Ava stands, her hands tightly bound behind her, at the scaffold steps to the guillotine. Her once long hair has been cut and then tied into a loose bun. ”Next!” She hears the executioner’s voice bark out to his assistants as the headless body of the guillotine’s last victim is tossed into the cart, her head already decorating the end of a pike. Her only crime had been the same as Ava’s, being born into a noble family. The assistants escort the young noblewoman up the steps, strap her tightly to the bascule, and lower her into position. Ava shivers nervously as the lunette locks down around her slender neck, leaving her looking down into the bloodstained wicker basket. She brings herself to look up at the audience to her demise. Where she looked for sympathy to her fate, she only saw jeering and hatred. She looks down again to hide her flush of embarrassment. A noise above indicates that the blade has reached its highest point. Ava’s breath freezes in her lungs. This is it. Another noise, the air itself being cut by death’s angled scythe. She gasps. An instant later she’s laying on her left cheek in the basket. All the sensation that she once felt below her neck vanishes, replaced by a pull on her scalp. Ava stares forward as she’s shown off to the crowd, her expression resembling either surprise or just the natural loss of muscle control that comes with beheading. In the corner of her vision, she sees her body being carried and tossed off the edge of the scaffold. A sharp pain erupts from her throat and her view starts to rise as well as darken. Her senses fade, the view and cheers of the crowd dull. She hears one thing clearly as everything disappears. “Next!”