Musketeers not mine, just borrowing :-)

Steeling herself against the memories she steps through the door. Vaguely she notices the signs of people as she moves through the rooms but pays no heed. She holds out the torch; watching with satisfaction as the old curtains catch light, the flames leaping hungrily up the rich fabric.

There, my love; this will truly turn us to history

She moves quickly through the cursed rooms, holding the torch to anything that might catch light. She is mindful that the house is burning fast; soon it will not be safe to stay. Yet at the same time she feels a thrill as she watches the flames devour the ancestral home of the man she once loved and she wants to watch from the heart of it.

Enough

She can't stay or she will burn; a fate she intends to avoid. Being hanged was unpleasant enough.

She turns and moves back through the rooms; it is time to go. Smoke is filling the air and through the roar of the flames she fancies she can almost hear someone coughing.

Movement catches her eye and she turns; she is shocked to see him, but not as shocked as he is. It is almost amusing to see the confusion on his face. It might be comical if it wasn't also for the horror in his eyes.

Eyes that once only held love and desire for me

"You're dead." The volume of wine he has drunk is clear in his voice, his eyes and every movement.

She mocks him; enjoying telling him how she survived and the look in his eyes when she pulls down the ribbon at her throat. When he runs at her it is almost pitiful to watch; she steps aside easily and watches as he hits the wall.

When she swings the torch, catching him across the face she feels a savage glee. She gazes at him as he sprawls on the floor; dazed, confused and drunk.

Now you are truly in my power

"It's right should die with this house." She crouches next to him, ready to spill his blood. As he speaks her anger rises and she presses the knife against the pale skin of his throat. Suddenly she can't and she gazes at the house as it burns.

"Anne." He whispers her name and reaches for her, pressing his face against her. She almost doesn't realise what she is doing as her fingers move to his hair, running through it automatically and she buries her face in it for a moment, inhaling his scent mixed with smoke.

She feels the moment of weakness and steels herself once more, pushing him away from her and pressing the knife against him. A glint of metal catches her eye and she reaches out, her fingers grasping the locket she knows so well. She hears his plea for death as she opens the locket and gazes at the flower she so lovingly pressed.

Not like this, God help me, I can't

"Athos." She hears the boys' voice through the flames and runs, there is not time to kill him now. Perhaps if she leaves him here he will choke or burn.

As she rides away she sees the boy run into the house. She gasps for breath trying to steady herself; she can still feel him in her arms and smell the familiar scent of him. As much as she hates him for what he did there is a part of her that still loves him, desires him.

Next time, my love I will not be so weak. You will die by my hand yet.

Well let me know what you think. Next one will be trying to get inside Athos' head during the fire :-)