Once upon a time, a prince came to the village where a blacksmith's daughter lived. The prince rode up to where she sat out on the cobble stones playing with her wooden toys. He reached out for her hand.

The young man, lean and loosely built, moved easily with his mare's rocking walk as its hooves clopped on the village cobble stones. Holding the reins in one hand, he adjusted the gold circlet on his dark curling hair and glanced around at the children playing in the gutters with their toys. A small child sat in the trampled path to her father’s smithy playing dollies on her outspread skirts. “Whoa,” the prince murmured, and drawing his horse up before the blacksmiths, swung his leg over the horse’s back, dismounting. He knelt beside the child.

The gunman walked into her cell. Anne looked up.

"It's time." He said gruffly.

Anne rose and followed him out the cell door and down a long hallway. This was the price she had to pay for defending the people she loved.

As they reached the designated room, she was told to sit in a steel chair facing the wall.

The gunman stood in front of her and raised the gun. This was the end.

The burly gunman entered the cell. His presence seemed to fill the room like a black cloud. Anne looked up, her heart hammering in her throat, threatening to choke her.

"It's time," He said gruffly, with the barest hint of compassion.

Anne rose on shaky legs. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly in front of her as she followed the gunman. The longest walk of her life, and yet the shortest at the same time. Her vision clouded with tears, but she knew it was worth it. It was a small price to pay for the people she loved.

As they reached the designated room of peeling yellow paint, the gunman gestured for her to sit in the cold hard chair facing the wall. Anne sat down, the metal cooling the hot blood in her hands. She felt peace now. She took a deep, deep breath, and the fear faded from her eyes.

The gunman now stood in front of her, and he raised the gun so she was looking straight down the barrel; into the eye of death. This was the end.

"Put that down and come with me," he said gruffly. "This isn't a time for playing juvenile games."

"Put that down," he said. "Come with me. This isn't a time for games."

Neither of those samples were stellar. I made them up just now, but do you get the idea?