This is Prompt No. 39-Mixed Emotion

That night, Mitchie lay awake again, staring at the ceiling and listening subconsciously to the annoying snoring trait that both Lonnie and George possessed. She no longer worried about noisily moving around because neither of the jailers could touch her tonight. "There are perks to being executed," she thought wryly, but her own sarcasm, forced on the brink of death, could not even bring a smile to her face.

She rolled toward the cell door and closed her eyes, trying to bring her swirling mind back into order. Her emotions were mixing and convulsing in such quick concession that she couldn't identify what exactly she was feeling.

Fear. Fear of what was to come. Fear that she wouldn't be brave enough to face the queen without breaking down and begging for mercy. Fear that she wouldn't be able to face the people of London, watching them jeer at her, yelling out horrid names at her as she stepped up to the block.

Relief. Relief that she was getting out of this cell. Relief that she was getting away from the two mad jailers that were currently sprawled across their desks, snoring and drooling all over the stone tabletop. Relief that although she might die, she would at least be able to slip out of the clutches that misery had held her in for the past months. Relief that she had not been tortured in any other way than by Lonnie and George's fists and an occasional foot or knee.

Panic. Panic overtook the fear as Mitchie squirmed on her bed of straw. Panic drove her to jump up and cross the small cell to peer at the lock, wondering how hard it would be to pick it. Panic accelerated her breathing, and she started to hold her breath so that her breathing wouldn't give her away. "No," she realized with a sinking feeling, "the lock is too deep and difficult."

Anger. Anger at herself. Anger with Queen Victoria. Anger that she had been caught. Anger that Victoria had sent her spy out to Virginia in the first place. Anger with whoever the inventor of the camera was. Anger that she had allowed herself to be photographed, though she calmed herself down slightly by reminding herself that she had no control over that night.

Sadness. She felt sadness creep over her as she thought about her family.

Jealousy. She thought of Caitlyn, who would've had her baby by now, and felt a strong sense of jealousy grow towards her sister-in-law. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't Caitlyn have come in her place? It was all Caitlyn's fault for getting pregnant.

Remorse. Almost instantly, Mitchie regretted her feelings towards her best friend and sister-in-law. None of this was Caitlyn's fault. None of it was anyone's fault. No one at the UUS could have seen this type of disaster coming their way. If they had known, they never would have chanced sending her to Europe.

Grief. Grief flooded her heart as she realized that she would never get to hold her daughter again. Her husband would never hold her close again. She would never snuggle next to him at night, never lay her head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat until it lulled her to sleep. She would never laugh again with Caitlyn. She would never smile and share a secret joke with Nate. She would never get to tease Jason about Daniella until his face turned bright red.

Pain. Mitchie winced as she put too much weight on her broken leg, not liking the feeling the ensued from that.

"Ouch!" she hissed from between her teeth. Her hands tightened around the bars of her cell for a moment as she struggled not to cry out and wake one or both of the jailers.

Hope. Hope that tonight might be her last night in this cell, but not her last night of her life. Hope, however misplaced, that she might still have a chance of being released. Hope, again misguided, that Shane might sweep in like in the fairytales and rescue her before it was too late and she was lost forever.

Annoyance. Annoyance at herself and her foolish, unrealistic dreams.

Disgust. Disgust with herself. Disgust that she had lost hope in her dreams.

With a whirl that left her head reeling from the pain in her leg, she turned away from the bars of the cell so that she could face the back of her cell. Thought the two errant jailers slept soundly, she didn't want anyone to see her cry. A tear slipped down her cheek, soon accompanied by many more, wetting her lashes and falling on her ruined dress.

A sob escaped, and Mitchie leaned her head against the cold blocks of the wall, biting her lips so hard that they drew blood. Her fists struck out at the wall, but her mind was too distraught to recognize the pain that the action caused her. There was a rustling behind her, and Mitchie managed to hold the next sob in, guessing that one of the jailers had awoken. She would not look weak under any circumstances.

Any other night, she would have laid down as quickly as should could, worried that they would trump up a charge that would give them cause to punish her, but she couldn't care less tonight.

A grating sound told her that her cell door was being opened, and she tensed, the fists that had struck out at the wall curling even tighter, ready for a fight. If she was going to be executed tomorrow, then she was going to teach these two men a lesson or two before she died. There was a slight, low groan as the cell door flew open, and Mitchie whirled around, her injured leg forgotten as she faced her attacker.

The person standing in front of her was the last person she would have imagined. Her body pressed back against the cell wall as the person stepped into the cell with her and her fists disappeared behind her back.

Her mouth gaped open and she gasped….

A/N: Okay, I've attoned for my mistake of not updating soon enough, so you guys should have absolutely no cause NOT to review! ;) I know you guys are reading it, so please, please, PLEASE review it!! mymakeupsmearedeyes, are you happier now? JK!