Selin Hizli

My spirit is not done with this world yet.

It will not submit.

Perhaps no spirit can rest when fueled with rage.

And my spirit paces and plots in fury.

One day, the world will pay for how it has failed me.

One day, it will see my worth.

Until that day comes, I will not submit.

I will not surrender.

And I will not die.

And so, my third life began when the man charged with taking my head off revealed that he too worked for Richelieu.

Father Laurent de Broglie, my first love, my only love, returned to me in the cardinal's service.

His real task was not to kill me, but to deceive the musketeers into believing sentence of death had been carried out.

Then, afterwards, to set me free.

I followed instructions and made my way to Vossel, hoping to find him again.

I wished to thank him, to kiss him, to take away the pain he must feel with his skin all scarred from the fire Athos set, leaving him to die in the flames.

I found nothing, and here I have been ever since.

Nine months confined in a freezing, stone-floored room with only a foul, woollen monk's habit to wear, waiting for Richelieu, my master, to whistle.

It must be Wednesday.

Also, a goblet of wine.

Do not describe that vinegar as wine.