section7mfu | Unimaginable

Prompts: spirit, white.
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A little boy with a black cape and top hat was chanting out a special message to some imaginary spirit, his words sliding out of his mouth with great emphasis; all the better to scare the willies out of his young audience. Two girls huddled together; whether truly frightened or feigning such in order to heighten the enjoyment of this little show, they played the part of ghoulish delights.

Illya Kuryakin was observing the scene while his partner surveyed farther beyond into a stand of trees just north of their location. Someone had called for help; a very familiar someone who swore to do no harm to the UNCLE agents specifically requested, if they would only come and help.

"Do you think we can trust that this is not a trap of some sort?" Illya was skeptical, but then it was his job to be so. Napoleon Solo wanted to believe the best concerning this particular person, but he still insisted on a visual confirmation before starting the trek into the woods beyond.

"She sounded sincere enough.' Illya rolled his eyes, an easily predictable response.

"… and I am inclined to believe her."

"Are you ever not inclined to believe a damsel in distress? You would do to adopt some of my …"

"Pessimism?"

"I was going to say caution. You have none where women are concerned."

"And you are the least cautious person I know, Mister Kuryakin.' Napoleon smiled behind his veiled accusation of impulsiveness on the part of the Russian. Illya was right though, he did sometimes let the feminine mystique overcome his common sense.

"Fine, point taken. But this time… Wait, I think I see her and…" Illya took his binoculars and looked in the direction indicated by his friend.

"I see a woman, and she's not alone. Two men dressed in white… Are those hoods they're wearing?"

Napoleon squinted, as though to help him see better. The image didn't change. There was a woman between two men dressed in white, topped by hoods. They were each holding a sword and as the UNCLE agents watched in horror one of them raised his arms while grasping the sword and with one swift motion, took off her head.

"Was it her? Was that really Angelique?" Illya couldn't identify the woman; her head, while still on her shoulders, had been bowed. The color of her hair was right but there was no way to say with any certainty that the decapitated blonde was Angelique LeChien.

Napoleon was numb. He couldn't accept that his sometime lover, oft times nemesis, was the victim of what he had just witnessed. The sound of the children was in the background, innocence contrasted with the violence less than a thousand feet away.

"I have to know if it's her, I need to go and see for myself." Illya was still watching as Napoleon spoke. The hooded executioners seemed to know they were being watched; as if on cue they each removed their hoods. Illya's heart began to race at what he saw.

"Napoleon, look… look now!" Now what? Napoleon didn't need any more drama right now, so what was ILlya yelling about? He looked once more at the scene of this reprehensible violence and when he did…

"How? How is that possible? Illya…?"

But Illya was gone, leaving Napoleon alone to fend off the nightmare of watching himself execute Angelique.

*** Think of M'lady in the Three Muskateers and her gruesome end.