The Woman in the Sun – modified for Jane Dougherty.

The first rays of sunlight would bring her transformation. She waited, breathless, at the window for the first glimmer of fire to appear above the horizon.

Behind her, the Prince lay sleeping, tumbled across his golden bed. She had played her part well. He would always remember her, she told herself, and smiled grimly.

In her left hand she held her prize, the emerald that contained the kingdom’s soul. With her right hand she pulled her robe tightly round her slim body, and stepped forward. This body irked her and she longed for flight.

A sudden noise behind her made her turn, startled as a wild bird. The Prince had woken and was smiling at her. He dangled a chain between his fingers: the diamond swinging from it sparked as the first light of sunrise hit it.

Her hand flew to her throat. Did he know? He held her power there, so casually, leaving her trapped and wingless, in this fragile body.

The sunlight that spilt around her mocked her now. She reached out to him, involuntarily, but the Prince just smiled more widely and closed his hand around his trophy.

“Come here, my love”, he whispered.

Jane suggested a little re-working here and there…