The Queen herself sent the order, quick. How one simple man managed to capture the attention of our fair Queen, is quizzical. We all gathered, quaking with the question of what was about to happen. Would it be fast or would it be slow? No two perish the same way. A queer splendor took hold as the procession began. Words were spoken and shouts from the crowd contributed to the rising glee. Two unhappy faces I saw from my place in the back. One about to die, the other, the one I really came to see; the executioner. He told me to never come; he didn’t want me to see him this way. But it was the only chance I got to admire his beauty without causing him further damnation. His face marred with the sorrow of what he was about to do. The leaver was pulled and the dead man started to hang. But my eyes stayed on the garroter; watching the light leaving his already faded eyes. I cared not for the man hanging, but for my lover who was slowly dying, day by day and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I feared I had lost him forever.