It was dark. So very, very dark. She tried to comfort herself. But there was no comfort, only blind terror, because she was going to die, and there was nothing at all she could do it. That was the worst part of it. She had always been a fighter, and it was horrible, this waiting, and being unable to do anything except shiver in the damp little cell.
But whenever things got to bad, she thought of Rachel. Her face, eyes, ears, nose, mouth. The way she had held her head so proudly as she opened the door let the monsters in. Her calm, unwavering courage. It was something Felicity wished had. The grace to accept what could not be changed. But no, she had to be stupid. She had to fight with all she had, had to be stubborn.
That was why, when dawn broke, she would be escorted to the dingy, grassless yard. Why she would have to stand strongly and face the firing squad. She would not be able to run, to flee those horrible men in their SS uniforms. There was no escaping fate, in the end.
She leaned back on her cot as the night grew older, and remembered.
The day had been hot, that she remembered. One of those warm Parisian days a that she loved. Felicity had been in Paris fourteen years. Her money allowed her to live as she pleased, without thought or concern. She came in off the crowded streets to get drink, and was standing in line waiting to pay when the girl came in.
She had dark hair and lively, intelligent eyes. They struck up a conversation while in line. The girl's name was Rachel, Rachel Weinstein. She had explained that she was newly arrived in Paris had taken a job at a newspaper. This was the beginning.
She heard the guards talking in loud, drunken voices beyond the door. It was such an ugly language. Guttural, harsh. Not at all like the musical sounding French.
They were on the dance floor, the lights pulsing, and she was so close, so very close to her. She could smell the perfume coming of her skin. She could see the small mole on her chin, almost taste her. Arms wrapped around each other. She had never been so content.
She wondered again for what must have been the millionth time, how she had gotten here. Oh, she knew the facts. She wasn't that old.
But she did wonder why. Felicity had always considered herself quite selfish, but here she was, about to die what many might call a hero's death. Why the hell had she fought for the French people? She knew the answer. It was because they, more than anyone else, had accepted her. She had come, battered and bruised, and they had welcomed her with open arms.
Then there was Rachel, those dark, laughing eyes, and everything, everything they had taken away. They, the Nazi's. She hated them with a raw, blinding, red-hot loathing that she had never, ever felt for anyone before. Not even close to the hate she felt for herself.
"Fee, we have to get out. While there's still time. Rachel's eyes bore into her. They were softly pleading, no reprimand in her voice. Their going to take everything in their path. We're in the way." Did she detect worry in her voice?
Felicity had heard about Hitler, the Nazi's, the horrific death camps. She knew what went on there, could well imagine the children's haunted eyes, their bones poking through their flesh. But it couldn't happen to Rachel. She wouldn't let it.
"No. I won't leave my home. I won't. Not now, not never. The Nazis can go to hell."
She could have saved her. They could have gotten out, before the border' closed up. But she had been so damned stubborn.
And that's why she fought, tooth and nail. That' why. For all those children that would never see adulthood. For their neighbor down the street, kind old Mrs. Berlin. For their friend, one of them, dragged from her home screaming. For Rachel.
She heard the men outside, their harsh German voices yelling Open up!
"Rachel hide!" she hissed. She was trembling from fear.
"No". She shook her head and smiled sadly. "Fate comes for us. You hide. Please."
Fear had overtaken her then, and she ran quickly, to hide in the closest. She hoped they wouldn' t look for her. She watched as Rachel lifted her head proudly. Thrust her shoulders backward. The bravery and peace radiated out of her, creating a light. She opened the door as if letting in a welcome friend. Bravery, in its purest form. Accepting fate.
Light dawned outside her window. Felicity heard the guards creep in opening the door. Felt their feet, kicking her. She stood up and held her head high and proud, and followed the guards out the door.
A/N : Well, you can probably deduce what time this was set in. Felicity was executed for fighting in the French Resistance, an origanization that fought against Nazi power in France. Rachel was Jewish, and taken to a death camp.