Prisoner 280 asked the headsman’s forgiveness for stepping on his foot, and she placed her head through the guillotine’s stock.
As the sentence was read aloud, she imagined her husband enduring this same insult nine months earlier.
Unlike the king, her head did not drop into the basket, but sailed over the crowd, spinning on to the cobblestoned street.
The town militia chased after it, but it soon rolled out of sight.
They tossed her body into an unmarked grave, which meant they never knew when it was dug back up.
The resurrectionist rubs his hands together, laughing with joy.