Sacrifice

A/N: I found this in a folder while I was cleaning out old writings on my computer and figured I'd post it here for help. I like to keep my shorts ambiguous and a very little detailed in order to keep them from turning into something more. I already write enough novels to begin with.

Basically I want to know if you understand what happened in the end and what the main character's decision was. I think I put the clues in there, but sometimes I feel like I know what's going on and my clues aren't as strong as they need to be for this to make sense. If you could add that onto the end of your review that would be very helpful. Thanks!

They burst through my cell door without much grace. I'm barely able to look up before I'm ordered to my feet -- by the crown prince no less. His fair skin and shaggy hair holds no spell over me. Any moment of fantasizing vanished when I agreed to my brother's plan.

It's hard to carry the chains I've been bound to for weeks and I don't get up fast enough. A guard reaches down and yanks, nearly pulling my withered arm from its socket, until I'm on my feet. If it weren't for him holding me steady, I would've been back on the floor. Miraculously, my chains fall, clattering against the plain floor. My hand flies to my neck, massaging the sores left from the metal surrounding it. That chain was the worst.

"Here," the crown prince grunts as he hands me a sword. I fumble with the handle and it burns when I grasp it. Stars line my vision when I finally capture the sword with all my strength. When they clear, I see the prince staring at me. I'd question his choice to give me a weapon, but I learned long ago not to talk to royalty.

As my crippled brain tries to understand, another set of guards enter my cell, dragging my brother between them. He's beaten and bloodied, his simple blue shirt stained purple. Hardly any feature of his is recognizable. I want to curl over and empty my stomach, but I have to stay strong. If not for me for him.

The prince ignores the additional prisoner and pulls my gaze to his. "Kill him."

I can only stare back. "What?"

"I'm offering you a deal," he says in that diplomatic, fake voice that makes my skin crawl. Even those brown eyes of his make me squirm. They're every bit as evil as his actions. "Your brother is the real culprit. You're just the wench that got roped into the crime. Kill him and you are free to go. The court will not pursue you."

Now the weapon makes sense. And it only grows heavier in my grasp. The proposition chokes me, cutting off my breath as the chain had attempted for weeks. I have an out; I can go home. My husband will be waiting for me, our son clinging to his leg. Even the thought of that image lifts my spirits. This suicide plan my brother created can be behind me.

I wonder if it's worth it. My brother is family, and there isn't much of us left. Family should come before everything else. I guess it would if my parents weren't ashamed of us.

The prince seems to be drawing impatient. "Make your choice. Or I'll make it for you."

I know what his choice will be, so I make mine. It's not an easy one to make. And I come to that conclusion faster than I would like.

I stare into my brother's dead eyes, desperate that he understands. He'll never forgive me for this; I can see it in the fear he gazes at me with. I don't expect him to ever forgive me. But he needs to understand that I am helping him. That's all that matters. I need him to know. The kingdom will never accept my decision, but my brother will when we meet again in death.

With my remaining energy, I raise the sword. My arm shakes and I fight to get it steady. When I lunge, I see my brother's eyes widen, the death in them fading slightly. Blood splatters across my arm, dark and final. The sight of it, or maybe the release of so much energy, makes my head spin. I collapse onto the unforgiving floor. The pain doesn't register. I know what they're doing to me, but it doesn't matter to my broken mind. I am lost.

With the sound of my own slow heart beat echoing in my ears, it's hard to make out who the torturous scream belongs to.

I think it's coming from me.