She was there, a respected face.

Nailed to a wood post.

Silent, dignified

with countless victories.

It didn't matter.

The cruelty of the English, the lies of the French.


Still young, still proud.

The one who could speak to God,

who leapt from towers, bare feet scraping the walls,

who led her country to power, fire in her eyes.

But now the flames,

engulfing her in doom.

Her life wisping out of her

like the smoke.

Finally at peace.

The warrior.

Our hero. 

Joan of Arc

By Masha

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