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A short story prequel. Average read time is 20 minutes or less.
The young executioner, he must die.
He plans to torture and hang Maman, but he cannot separate a young mademoiselle from her mother, can he?
His gentle hands place the spike into the studded boot that houses her foot, and I flinch.
"Je suis désolé," he says sorrowfully.
Day-old blood splatters the window. My mind's a colony of bees.
He lifts the hammer, and the light of the moon glints off the blunt instrument's face.
I press my fingertips to the glass to reach Maman, but she is in there and I am out here, and it would break Maman's and Papa's hearts if I exposed myself this way.
I'll take that fine face of his into my hands—and snap his neck.
That is what he rightfully gets, for taking my maman from me.
The young executioner, he must die.
He plans to torture and hang Maman, but he cannot separate a young mademoiselle from her mother, can he?
His gentle hands place the spike into the studded boot that houses her foot, and I flinch.
"Je suis désolé," he says sorrowfully.
Day-old blood splatters the window. My mind's a colony of bees.
He lifts the hammer, and the light of the moon glints off the blunt instrument's face.
I press my fingertips to the glass to reach Maman, but she is in there and I am out here, and it would break Maman's and Papa's hearts if I exposed myself this way.
I'll take that fine face of his into my hands—and snap his neck.
That is what he rightfully gets, for taking my maman from me.
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