I stood under the noose, my hands clasped behind my back. I was a lady, so they hadn’t bothered to blind folded me. The crowd liked to see our tears. In that moment, as the hangman’s hand reached for the lever that would end my life, I saw my father. He was standing in the crowd with an expression that mixed pride and sorrow into one. Then, suddenly, as if from the voice of God himself, someone in the crowd spoke up.
“Won’t she be beaten first?” a familiar voice cried. It was Elsebeth using some sort of accent. “Wouldn’t be justice if she warn’t beaten first!” She appealed to the crowd. All eyes pointed to Elsebeth who continued to champion for my torture.
Meanwhile, my heart threatened to beat straight out of my chest as my trembling fingers slipped the small knife Andrien had given me out of my sleeve. I held it so that it was covered by the back of my hand. The crowd got louder, demanding I be flogged, craving the blood. The hangman exchanged worried glances with the priest who shook his head.