Die Another Day (#WTV+Movie)

Chapter 1

With my machine, I can quickly cut your head, and you won't suffer. Mechanism drops like lightning, the head flies, blood spurts out.

Man is no more.

Damn!

Mr. Guillotin's words sound abominable, ferocious. 

In these hard times, I would like to tell you about my young and short life.

Too short indeed!

My name is Ann of Kerdrel, and I was born in Brittany at the beginning of 1773. 

A few months ago, like all young ladies, I was still with the sweet nuns in charge of my education. In a beautiful garden, lulled by the convent's soothing tranquility, I was waiting for my father to officially choose a husband for me. He was carefully planning my matrimonial future. Undoubtedly old and ugly, my fiancé would be wealthy and noble. 

My destiny was already written. 

From my earliest childhood, adults always recalled the obligation to obey my family's wishes.

All my family's wishes!

Do your duty, Ann! Above all, don't ask yourself any unnecessary questions! Don't expect anything unusual or exceptional in your life!

Nothing unusual or exceptional! 

It's so funny.

Oh, I almost forgot.

"Love is just a beautiful, needless bird shitting on your window before flying away," my mother said.

She wasn't a model of sensitivity or emotionality, but she was a model of obedience.

My dear parents! Mr. Guillotin's machine executed them in few seconds.

What a nightmare! 

What a calamity!

How could such dramatic events have happened to me?

In what way?

That's an excellent question. 

Revolution wolves appeared at the convent during the night, accusing the nuns of protecting priests who refused to pledge allegiance to our new masters. The horrible brutes weren't wrong, alas. Indeed, these brave women had hidden a Lord's servant from popular vindictiveness. They had listened to the holy word and their extraordinary courage.

The unfortunate priest was dragged from his hiding place and led before assailants. They ordered him to shout, "Long live the revolution!"

At least three times!

The poor man remained stubbornly silent. The Revolutionaries' leader was a ruined marquis, turned into a so-called patriot. My father had always thought this man a crook and a slacker. 

And he was.

Definitely!

Maybe he was the one who had denounced my parents before they were led to the scaffold. This cruel bastard threw the priest to the ground, giggling and hitting him with the butt of his rifle.

And suddenly!

"Long live the King," the bloodied cleric muttered.

At least three times!

Damn! God, save us.

Please!

These words should be avoided at all costs, on pain of immediate death.