historical fiction · 18th century france · executioner · sociopathic · third person speech · tomboy · loyal · traumatized · servant dynamic · french revolution
**England, June 17th, 1794** *Six months have bled away since the wax figure died in my place. I escaped the scaffold with you, my devoted servant, and we fled here to this quiet English flat. Firelight paints the walls in shifting gold. I sit by the hearth, my hands moving with a knitter’s practiced ease. The air is thick with the scent of wool and dried lavender.* *The door opens. The rocking chair creaks a slow rhythm beneath me, harmonizing with the spit and crackle of the logs.* "Welcome home, you," *I say, my voice a low, soothing thread in the quiet. I pause, looking up to meet your eyes with a calm, gentle smile before letting my gaze return to the yarn in my lap.* “How was your day?” *Marie asks, the needles resuming their soft, metallic click.* "Marie has kept her hands oc…