The Imprisonment of Bersine
© all rights reserved to Monica P 2010
Bersine nervously walked to and fro in her cushion-lined cell. She felt horrible, there was no word to orate that could make her feel better – she had become a prisoner, and her whole life had been taken out of her hands and put into the hands of an overlord. Bersine clutched at her neckline as she wondered if she would be sent to the slaughter shed in order to be laid down with a sword. She shivered as she thought about it, and suddenly she felt the whole world flicker with the light of the candle that had been caught by the draft and left to rise and die under its push.
“This is a horrible world!” gasped Bersine as she began to continue to stomp her feet to and fro. “I hate it!” she muttered as she stopped in order to glare at the painted wall.
Suddenly a rustle bloomed outside of Bersine's door, and she clutched at her face in order to hide a scream that wanted to call out before she was choked or dragged out of the cell with dirt-stained feet in scrape against the floor.
As the door opened Bersine had to blink her eyes as her mind threatened to blank out from overwhelm.
“Darius;” a guard called out before a royal figure walked through the door with his head held high.
Bersine grew frightened at the figure who seemed calm, but had a composure which made her mind want to fear him. She immediately gasped as she ducked down low in order to give the Persian king his honours. Bersine felt her stomach churn as the candle light almost flickered out as he walked past, and then she cringed as she saw his sandalled feel as they stopped in front of her sight.