She was like the wind that ran wild in the moors. She was like the laughter of those little girls that rang in the valley. She was like those wispy clouds that roamed over little hamlets. She was Zoya. And she loved most to be free.
One rainy day she met a handsome prince on a white stallion and they fell in love. He built her a tower of gold and filled it with all the luxuries of the world but decreed that she should never set foot outside her tower.
She was happy, she was in love. But her soul sometimes longed to be set free.
Once in a while she gave in and stole away to play in the mountains.
But when the prince came to know of her stolen moments, he locked her in the tower to punish her. But he brought her some Italian silk and said he loved her.
She was very sad. She had comitted no sin no crime. All she wanted was to be roam around the mountains sometimes.
Once again she stole away and sang around the mountains.
The prince caught her again. But this time he could love her no more.So he pushed her from the golden tower far into the stream below.
So ended Zoya' s fairy-tale. Shattered in the mountain stream.
Punished not for infidelity or murder or theft, but for her love for the freedom she could not give up.

So she loved that she thought not twice and sacrificed the thing she loved the most.

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My attempt at writing a short story in prose. In love sometimes we are bound with restrictions. We compromise who we are sometimes to be with the person we love. But is that love actually true? When we are not true to our heart, can we be true to someone else's heart?