father reaches him. Father… he will never be my father as long as I have a functioning bone under my skin.
The hired guard walks through the endless hallway, reaching a door that isn’t similar to the others. Unlike the gold-carved doors, this one in specific is a maroon wood. Ironically speaking, it is clear that what’s behind that door, isn’t a luxury room with artefacts and figurines. The guard swings the door open, entering with my heels on the cue of following his.
My eyes come in contact with a dirty-asphalt staircase, consisting of three steps. As I step down from the first stair, a ruffled moan roars through the dim place. The guard was still on track, caring less and having no sort of reaction to the voice that lingered through the dungeon. Ahead of the hallway, metal bars catch my eye. They are identical to prison cells, yet they seem harsher and more brutal.
I want to gasp, I want cry, but instead I scream at the sight that I never imagined before. There, in one of the cells, stands Santers with a whip. The leather scrunches at how tight his palms are squeezing at it, making me clamp my palm over my mouth to quiet down. I turn my eyes to notice my worst nightmare coming to life, as I see the weak body that I crave, hanging from the ceiling.
His soft hands are clasped through chain-like handcuffs, dangling him like a motionless mammal. His hair that used to lighten at the strike of sunlight is damp from the sweat and filth, that circumvent this prisoning cell. His head is hung low, facing the ground, as his skin is bare and skidded with red bruises. No, I must be imagining this; this is a dream. It can’t be him… not my Harry.
..........................
Giselle's POV:
.........................
Crying was what drove me to sleep, last night. Crying was what made me express my fear. Crying was what I did, since I am a helpless case. Why did I risk Harry’s life, by trying to contact him? Why did I lie for the first time in my life, just to hear his voice? Only one answer is sufficient to all these swarming questions; I love him.
I love Harry and I can’t stop thinking about him. His image in my mind, was the only light that shattered away the dark empire, which crowned me as its princess. I am worthless, hopeless, and weak. Yes, that’s who I am and I am aware of my traits now more than ever. Only god knows what Santers has in mind for my saviour.
Harry came through my life like a gust of thunder; he swept me in his capture and tamed my heart under his love vows. I won’t allow Harry’s existence to be harmed; I will not stay here thinking and crying like a reckless child. No; I will have to think of a way to protect him. But then again, how will I if I’m already locked up in my own empire? I woke up a while ago, and had my routine dress up from the two girls of my age.
I was like a pale sheet of paper, thin and lifeless; yet easy to have my movement controlled. The two employees noticed how numb I was, and as a result they had to literally stand me up and sit me down. I have no will to move, I have no will to serve my body and life with optimism any more. A knock startles me a little and allows me to pause my depressed thoughts; while the door opens slowly.
The man with the black tuxedo stands like a stonewall at the entrance of my room. “Your father wishes to see you, in the dungeon. You’ll have to follow me right now.” Dungeon? What kind of mansion would contain a dungeon? Well, I guess I shouldn’t be asking myself this question, since the owner is as twisted and evil as his actions. I stand up slowly, noticing that my slumbering body is deadly stiff.
The bodyguard begins to travel down the staircase, while I follow him slowly. If only I could open that huge door and rush out to Harry, if only I could warn him before my domestic father reaches him. Father… he will never be my father as long as I have a functioning bone under my skin.
The hired guard walks through the endless hallway, reaching a door that isn’t similar to the others. Unlike the gold-carved doors, this one in specific is a maroon wood. Ironically speaking, it is clear that what’s behind that door, isn’t a luxury room with artefacts and figurines. The guard swings the door open, entering with my heels on the cue of following his.
My eyes come in contact with a dirty-asphalt staircase, consisting of three steps. As I step down from the first stair, a ruffled moan roars through the dim place. The guard was still on track, caring less and having no sort of reaction to the voice that lingered through the dungeon. Ahead of the hallway, metal bars catch my eye. They are identical to prison cells, yet they seem harsher and more brutal.
I want to gasp, I want cry, but instead I scream at the sight that I never imagined before. There, in one of the cells, stands Santers with a whip. The leather scrunches at how tight his palms are squeezing at it, making me clamp my palm over my mouth to quiet down. I turn my eyes to notice my worst nightmare coming to life, as I see the weak body that I crave, hanging from the ceiling.
His soft hands are clasped through chain-like handcuffs, dangling him like a motionless mammal. His hair that used to lighten at the strike of sunlight is damp from the sweat and filth, that circumvent this prisoning cell. His head is hung low, facing the ground, as his skin is bare and skidded with red bruises. No, I must be imagining this; this is a dream. It can’t be him… not my Harry.
Notes
2 more chapters, so:
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I totally love your books. The first book I ever read on this website was Forbidden Love which was written by you and it was fantastic. That book has become my favorite on this site and you should keep writing because you're good at it. Keep up the excellent work. Bye!!!
6/2/16