As they turned the corner and the guillotine came into view, Scarlet turned away. She had seen enough death from that blade. With every drop of the knife, she felt her failure all the more, saw the trembling families of those who died, saw her parents’ faces more clearly, and wondered at the fate of her brother.

At times, she awoke from her dreams screaming his name, with the fresh fictional memory of his head dropping into a basket. She shivered again and willed the crowd to let them pass, to disperse with all haste so that her carriage could move again.

Her family had travelled to Spain, as they did every summer. As he had before, her father brought some of the banned books with him. The Inquisition, though increasingly distant from people’s lives, had nevertheless banned multiple books, and her father provided those tomes for the neighbors to read. But Spain had become embroiled in a dispute over the Falkland Islands right around the time of their visit, and the Spanish were seeking ways to punish the British. Her parents, fresh pawns in this endeavor, provided too convenient an opportunity, and with her father’s past service to the British Navy, a perfect example of Spanish dissatisfaction. The Falkland Islands dispute ended shortly after, and her parents’ deaths seemed even more of a disastrous waste because of it.

An insistent voice distracted her, pulling Scarlet’s eyes back to the carriage window. She searched the crowd for the source of the new sound.

Struggling against her captors, a woman was led across the platform, next in line to meet the guillotine. She shouted, forcing the men to slow her path. Scarlet admired her fire. She had a message to deliver before her death, and she was determined to see it received by whoever would listen. Scarlet brushed tears from her eyes, admiration at the woman’s courage dimming the evil around them. This woman’s bravery merited a sensible person to listen to her last words, whatever they may be. And Scarlet felt sure she was one of very few sensible people in attendance in that square. She strained her ears and focused on the woman’s face.

As Scarlet drew closer to the stage, the woman’s words became more clear. “Death is not the answer. When I die, you will still be hungry, poor, sick, and unhappy. Killing everyone who disagrees with you will not help France. Violence and blood will not win this war.” She fell quiet and walked meekly for a few steps. Then she raised her hands to the heavens, steps away from her own death and shouted, “Oh, liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!”4