France swallowed heavily, struggling to bring himself to look at the tall, blackened, pillar. He knelt down on the ground and stretched his shaking hand out, running his fingers through dust.
Only yesterday, Joan was still a living, breathing human with emotion in her eyes and spirit in her voice, despite the fact that she was slowly wasting away in prison.
Now she was nothing. Her physical body had been destroyed by the flames and it now seemed like she had never existed, yet France could clearly remember all the times he'd spent with her.
The crowd that had gathered to see her execution had long since gone; not one of them seemed to have given a second thought to the girl who had sacrificed so much for her country and remained brave to the very end.
"I'm so sorry..." France cried, trying to hold back his tears.
