Here is this week's prompt:
The Chapel Prison
The chapel stood, nondescript and windswept, on a bluff overlooking the shoreline. Squat and unnecessarily robust, as a house of worship, it looked sinister, and not all welcoming. I had to climb the dunes and wade through knew-high sea grass just to approach its shadowed door.
I dragged the door open. Its bulk and heavy bar reminded me of castles I have visited. Unlike those fortresses, though, the heavy oaken door was barred on the outside. That arrangement, along with the buttressed walls were obviously built to keep something inside, while the faux windows were designed to hide that fact.
The scant light from the opened door did little to reveal any interior details of the space, so I infused my sword and lifted the glowing blade high above my head. Its light awoke what it revealed and my blood ran cold at the sight.
The beast uncurled from where it lay sleeping in the corner, its fetid scent rolling over me as it did. In the blink of any, though, the foulness turned to lilacs and honeysuckle as the fairest damsel I ever beheld walked into the light.
Her raven hair and deep, dark eyes held me spellbound. Slowly, I dropped my sword to low guard. The smile on her ruby lips entranced me and my sword dimmed and dipped further. Her diaphanous gown fogged my eyes and muddled my brain, and my sword tip touched the cold paving stones as its light flickered and died.
The return of that putrescent odor snapped me back to my senses, and with a brilliant flash, and almost of its own accord, my sword pierced her chest. With her dying breath I heard her whisper, “My love,” just as a scream of loss and rage blasted from the darkened corner.